On the ground in Paris

Here I am at Roissy CDG, the main Paris airport. My 77th Atlantic crossing went smoothly, though with a good amount of turbulence. I'm having a croissant and a café crème as I try to kill the time until my train departs for Tours, in the Loire Valley, at 10:16 a.m. I just called Walt, and he told me he has made a coq au vin for today's lunch.

So, I'M BAAAACK!

My last day in Morehead

We call our town "Morehead"  the way New Yorkers call their city "New York"  — "City" is understood. Yesterday was my last full day here in the town where I was born and grew up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be a year before I come back for another visit. Here are five photos I took yesterday afternoon.

One of Morehead's oldest neighborhoods is called Conchs Point. (I would have put an apostrophe somewhere in that name.) My Aunt Alena lived over there for years, with her husband George Snooks. Do you know what a conch is? Or how to pronounce the word?

Here's another photo that I took at Conchs Point. It's where the street ends, at the edge of a salt marsh.

The old and the new: the local people used to make their living or ensure their subsistence by fishing for conchs, crabs, small fish, or shrimp using flat-bottomed skiffs to ply the waters. Nowadays, outsiders come in and build monster mansions on what used to be farmland.

One of the main residential streets in Morehead is Evans Street, which runs west from the waterfront (with its fishing boats and seafood restaurants) for 35 or so blocks out to what used to be the edge of town. I grew up on Evans Street at 14th Street. The house above was the home of Ed and Dorothy Oglesby, with their five children. They were all distant cousins of ours, I think, and our friends.

Toward its western end, Evans Street again runs along the shore of Bogue Sound, and is lined with many impressive live oak trees. These are at Evans and 28th Streets. The houses are bigger over there, and many of them are summer homes.

Pecans

I know that the fancy way to pronounce "pecan" is something like [pih-KAHN], but where I come from — and we grow them — it's a [PEE-kan]. I can hear you snickering. But I will not be deterred — I'll continue to say it the right way.

The pecan tree is a large hickory (same word in French) — Carya illinoinensis or illinoensis — that has roughish bark and brittle wood. It is widely grown in the warmer parts of North America for its edible nut, which has a thin shell and a rich, buttery taste. It's the American walnut that's better-tasting than the nut called la noix de Grenoble in Quebec or the English walnut in the U.S.

Wikipedia says that the pecan tree can live and produce edible nuts for as long as 300 years. Thomas Jeffereson and George Washington planted pecan trees on their estates in Virginia. The nut has been grown commercially only since the 1880s. I think the trees and nuts have been "improved" by breeding and selection.

Pecan comes from an Algonquian word meaning "a nut requiring a stone to crack" — but the ones that grow on the tree pictured above, which grows in the back yard of the house in Morehead City that I grew up in, are called "paper-shells" and are very easy to crack open.

I'll be packing a bag full of pecans to take back to Saint-Aignan on Tuesday. We'll enjoy them in pumpkin bread, applesauce cake, or pecan pie. You can freeze the nutmeats with good results after you take them out of the shells, by the way. I'd love to grow pecans in Saint-Aignan, but I'm told the summers are not hot enough to allow the pecans to ripen.

The Curb Market

This curb market is in Morehead City, North Carolina, but there are curb markets in Atlanta, Georgia; Greensboro and Hendersonville, N.C.; and in Lakeland, Florida. I never knew any other city or town had an institution called a curb market until I googled the term a few minutes ago. Years ago, I looked around in the Sweet Auburn market in Atlanta, when I was there on business, but I didn't know it was also called a "curb market."

In my experience of the world, there was always a curb market. It's another name for a farmers' market. The one in Morehead was just over a block — a couple of hundred meters — from our house. Local farmers brought vegetables, fruit, eggs, and meats there on Saturday mornings to sell to the people in the town.

The Morehead Curb Market is still going strong in 2014. My mother's sister is one of the people who keep it going. Some of the most typical local produce is Bogue Sound watermelons (very sweet), paper-shell pecans (very nutty and easy to shell), cabbages, collard greens, pole beans, and tomatoes. The tomatoes love the sandy soil here, and the hot summer temperatures, which are moderated by the constant sea breeze.

