Dateline...Beaufort NC May 13th 2012

Beaufort: bikes, boats, sea, sky & fun-loving people

By the time you read this, the 24th Annual Music Festival will be complete.  Dancing feet are tired, mural-painting artists are recovering--and  around town, there may be one or two tiny hang-overs.

Weather? Made to order and perfect. Carolina blue sky, just enough breeze and temperatures in the 70's and 80's.  No rain.

Festival goers came by boat, by car, by bike, by horse-drawn carriage and  rickshaw.

I'll not go into all the details about all the great musicians that appeared on Beaufort's stages, but every year, just when I think they couldn't possibly top last year's talented performers, along comes a line-up that excites me even more.  How the festival folks do it, year after year, is beyond belief.

The closing acts on both Friday night and Saturday night were spectacular, yes?  Old Man Markley from California on Friday—yowza—punk and blue grass!  Amazing performances, what fiddling and picking and vocals.

The Austin-based Gourds on Saturday night—wow, wow, wow.  Alternative country doesn't begin to describe their sound. Their music had so many elements going on—rock and punk and even yodeling.  A wild mix. Got to dance to that sound—my blisters attest to that.  Thank you, musicians, one and all. We love you. Thank you Festival-makers!  You're the best.

Beaufort NC—Voted Coolest Small Town in America

Beaufort Friends of the Library iconic little red book wagon

Yep, we've been busting our buttons ever since we won that designation from Budget Travel magazine.  Okay, to be perfectly above-board, we did tie with a sweet town somewhere in New York, but Beaufort was ahead in the voting by a slender margin when the magazine's computers crashed and they decided to declare Beaufort tied for first place with that dear little town somewhere in New York.

But as we were ahead  when their computers crashed...well,  from my point of view, we can claim the 1st place mantle ...sorry, cute little NY town.

What makes Beaufort so cool?  
Let's see what our artists say.

Seventeen of them took part in the Beaufort Sister City Mural Painting Contest this past weekend.  The theme was Beaufort: Coolest Small Town in America. They portrayed our coolness in the water, by the water, from the water—with people, wild horses, boats, familiar places, scenes of sea and sky, pelicans, sun, more boats, large and small.  Dancers rocking to the tunes, our beloved red double-decker tour bus, street-scapes, window-scapes...

You be the judge of who captured “Cool Beaufort” the best.  Me?  I'm not telling.  I loved each and every mural.  Sure glad I wasn't a judge.  All the murals were fantastic—I'd be proud to have any of the paintings brightening my walls.

Take a look at their murals—how would you have voted???

For this mural?

Maybe this one will win...it's "cool."

This artist and horse are eager for your vote.

Another refreshingly cool painting.

Does this pretty mural earn your vote?

Row, row row your dinghy...

Very Beaufort...does this get your nod?

Wow,  it's "Beaufort Time"...did you vote for this creative painting with clock?

Artist working hard to win your vote..

Oh my, this is so cool.  Tiny bubbles...

Beautiful.  Will this one win?

A window on a cool town.  Will this one win?

Loving the colors--and the happy boaters.  A winner?

Hop aboard...playful and fun..just like Beaufort.

Another tempting work of art.

Don't vote for the one above--it's a photo of the Beaufort Docks...a reminder to slow down and smell the sea--and flowers.

Come stroll and  bicycle our quaint streets, eat at a waterfront cafe, paddle in our clear waters, collect shells, dance to our musicians, lift a pint or two of grog, savor a cone of home-made ice-cream...

And above all else...be the very cool person that you are.

Hope to see you this summer,

hugs,

Patti

Join the forum discussion on this post

Okay, by now most of you have seen the infomercials for PajamaJeans®.  And maybe, like me, you've been curious what they're really like. Are they more like PJ's, or more like jeans?

Me, I was curious, for when you work at home, as I do, trying to find  clothing that goes from bed to computer to grocery store can be challenging.  Every day turns into casual Friday.  But just how casual...for one doesn't want to offend  community standards.

Admittedly, those standards can be quite relaxed

With my own eyes, I've seen morning shoppers at my neighborhood Piggly Wiggly in pursuit of their cheese biscuits wearing coats with the hems of their nighties peeking under, their feet covered with fuzzy slippers.  So far I've not yet made my casual Friday THAT casual--at least outside the privacy of  home. Inside's a different can of beans. If you come to the door while I'm in hot pursuit of a deadline, you'd best be prepared for...well, never mind, I'm sure you've been there. You don't need the juicy details. Let's just say at times home is where the slob is.

