Stranger In A Strange Land
Stranger In A Strange Land
Neither Heinlein nor the Bible — just me in North Carolina
Four years ago, my wife and I drove across the United States in a rented moving truck and pulled into a driveway in Huntersville, North Carolina, in front of a house we would share with our younger daughter, her husband, and one of our grandchildren. It was a large, pleasant, brickface house we were renting, with a large backyard often visited by deer with a garage once visited by a baby rattlesnake.
We would spend much of the COVID lockdown in that house. We’d be in the Lake Norman area, for lack of a better term, for good. I haven’t been comfortable here, but of course, I’m not complaining.
My wife and I have spent many years nomadic, especially over the last quarter century. I used to travel for work, and my projects were often months and sometimes years long. We owned RVs one at a time and enjoyed living in different places. We loved our two years living in Ann Arbor, MI —midwestern friendliness, college town entertainment, and intellectual stimulation—what was not to like? Being in Southern California for seven years was fine, even in the summer roasting pan that is the San Gabriel Valley. Four months here, four months there, it was fun — even four months in the flattest place on Earth: Lubbock, Texas, where our dog Peanut could chase prairie dogs to her heart’s content. I can enjoy four months just about anywhere.
But moving to North Carolina as a permanent resident, I didn’t know what to expect. Do you want to know what I thought of this state before I moved here?
That, and Mayberry.
So I started off with some prejudices.
My wife and I now live several miles north of Charlotte in the town of Davidson, whose motto is “College Town. Lake Town. Your Town.” Davidson is best known for Davidson College, where Steph Curry went to school. Writers William Styron and Patricia Cornwell went to school there. Also, Dean Rusk. Extra points if you knew who any of these people were besides Curry.
Anyway, Davidson is a lovely town with a nice library, quaint shops, and a park with a lake-filled pond where ducks, geese, turtles, and a heron enjoy hanging out. My favorite place in Davidson is Raeford’s Barber Shop, where Ron Raeford, T, Quentin, and Tim give great haircuts and maintain a never-ending conversation about basketball.
Still, I am a Brooklyn boy for whom all this is strange indeed. Nice, but strange.
Idyllic, right?
But only a few miles up the road, in Mooresville:
And at our local Walmart parking lot:
So I’ve spent four years trying to make peace with the dichotomy, one day at a time.
We go to Charlotte sometimes. A small part of Charlotte is almost a city, and none of it satisfies my need for a city.
Still and all, it’s a nice place. Nice. Not wonderful or terrible, not exciting or boring. Nice. Or maybe I just miss New York City.
Don’t get me wrong — I’m grateful to have a home, and to have my kids and grandkids so close to us, but I don’t understand why people down here won’t pull into the intersection prior to making a left turn!
Joe South wrote a song:
Don't it make you wanna go home?
All God's children get weary when they roam
Don't it make you wanna go home?
"Butter Ball" 😆
OK crossing NC off my list now. Maybe a city in Maine? Vermont? Still cold there, but at least more urbane and less hicky-hick.