I wish it were summer right now, but it's not. The market doesn't open for the season until May 3, so I've missed it. My aunt and her daughter are busy preparing for the opening, painting tables and stands that the produce is displayed on. We went down and visited with them today at noontime, while they worked.

The Curb Market is located in The Promise Land, one of Morehead City's most distinctive and picturesque neighborhoods. A neighborhood preservation society was formed a few years ago, and last year the first Promise Land festival was held and the first Promise Land book was published.

The sandy, well-drained soil of Morehead City is perfect for plants like this prickly pear cactus.

The Promise Landers descended from whalers who used to live in a village on the sandy barrier island named Shackleford Banks, until a storm nearly washed the village away in 1900. At that point, they moved all their belongings, including their little frame houses, to the mainland by barge and boat, and they settled in a waterfront neighborhood in Morehead City. I grew up there.

I forgot

I forgot to write a blog post yesterday! I'm several hours late posting. I guess I was busy and having a good time. So, quickly, here are four houses I  noticed in Beaufort, North Carolina, over the past week:

 This one is a gîte or vacation rental property.

This one is a restaurant and B & B called The Cedars.

This one is a restaurant located on the boardwalk along the Beaufort waterfront.

And this one is another B & B, located on a side street just off Front Street.

Yesterday, my sister and I drove down to the city of Wilmington, N.C. — metro area population 260,000, which makes it the size of Tours — to have lunch with a friend down there. It's about a 90-minute drive each way. The temperature was right at 80ºF (27ºC) and we enjoyed the ride in my sister's convertible, with the top down. I was too busy to take any photos.

An exciting trip to the airport

We had an exciting journey yesterday. Evelyn and Lewis were flying out, and I was driving them to the closest airport, which is almost at hour away by car. Luckily, we left a little early.

Artwork in the airport at New Bern, N.C.

I decided to take the smaller and faster of the two roads up to New Bern, which is N.C. Highway 101. That way, you avoid passing through a couple of larger towns where there are a lot of traffic lights that can slow you down.

The highly recommended Beaufort Grocery restaurant was open for lunch except on the day we were there...

Unfortunately, we came upon a serious traffic accident that had the whole roadway shut down. I actually saw the collision happen, right in front of me, but I have no idea why it happened. The two vehicles just suddenly ran square into each other. Whatever. I hope nobody was badly hurt. We had no choice but to backtrack and drive through the larger towns anyway.

Springtime blossoms in North Carolina

We made it to the airport with only a few minutes to spare. It's a small airport that only small aircraft fly into, so there are no long check-in lines. The weather was gorgeous. E. and L. didn't miss their plane.

How about a scenic three-hour tour?

For me, it was a pretty special two days, showing friends around my home town and county. I hope E. and L. enjoyed it half as much as I did. And on the third day, I rested.

Views from the Inlet Inn in Beaufort

My friends Evelyn and Lewis are staying at the Inlet Inn in Beaufort, North Carolina, while they are here in Carteret County. Their room has a private front porch overlooking the waterfront and the body of water called Taylor's Creek. Here are three views from that porch, taken yesterday afternoon.

Beaufort is a popular stopping-off point for people traveling by boat from New England and other points north down toward Florida. It's a pretty little port town full of historic houses, restaurants, cafés, and grocery stores.

The state bird, the state flower, and a state park

Every U.S. state has a state bird and a state flower. Some probably have a state insect and a state seashell. North Carolina's state bird is the cardinal. The male is bright red. My photo is kind of blurry, but it was the best I could do in rainy weather.

The N.C. state flower is the dogwood. They are starting to bloom now. The dogwood is a small flowering tree. I think this one is Cornus florida. But don't quote me.

My friends Lewis and Evelyn had a good day. The rain held off and we took a nice walk around the old town of Beaufort, N.C., including a look around the old burial ground. Then we drove to Harker's Island and saw the visitors center and a video about the area at the Cape Lookout National Seashore.

In the afternoon, we toured Fort Macon, an 1830s-era fortification at Beaufort Inlet, on the east end of the barrier island called Bogue Banks. My mother came with us. With my sister, we had dinner at Clawson's Emporium and Restaurant on the Beaufort waterfront.

Here, for those of you who know them, is a photo of Evelyn and Lewis taken at Fort Macon. We've been friends for l0 years now, and we owe that to the Internet.

