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| Story and photos by Mary Ellen Riddle
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| The only
constant in our complex universe is change. It’s especially palpable at
the edge of the continent on North Carolina’s Outer Banks. This barrier
island community, which began forming thousands of years ago from rich river
deltas, embraces change. It’s a matter of survival. In a land where the
wind and sea quickly can pivot from gently lapping waves and playful breezes to
thunderous seas and hurricane winds, its people are the ones who must
adjust. |
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| Change can occur in the blink
of an eye. One can gaze to the heavens and watch storms roll forward chased by
sunny skies. With this rollicking game of tag comes a dramatic drop in
temperature within minutes. A telephone call from a friend can reveal
torrential rains ten miles north and beach-bathing weather ten miles south. As
with a momentous news story, the weather dominates our conversations, our
lives. |
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| Each year we weather
anything…from a frenzied nor-easter that can rob our livelihoods, kidnap
our homes, down our trees, flood our streets and beat our seas into a
froth…to the pleasure winds that create visual symphonies with our
clothing lines, push kites into the blue, waft honeysuckle our way, muss our
hair and cause the faintest tinkle when she passes though our wind
chimes. |
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| Change brings fish into our seas while creating a scenic,
swirling backdrop in which to wade. |
| One hellish storm caused such flooding, the waters pushed our
boats up onto the docks, making them appear as if they’d retreated quickly
from her wrath. |
| We survive the floods, mostly. We move our structures. We
abandon hairdos. We admire her spontaneous sculptures and how she exposes the
rooted beauty of a tenacious tree. We stumble across her abstract paintings and
the homes she rearranges to her liking. |
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| We gradually grow as accustomed to her demands as we do to the
fine line forming around our smiles and the deepened furrow of our brow.
Thankfully, her fast and furious pace is offset by seductive lulls as skiffs
peacefully lie in wait in the creek, a red-winged blackbird rests momentarily
in the brush and the sea calms long enough for gentle journeys. |
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