I worry about this

Dressing for success has flown way out the window since I traded in an advertising career in city offices for my home office and the free-lance writing life in my tiny village. The right outfit for word-working at home has proved elusive. Too often, sweats are my work clothes. Not good.  Not flattering. Was coat over nightie soon to be my next step into the clothing hall of shame??

Maybe that's why I read the e-mail from the public relations company with particular interest. Their email told me details about the same PajamaJeans I'd seen on TV.  When I saw their offer to send me a pair for a test-drive,  my fingers tap-tapped out a quick reply of yes.  I mean, who wouldn't?  Free clothes? Clothes fresh from an infomercial on my TV?

“Well, sure, definitely,”  I replied, “send away, size 10, please.”

Time passes, as it does, but sooner, rather than later, came a tidy package in my mailbox. I squeezed the envelope; it's soft like Charmin. I wonder, “what could this be?  Another of my forgotten internet purchases?  Have I been sleep-shopping again?  But looking at the return address, I know the truth--it's my PajamaJeans! What fun. New clothes without a charge appearing on my next credit card statement.

Joy is mine.

Careful not to snip the garment inside with my wayward scissors, I cautiously open the envelope to reveal my PajamaJeans.  Hmm.  Not bad, I think.  Soft material kind of like sweatpants, but with more body, more personality. The stitching on the dark navy fabric and the sassy brass rivets on the pockets smartly mimic denim jeans.  I look at the label.  Size medium.  95% cotton, 5% Spandex.  I like cotton, it breathes.

I run my hand over the fabric, it's a medium weight, lighter than sweats, softer than denim.  My new Pajama Jeans feel cozy. Plush. Kind of like a Bichon Frise puppy after it's newly shorn.

I'm eager to try them on

Eager for a test run, the moment of truth where the rubber meets the road—or the cotton and Spandex meet flesh, I slip them on—or try to. There's no slipping. A bit of a struggle ensues as they are sans zipper, instead closed with a bright pink drawstring.  But I ease them up over my hips, my derriere, doing the wiggle we women  know so well when donning snug clothes and wow!  They fit like a glove.  Snug but not binding as regular form-fitting jeans too often are.  I like them.

I go to the mirror

Casting a critical eye from bow to stern, I'm pleased.  (No, that isn't me in the photo! I'm brunette.)

While the PajamaJeans embrace my curves, they also seem to contain and shape them—for this I am thankful.  The fit must be due to the 5% Spandex, I'm thinking.  My caboose hasn't morphed into an entire freight train.  Thank you, Spandex, for the compression, the lift.

Enough private time with my PajamaJeans—let's debut them in public. I trot over to Piggly Wiggly where friends and neighbors are often found. It is here I'll discover if anyone stares or falls over laughing to see me wearing an infomercial.  I do run into several folks I know, but no one comments, no one stares, it's business as usual.  So far so good.

Now for the Ultimate Test

What will my friends think?  My next public foray takes me to a rite of Spring when BFF Patty  inaugurates her screened porch by inviting me and our mutual BFF, Constance, over for a gourmet meal on the same aforementioned porch.  Since Patty is the most sublime chef I know, straight from the pages of Bon Appétit, only better, and I know I'm going to feast, I  want to make sure I'm wearing something...expandable.

“This,” I think, “is a job for PajamaJeans."

So I wear them.

Will they still be comfortable after a three-four course lunch and some bubbly?  Will the discerning eyes of Patty and Constance catch me out in my PajamaJeans and tease me unmercifully?  This is the supreme test, the pinnacle Olympian moment for PajamaJeans. They and I are going for the gold.

Okay,  now I'm porch-sitting in my PajamaJeans

I've polished off the appetizer of petite sauteed fresh herb and squash patties with the Greek tzatziki dipping sauce, the buttery grilled eggplant over the baby mixed greens has gone down my happy gullet, my grilled shrimp with young asparagus and black rice sparked with a tangy remoulade sauce that had my mouth dancing have all disappeared.  We've liberated the contents from several bottles of bubbly, and now we're dipping the first ruby strawberries of the season into a dark lake of warm bitter-sweet chocolate.

I sigh. I'm full, replete with the happiness of good sistership, great food, and free-ranging belly laughs. Through it all my PajamaJeans have remained my pal—they do not bind, cut or chafe in the least. They continue to gently hug my now somewhat curvier curves. We're laughing our heads off, deadlines forgotten, while we plan our dream trip to Italy.