Arriving in a tornado

Or almost. My friends Evelyn and Lewis are scheduled to arrive in North Carolina this evening, flying into the airport closest to my home town. They're coming just to see this part of the world for the first time, and to visit with me.

I love to buy and cook shrimp when I'm in North Carolina.

About three hours ago, a tornado touched down near Belhaven, N.C., about two hours north of where I am. A band of heavy thunderstorms is moving south to north right now, between here and the airport. My sister and I will be leaving in a few minutes to drive up there and pick up E & L. Wish us luck.

Seen in a shopping center parking lot west of Morehead City

The next two days are going to be busy, assuming E & L get here tonight. Flights coming from Charlotte might be delayed or canceled. We'll see.

Visiting the cemetery and remembering our ancestors

My sister and I spent some time at the local cemetery Saturday afternoon. The weather was warm and sunny, and we had to walk around and search for a while before locating our relatives' and ancestors' graves. We'd been there many times before, but mostly with my mother as a guide, and she knows the cemetery better than we do. This time, she stayed at home.

Above are the graves of our great-great grandparents — the grandparents of our maternal grandmother. I think I've got that right. Benjamin J. Willis was born in 1851 and died in 1924 when the horse pulling his wagon bucked and threw him to the ground. At age 73, he didn't survive the fall. Benjamin was a farmer and a carpenter. His wife Ida L. Willis née Lawrence outlived him by 11 years. She gave birth to 10 children over the course of their marriage — five girls and five boys. She died of a heart attack of some kind on Christmas Day in 1935, at age 70.

On the left is my great-grandmother's grave. She was Annie Pamelia (Millie) Willis née Daniels, my maternal grandmother's mother. She died in the Great Flu Epidemic of 1918 at the age of 32. Her husband Howard Closs Willis, my great-grandfather, is buried in a grave without a headstone.

Howard and Millie had two daughters, one of whom (my grandmother) I never knew but a second (a great-aunt) who I knew very well. Howard was born in 1879, when his mother was very young, and as an adult was a butcher and grocer by trade. He died in 1935, not long before his mother Ida had her heart attack.

I never knew any of these people. Nor did I ever know my maternal grandparents, Joseph Allen Miller and Mary Daniels Willis ép. Miller, who also had two daughters. My mother says she remembers seeing her grandfather Howard and great-grandmother Ida each only once, toward the end of their lives. She remembers Howard as a very old man sitting in a straight-backed chair, his knees covered by a lap robe. He was about 56 years old at the time of his death. A few years later, my maternal grandfather died shortly before his 40th birthday in 1939, and my maternal grandmother died, at age 43, one month after I was born in 1949.

The place where all these ancestors of ours are buried is called Bayview Cemetery. My father, paternal grandparents, numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins, and many other relatives and family friends are buried there too. I knew many of them before they passed away. If you look carefully, you will see that most of the graves in the photo above carry the name of Willis. None of these deceased Willises were close relatives of mine, as far as I know.

Hot shopping

Some of the things I take back to France are hot sauces from Mexico, North Carolina, and Louisiana. Don't be fooled by the name Texas Pete — it's an authentic Tarheel product. The largest bottle in the photo below contains Scott's barbecue sauce, made in the town of Goldsboro. It's vinegar, water, salt, peppers, and spices, and it's good on pork or poultry.

I always go to the Mexican grocery while I'm here. I can't find whole allspice berries (pimienta dulce entera) or Mexican oregano (oregano entera, which is actually a kind of verbena) in the American supermarkets — not even in their Latino foods sections. I certainly can't find them in Saint-Aignan. BTW, chipotles are smoked jalapeño peppers.

Two downtown images

Today, my mother and I paid a visit to The History Place, which is Morehead City's museum and cultural center. An old friend of mine — we grew together as playmates, neighbors, and distant cousins — does genealogy research there on a volunteer basis. We talked about old times and the old families of the town.

Morehead was founded as a municipality only in the mid-1850s, but Europeans have lived here on the spit of land where the town is located, known earlier as Shepard's Point, since the mid- to late 1600s. In fact, the first English colony in the New World was established just a few miles north (or east — there is some question about which coastal island it was located on) in 1585, but it was a failure. The colonists all disappeared within a couple of years and were never heard from again. The first English child ever born in America was born there, during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I in England.

