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Every Point of Refuge Has Its Price

Posted by on March 11, 2013



A restless gnaw is planting its roots.  Time is drawing nigh for the instinctive move. It always comes, without rhyme or reason. It seems innate. My world is perfect. There is much to interest anyone here. The weather has been as good as it gets in the Carolinas. Acquaintances around every corner.

 Forest Gump ran across America, only to find the Pacific and turn to make the trip back again. And for no apparent reason, he stops one day and just quits. Thats the way I feel about placing camping roots. Moving on just because its time to do so. Every point of refuge has its price.

The final act couldn’t have been better scripted as a jet deposited I couldn’t think of a better surprise to the end of this leg than a visit from Erin, a daughter both inspiring and motivating at the Wilmington airport for a few days visit.

Our time was filled with our normal dining experiences, shopping for an upcoming christening, cruising the Strand, and freezing our asses off as Atlantic winds dawned goose bumps on exposed arms  at high tide.

The desserts, grilled hibachi, laughter and relaxation gave way to another Noreaster. Erin attempted to print her boarding pass 24 hours prior to boarding only to find that Philadelphia International would be closed the next day.

After scurrying through a myriad of phone calls, a wonderful lady on the flip side of the line, saved a spot if we could make it to Wilmington in the next two hours.

A quick shower and even faster packing, a gulp of dinner on the way, and a heavy foot delivered Erin to her appointed post ten minutes prior to boarding. Several hours later, a long awaited text signaled her safe arrival home.

The week ended with perhaps the final rounds of Myrtle golf, a road trip to Fort Fisher and the breakers oceanside, and a half-hour ferry boat ride across the Cape Fear River to the quaint decor of the village Southport, befriending birds and surfers along the way.

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