It is then that I tip my hand  

I stand up and say, “So, women, what do you think?  I'm wearing PajamaJeans!!”  I expect their jaws to drop and the jokes to begin, but no!  They're remarkably calm and collected.  They say, “Never would have guessed...they look just like a pair of well-fitting stretch jeans.” My friends reach out to touch the fabric; they make complimentary murmurs of appreciation for its softness.

Patty suggests, “Maybe they should make them out of colors other than navy.”  Constance, adds, “I'd buy them; they're a good fit.”

So there you have it.  The final test drive of the Pajama Jeans has found us in the Winners Circle.  Not only did the PajamaJeans pass muster at Piggly Wiggly--they passed the more rigorous muster of Constance and Patty.

Me?  I adore my PajamaJeans. I could sleep in them, but I won't.  I want to keep them for dress-up.  For more lunches with Constance and Patty. More imaginary trips to Italy.

My only suggestion? Ditch the bright pink drawstring and make it navy or black.  Unless you tuck the tie carefully into the waistband of the jeans, its pinkness can reveal the fact that you're wearing PajamaJeans.  Not that I'm at all embarrassed to be wearing them, but let's keep this our little secret just between you and me.

Deal?

Think about this: 

Could you cut off all your connectivity from your cell  phone, smart phone, notebook, computers, and all other electronic hand-held devices?  An unplugged life.

Could you live without e-mail, texts, sexts, Tweets, YouTube, Facebook, Linked-in, and mobile messaging?

Inconceivable, you say?  Horrible and isolating?  The end of your personal, business, friendship and love life? Your pulse is in a panic, your heart's beating triple-time just thinking about it, let alone taking any action?

Join the crowd--you're a full-fledged member of the distracted nation. Many of us are so plugged in these days that we're forgetting how to have face-to-face conversations without our fingers and minds performing actions other than what our mouths are saying.

Is this a problem?

Some sociologists and psychologists says yes—we've become a nation of distracted, multi-tasking, text-mad, cyber-gobbling addicts.  Others shrug and say, "So what?  This is what life's like. Live with it."

Me, I don't know...could I live without Google and information?  Am I an information junkie?  Maybe so.  I worry about this.  So much time spent on the 'net.  Sometimes the ring of the phone annoys me—interrupting my Google searches and 'net reading.  Email me if you want to reach me. This cannot be good.

Too much time on Facebook instead of real face time with friends is beginning to worry me, too.  Sure, I've seen your posted vacation pictures—have you seen mine? But what are you thinking—and feeling?  How are you...really?

Distracted. Rarely am I here

I grew up with philosopher-gurus such as Ram Dass who urged us to "Be here now," and I've books on my bookshelf such as Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now. But rarely am I  “here now”  any more.  How could I be when I'm over there—keyboarding in cyber space?

Have I become way too personal with my personal computer? Surely it's become my greatest source of information—and entertainment.

Up until now I've avoided smart phone ownership.  The hand-writing's on the wall--I'd always be connected, every second, everywhere I go on by my electronic leash.  Seems I'm wired that way.  Many of us are.

I'd be just like the character in a science fiction short story I read years ago—was it by Asimov?  The tale told of a boy nerd who loved his personal computer so very much.  He spent every waking minute on it.  As this story was written was years before personal computers were in existence--the story was quite prescient.

All their son's computing time worried his parents.  The boy would hardly eat, wasn't sleeping.  The boy's parents hovered worriedly at his door. The boy waved his parents away. "Not a problem," he assured them.

But his parents had reason to worry. One morning, they went into the boy's room and found the computer's cable had entered their son's body— he was permanently wired into his personal computer.  They had become one.

Like the boy, have we become permanently wired into our electronic devices? 

Has social media replaced human relationships in real time? Jake Reilly, a 24-year-old college student, thought so.  So he set up a 90 day personal experiment he called "Going Amish" to remove himself from all electronic communications--including social media.

Reilly viewed Facebook as a "total waste of time, because everyone is just presenting such a filtered picture of themselves...it's superficiality on top of superficiality. You never get to see the real parts of people."

So here's what he did:  He "called Verizon and suspended service for his cell phone. Deactivated Facebook, deactivated Twitter, deactivated Linked-In, deactivated Spotify, and anything where there was a social component. He put up an out-of-office on both of his email accounts, saying, "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I won't receive this until the end of the year."