As for the town gate mentioned on the sign on the left, a few decades later it was moved to 14th street. That's where my family lived starting in the late 1800s or earlier. It's where I lived from 1949 until about 1970, and where my mother lived, in the same house, from 1951 until 2005. I was born in a neighborhood called "the promise land" (the land of promise). We were part of the local clan of people named Willis, who came here from England.

This wall painting on a downtown building is much more recent. The story is that it was painted by a group of high school students, maybe in the 1980s. By then, I had been making trips to France, and living there off and on in, for more than a decade.

Dominoes

Wednesday evening, my mother went over to one of the retirement complex's commons rooms for her regular game of dominoes with some of her friends and neighbors. They asked me to come over and observe, and maybe even play a couple of rounds with them.

When I got there, they had already started. At the last minute, I had grabbed my camera. I asked them if I could take their picture, and I snapped one before anybody could get self-conscious or say no.

It's obvious that Jean, MA (my mother, in the center of the picture), Joanie, Lynn, and Agnes were having a good time. There's a nice atmosphere around the game table. I didn't participate as a player, but I did get a good understanding of the rules of the game.

Early mornings

I'm still getting up very early — 4:30 this morning. I looked up what time to expect sunrise and saw 6:53 a.m. So just after six I got dressed and went out for a drive, thinking I would take some photos.

The Atlantic surf and the offshore end of a fishing pier on North Carolina's Crystal Coast

The scene before dawn on the Morehead City waterfront

Problem was, it was still dark. And then when the sun did come up in a crystal clear sky, it was so bright that it made photography difficult. So I came back to my mother's place with very little in the camera. If I'm up early again tomorrow, I might try again.

Lagging

I was lucid and energetic yesterday morning, but in the afternoon I was zoning out. Jet lag. It was about midnight in France as I typed this, but only 6 p.m. here in N.C. Maybe today I'll get better adjusted.

I went out yesterday morning. I drove over the bridge to the barrier island that separates the town from the ocean. The island, a 25-mile-long strip of sand,  is covered in big houses called "cottages" and with condo complexes now. There's also a supermarket. I had shopping to do.

I forgot to take my camera. The weather was beautiful, and the water in the sound (the bay or lagune or étang) was silvery smooth and the sky bright blue. You'll just have to believe me. Later in the day, so that I'd have something to put on the blog this morning, I went out and took a couple of photos in the salt marsh behind my mother's place. Maybe I'll do better tomorrow.

Arrived

Here's a summary of my day: The view from my hotel room at Paris CDG airport Sunday afternoon...

The view on my seatback video screen on the plane late yesterday afternoon...

And the view out the window of the plane at about the same hour.

I'm tired, but happy to be here. And that is not a poisson d' avril.

Hotel minimalism

Here's where I'm waking up this morning. It's a hotel room at Charles de Gaulle airport, north of Paris. By the way, I took these pictures a year ago, when I made exactly the same trip.

The hotel is part of the French Ibis [ee-BEESS] chain. The rooms are clean and comfortable, but the style is minimalist at best. The room is costing me a little less than 75 euros for the night. It's all very convenient.

In a couple of hours, I'll be in the air, winging my way to Charlotte in North Carolina. I'll arrive the same day, mid-afternoon, after eight hours on the plane.

An afternoon in Le Grand-Pressigny

On Monday, we drove down to Le Grand-Pressigny to inspect our friends' (Jean and Nick) kitchen stove. We still haven't decided what brand of new stove would be the best for us to buy, and J & N like theirs. It's what's called a cuisinière mixte — it has three gas burners and one electric burner on the cooktop, with an electric oven, just like the one we are replacing but from a different manufacturer.

While we were in LGP, as we've come to call it, we took a walk around the town and took some photos. I took this picture of the church.

And then I turned around and noticed Walt snapping a photo down a side street next to the Préhisto-Bar, where we were going to stop for something to drink.

That's Jean with J & N's dog Lulu, a standard-size poodle. The café is called the Préhisto because LGP was an important town in prehistoric times and was famous for the flint tools crafted there and widely used all over western Europe.