And the results?  Some angry friends who proved maybe not so close as he'd thought, some damage to his social life when he couldn't give a girl his cell phone number--or call her on hers.

Unplugged, Jake had to get creative to stay in touch, stay connected.  Most methods he used were decidedly low-tech--pebbles thrown at their windows, chalked messages on the sidewalk outside their apartments and offices. Even old-fashioned letter writing mailed via snail mail.

The lessons Jake learned from “Going Amish” were surprising—and varied.  Learning how to play.  Reaping great gobs of free time for living his life...rekindling a lost romance...

Read the full interview with Jake by a Yahoo correspondent here.
See the video Jake, the plug-puller, made here.

Be here now—and join the conversation

Have we become an Un-social Nation—the Distracted Nation?  Do smart phones, texts, e-mails, Facebook and other "social media" harm—or help—our human relationships?  Are we too connected by social media and too little by real time social lives?

Do  smart phones make us smarter—or dumber??

Do you worry about being too plugged in?

What do you think? 

Let's talk about it. Please register and post your comments.

##

December already—how fast the days move this time of year. Fast-forward, our days speed ahead from feasting on turkey with family and friends on Thanksgiving—that most congenial of holidays—to this hectic time of gift-gathering.

That is, if one celebrates Christmas.  At my house, we're opted out.  With no 'young-un's' expecting gifts, we've hunkered down with piles of tempting books and mugs of hot chocolate. I'm diving into Steinbeck's Log from the Sea of Cortez and after that I'm going to re-visit Grapes of Wrath. Given the shape the economy's in, I figured maybe I could pick up some pointers within its pages.

Turning our back on the the clarion call to shop and buy, we're instead celebrating these days and nights of decreased light with a peaceful inner light that says seasons greetings in a more elemental way.

All summer long, I'd craved these quiet nights of early darkness and hot chocolate

Piling on quilts and comforters, reading in bed while the world snoozes, with no buzz of mosquito or fly to interrupt my travels with Steinbeck.

Answering my body's cry for carbs, I make a hearty potato soup, bake bread, pile on the pasta.  Who am I to resist what nature calls me to do.  After all, doesn't she know best?

For the antidote for carb-fired fat gain, I force myself from hearth and home and bicycle to the gym to do penance on the treadmill and elliptical. See me go,  chubby little hamster.  Run carb lady, run.

Soon comes the winter solstice

The shortest day of the year, when light and darkness are equally balanced.  There's a magic there I do love. The candles in our windows shine forth, we decorate our homes with Christmas lights, light the eight candles of Hanukkah's Festival of Light menorah—we acknowledge, we celebrate and welcome the miracle of the coming of the light.

We throw another Yule log on the fire and gaze into the ancient blaze.  The dog and cat come and huddle close enough to sizzle fur, their eyes drowsy with contentment.

Our flames and lights shine forth, inside and outside our homes.  We've survived the darkness.  Here once again, come the longer days of light.

Each dear family member and friend is the flame that warms me just now

True, they warm me all through the year, but most especially now. These days of darkness, when it's shivery cold and that North winds blows with a bite, I'm protected by their laughter, the time we find to spend together.  Our conversations that range wide and free. Lost in giggles, or lost in thought, we travel far.

Maybe this is why the call to seasonal shopping leaves me cold   All year I think of them, and they of me.  We give each other little gifts.  Maybe a book.  A newspaper clipping of interest.  A loaf of banana bread. A link to a funny video we know will make them laugh.

My world would indeed be dark without their brilliance. Since I cannot find 'friendship,' 'love,' 'grace,' or 'laughter,' at the mall or in any cyber store I've yet located, I turn my back on this particular shopping season and instead put the water on to boil for the tea pot.

Bad consumer am I

Nothing that requires batteries will be sent from my household to yours.  No waffle irons or anything that slices, dices or chops.  The Gross National Product will just have to slouch along without me.  I'm investing in Gross Personal Friendship.

You know who you are.  I love you.  A  big hug, wrapped in red ribbons, is saved, just for you. Seasons Greetings.

Bring on the light.

BEAUFORT, NORTH CAROLINA

December 6, 2011

Temperature:  72 degrees

Wish you were here

With a vivid blue sky,  whisper of a breeze, and temperatures hovering in the low 70's, today your editor abandoned her desk, her computer, the indoors and headed out for a bicycle photo safari through pretty Beaufort Town.

Do you blame her?

As I pedaled down Ann and Front Streets, I thought how fortunate I am to live in this place, this community, and at this time of year.  Red-bowed Christmas garlands draped on white 18th-century homes and deep pink camellias in bloom greeted me along the quiet streets.

I pedaled the full length of Ann, then headed for waterfront Front Street.  If I were lucky today,  the Carrot Island horses would be out, or maybe I'd spy a frolic of dolphins leaping about.

But no, I didn't see a one of either creatures today- nothing was stirring. But no matter, a snack was on my mind.

Since it was in the 70's, and since I needed a little rest from my pedaling, I sought out the General Store for a scoop of double chocolate ice cream and a spot on their porch.  The store held no customers.  A shame, really, I thought, with weather like this.  Sitting on the porch, I let the world go by and followed the shape-shifting soft clouds hanging in the Carolina blue sky.

Missing you, come walk with me?

Mustering my energy, I walked across the street to the Town Docks. They, too, were deserted and again I thought, if I lived in a frozen weather place, I'd de-camp and come to Beaufort Town this time of year.

I'd come for the Beaufort Historic Association's Candlelight Tour, I'd come for the American Music Festival's Vivaldi concert at the Library, and I'd surely come for a scoop of double chocolate ice cream eaten on the porch at the General Store.

I wander over to the docks and do some window shopping for a boat so I can pretend I'm soon to lift anchor and sail off to the Bahamas.

Fish House Christmas

But then--why?  It's so beautiful here today, the soft breezes and sun have unknotted my tight shoulders. The Carolina blue is so very blue, the clouds so cottony.  I'm content.  Sail off to the Bahamas?  Not today, maybe tomorrow? So beautiful it is here today.

True, there's a certain fetching ketch at the docks that looked distinctly tempting...but that's a dream for another day. Truth told, I'm feeling too lazy to do more than pedal slowly home.

My little Beaufort Town.  So wonderfully preserved, it seems a Currier & Ives Christmas card brought to life. Minus the snow and sleighs.  No horses for me today. My steed is a 1970's candy apple red World Tourist bicycle. Five gears, but I seldom change them; not many hills in Beaufort Town.

That's me, a would-be “world tourist” who now travels the world Walter Mitty-like  from the perch atop a bicycle saddle.  I've wandered and now I'm berthed. Wanderlust might strike in the Spring, but now I tie my lines in this harbor.

The Bahamas are lovely, 'tis true, but the food is--please forgive me, for I don't mean to be mean--but the food there is a tad boring: Conch, conch, more conch, rice and peas.

Nope, give me some fresh caught speckled trout, some clam chowder and a slab of Key Lime pie--and if I'm feeling frisky, one of Danny's Cosmopolitans.

If I came to Beaufort in December, in this quiet time of red-bowed Christmas garlands and pink camellias, I'd wander down Front Street and visit with the shop keepers. Within their shops, I'd discover the sweet gifts for stockings, friends, family—and me.

Playhouse on Anne

Checking my list, I'd find something both naughty and nice--and often hand-made by one of our artists and craftspeople. For we are surely overflowing with a treasure chest of talent.  Not for me the noisy malls.  Who needs them when I can be on Front Street with the gulls, the pelicans, the sloops and the ketches-- and the double chocolate ice cream at the General Store?

And then?

Since it's now late afternoon, the time of long shadows, I find myself hankering for an espresso--a great chaser for that scoop of double chocolate ice cream.

Beaufort North Carolina, heading gently toward Christmas.  Christmas wreaths and camellias.

A peaceful place of sky and water. Boats bobbing at anchor. Me, too, safely harbored at home for the holidays.

I'm loving it.

Oh, give me these cinnamon-scented days
with their slanted fall of golden light
with ginger-crisp leaves drifting down.
Grant me these velvet starry nights
while I nest and pull high the comforter.

Pile on the gravy and the dressing
Pass me the sweet and the mashed.
Pies of pumpkin, apple and pecan
Oh my! Pile my plate full and high.

These Thanks Giving days
give me pause to think of you--
my spicy friends of all the seasons
we spiral dancers of moon and sun.

For you who nourish all my days
I whisper words of gratitude
Especially now, as I feel so fully
filled with home-cooked love.

--Patricia Comroe Frank

It takes a village to bring a book to publication.

That's why you see dedications and acknowledgments in the front of most every book--they honor and recognize all the support, advice, and encouragement the writer received from their community.

My special little village of Beaufort has been very nurturing in helping me bring my book to completion. Last night, a good friend threw a publication celebration for me.  What a joyful experience.

In turn, I wanted to acknowledge my "village people" for their role in the book. And play a role they did, for some of my friends were borrowed and inspired some of the characters in Falling Through Time. Except, in reality, my friends are all wiser, younger, more slender, and have better haircuts.

For those who ask, the narrator of the book, Summer Holbrook is not me, even though both of us worked in advertising. I was much nicer, didn't go to Yale, had a happy upbringing in a sweet little Pennsylvania town, and have never owned a penthouse or a BMW roadster.  My mother did not swill gin.

If you go here you'll see lots of party pics.  I had fun in saluting my pals, and wrote the posting in couplets. You'll soon discover that I'm not a poet--but I do hope you'll enjoy the playfulness...!

Wise old tree, thank you for missing our home and shed and fence.

Just when we storm-tossed folks of the East Coast need it most comes the welcome relief of cooler weather.

In my small coastal North Carolina town, you couldn't ask for nicer weather for the Labor Day weekend.  A hint of Autumn is in the air and the sky is Carolina blue with white puff clouds sailing across its expanse.

Though our roads and lanes are lined with walls of fallen limbs and branches and yard rakings, we're grateful that Irene did not make landfall here as a Catergory 3, 4, or 5.

Nonetheless, she blew so hard from the East and West, and for so long, that she quite wore us out.  We're plumb tuckered. It starts with the constant media alerts and warnings, all the weather charts and graphs to consider, the prep, deciding to stay or go, the event itself, and the clean-up and repairs...

I found out from friends and other villagers, that many of us are just now getting grounded again after what I can only think of as "Post-Irene Stress Syndrome."  The symptoms are disturbed sleep, weariness (maybe it's from all that raking and sawing and cleaning up) and a feeling of general malaise. Any of that going around at your house?

Meanwhile, there are hopeful signs everywhere that life continues, grows and flourishes.  A new foal was born to a wild mare on our Banks and some smart person named the new baby horse "Aftermath."  Don't you love it?

Making lemonade out of lemons

Having had to throw out a lot of food, I decided that now that the frig was bare, that this was a wonderful time to clean the appliance.  What better way to channel all the nervous energy I had during the powerless aftermath?

So I took out every shelf and drawer and squirted all with orange cleaner and scoured and scrubbed the whole thing down.  Some food-like artifacts were discovered that might interest an archeologist.  How embarrassing to find these jars of petrified food stuff. The label might say "garlic-stuffed olives," but the visual said otherwise.  I'll not go into details.

My refrigerator sparkles and seems quite new.  My front and back yards are a different story, littered as they are with a million pine cones.

I'd prefer Fig trees to pines...

Love the small town life

Our town and its people were calm, helpful, experienced, courteous and kind.  If you have to go through a hurricane, you couldn't wish for a better crowd to weather the storm with.  We're very lucky.

I love small town life where daily there are sweet reminders that we inhabit a small planet.  At the gym the other day, post-Irene, on the next treadmills, I met the folks who built the house in which I live.

They built it as newlyweds back in 1969.  And the towering pines that now plague us during every blow (one big one fell during Irene) were planted by them to dress their naked lot.  The Forest Service offered the seedlings at $1.00 per.

Now, forty-two years later, the seedlings tower over the house and keep us hopping with fallen pines cones, pine straw and wayward fallen branches and limbs during wind storms--or any time the pines feel like dropping a branch.

This nice couple who planted those seedlings in 1969?  Lovely people, I enjoyed chatting with them a bunch, but I rather wished they'd gone in for Fig Trees and maybe an oak or two.

Well, I'm off to do more raking, it's my new hobby and I've got the blisters to prove it. Wishing you a good night's sleep and a fair settlement from your insurance company

And isn't power wonderful?

Flick a switch and there it is.  What a treasure, eh? Appreciation is what I'm feeling.

Blessed Autumn after a hot summer--I can hardly wait to bake a pumpkin pie--and maybe a pecan one, too.  If the squirrels don't gobble up all the pecans--they're very busy right now in our pecan trees--you can hear them chomping away and throwing the shells at us.

To get you in the mood for coming Autumn, here's a nostalgic and sweet poem from our faithful bard, C.G. Mack:

A  LONE  SENTRY

Autumn---she's soon coming in...

In the midst of my flowers - this year was born
The absolutely tallest - stalk of horsey corn
The stalk, now tan - had been so bright green
With quite the largest ear - of corn I've seen

While peeking up - at that stately ear
Is the cutest pumpkin - how did it get here?
The corn can decorate - my autumn door
While a smiley pumpkin - will add much more...

--C.G. Mack

Last night's Morehead City Council meeting is much on my mind this morning.  If anyone else sat through the meeting, you deserve a tee-shirt that says “I survived the August 9th MC Town Council Meeting” for there was no A/C and it was broiling, sweat-dipping off the end of your nose hot...a wonder that tempers were held in check and everyone was so courteous and polite to one another's viewpoints.

We listened, we heard, we spoke—and I learned more about the Port and their business. That was a good thing.

So ever since the meeting, I've been thinking...

I truly recognize and honor both of the viewpoints represented.  The Clean County Coalition wants to protect our community from potential harm of a (possible) sulfur storage facility being built in the epi-center of our community, so very close to where we live and next to crucial infrastructure of bridge and main highway.  That makes a lot of sense to me.

And to be honest, I don't want that potential sword of Damocles hanging over my head, either. One spark, one lightening strike and poof, we all turn into either crispy critters or turn belly up like roaches sprayed with a toxic chemical.  Not a pretty picture for Port folks or town folks, either. Might never happen, of course, but it could...despite best business practices.  They don't call 'em accidents or Acts of God for nothing...

But on the other hand...

I heard the passionate and heart-felt words of the Port folks who spoke last night.  You could tell they love their families, their communities and their work.  Good people, these Port employees. I hold them in high regard and think we must do all we can to protect their jobs—and to add new jobs to the Port. As we heard last night, Port jobs are good jobs that have supported good families in our community for generations. We need more jobs, not fewer—and must protect the ones we have in our community.

The problem...

From what I heard last night, and please correct me if I'm wrong, but I heard that right now PCS Phosphate now supplies the Port with 90% of their bulk cargo tonnage—and that there needs to be a certain amount of tonnage that passes through our Port in order to receive subsidies to dredge to keep our deep water open and not silting up.  So if those facts are valid, and I've no reason to doubt them, then we've got a problem.

Back in the day when I owned a business, my Daddy (a smart man!) cautioned me not to ever find myself in the position of having just one main customer, 'cause should I lose that customer, it would devastate my business. I'd be beholden to that one client for my livelihood, and they could pretty much dictate my business life. And hold me in their power.

Now, and I'm just thinking out loud here--jump in any time and tell me I'm full of beans--but if PCS is responsible for 90% of the Port's current tonnage, then isn't there a problem here? Isn't the situation at the Port just what my Daddy warned me against?

Doesn't the Port need to divide up the pie more, find more business partners so they don't have to accept any and all dangerous proposals from their 90% customer?

Right now as it stands, couldn't this main customer throw their weight around and threaten to pull out, leaving our Port high and dry and without the tonnage they need to keep the waterway dredged, deep and open?

Sounds downright scary to me, one customer having all that power

So that's the situation and that's the problem as I see it.  The Port needs more customers, more business partners, and more bulk cargo representing more tonnage—and if that bulk cargo is of a nature that's  not potentially harmful to the community, then problem solved.

Am I being too naive about this? If so, please let me hear from you. I want to learn from you.

Surely there must be other bulk cargo that's not explosive or puts stuff in the air that causes asthma, itchy eyes and worse. Let's seek out bulk cargo that's safe for the Port workers who move and store the stuff—and safe for the community we all share.

If we can do this, it's a win-win for all of us. I do believe this can be achieved. So let's put on our thinking caps and see what we can do pulling together as a community.

I'd especially welcome hearing from Port people as they're the ones who know the Port business and the ones who likely have the smart ideas to help the Port prosper and grow in happy, healthy ways.

As far as the zoning...

I think the conversation needs to continue, but right now I'm thinking that dangerous, potentially smelly or explosive substances need to be zoned out so we can all sleep safely in our beds and so Port workers are protected from handling things that can harm them.

Your ideas wanted....

Should you write in to comment—and I hope you do—I'd like to ask a favor of you:  send in your suggestions and ideas of what bulk cargo, what companies you'd like to see as Port business partners.  Partners that could deliver more bulk cargo, more tonnage and more safety and security to the community we share with the Port.

Who do you know, who are your contacts that might help us grow the Port and its jobs? How can you help grow a healthy Port with a healthy bottom line?

Editor's note:  David DuBuisson of  Beaufort has written an opinion piece that appeared in yesterday's Raleigh News & Observer.  Because his piece covers the sulfur issue in depth and brings to light new information, we asked his permission to re-print his piece here on Vibrant Village.  It appears below in its entirety.

Why we're still sulfurious

BEAUFORT -- There were moments recently when folks around here were briefly tempted to ease up on the cynicism toward politicians that all Americans feel these days.

Our state representative, Pat McElraft, who just weeks before had been a big backer of legislation that strips away vital environmental protections, suddenly rode onto the scene as the knight on the white horse ready to battle PCS Phosphate over its plan to bring sulfur pollution to the port at Morehead City. Then, just at the crucial moment, McElraft raced back to Raleigh and helped to override Gov. Bev. Perdue's veto of Senate Bill 781, the environmental home-wrecker that makes it much harder to stop an outfit like PCS. Cynicism ruled again.

But wait, here came Perdue herself, flying into Morehead City and announcing that she had persuaded PCS Phosphate to give up its plans for a sulfur melting plant at the port. The news won her a standing ovation, easily canceling out the boos she'd heard moments earlier after claiming, against all evidence, that the PCS sulfur plans for the port had been public knowledge right from the start.

(Did it ever occur to her honor that, had the sulfur scheme been public knowledge from the start, the public would not have waited a whole year before rising up en masse as the bipartisan Clean County Coalition and saying "No Way!"?)

Many of us who gathered in a two-acre warehouse at the port to hear the governor noticed that her applause line fell just shy of a total victory for the coalition. OK, PCS Phosphate was giving up the sulfur smelter at the port, but that was only part of the community's objection. What worried us even more was the prospect of dry sulfur - pelleted or in any form - being loaded, unloaded, conveyed and stored in the middle of our neighborhood.

You don't have to look very far to learn that sulfur dust is explosive, flammable and, when it mixes with air and water, corrosive and potentially toxic. That's what industry experts tell you. That's what the State Port's own safety manual tells port employees.

Smokestacks thrusting 152 feet into the sky were a dramatic symbol of what the PCS operation could do to a community whose lifeblood is tourism. But the less graphic part is the more worrisome: Solid sulfur being offloaded, conveyed and stored generates dust. It can't be easily contained because confined sulfur dust is explosive and highly flammable.

Why are the people of Carteret County so exercised that the governing boards of Beaufort, Morehead City, every other municipality and the county itself have condemned this development? It sounds like the old NIMBY syndrome - not in my backyard. But this is about the front yard. It's not the ocean view we're worried about, either, but the clean air and water that make our part of the state so desirable. It is NIMFY.

Carteret County earns $270 million a year through tourism. PCS, the prime tenant of the State Port at Morehead City, contributes at most $1.3 million a year to the port's deficit budget and nothing to the local tax coffers.

Two weeks after the PCS sulfur plant became public, a local real estate agent reported two sales lost because of it. My own little bed and breakfast had three cancellations this summer because of air quality - the perceived effects of forest fires 100 miles away. What would people think about sulfur dust in the air year-round?

Working to keep our air safe for him--and his future children--to breathe...

PCS might object at this point that the environmental impacts of what it proposes are mostly speculative. And that's true, because neither PCS nor the state has ever opened the company's glib environmental assumptions to objective, public scrutiny.

For reasons that only a Raleigh bureaucrat could appreciate, the PCS project was whisked through the approval process, including a parody of "public comment," without any actual opportunity for public challenge. Some local officials got wind of it but under strict orders not to let the public know.

In that port warehouse the other day, Perdue addressed the issue of secrecy in a curious way. First, she denied that it had happened, and then she promised that it wouldn't happen again. "Transparency," she said, would hereafter be the watchword. Right away, she said, there would be a 90-day moratorium on any developments at the port. That's what she said, though her printed remarks made no mention of a moratorium.

Three days later, word on the street was that PCS Phosphate was proceeding with plans for a dry sulfur receiving and storage facility at Morehead City. The coalition has been unable to confirm this, but understandably is preparing for the worst.

Once again, folks around here have been disabused of our native longing to believe we have a political system worthy of the people who cast the votes. Once again, we're left to wonder if the governor who flies in and admires our "cute" green T-shirts that say "Sulfurious" wouldn't really rather be schmoozing with the guys in the sharkskin suits.

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David DuBuisson is a Beaufort resident who, with his wife, operates a bed and breakfast. He is a member of the Clean County Coalition.