“But he knew that time only moved evenly upon the hands of clocks: to men it can linger and almost stop dead, race on, leap chasms, and linger again.” ~R.C. Sherriff
I’ve been reading The Fortnight in September, a book about a family going on their annual vacation to the English seaside. It’s an old story first published in 1931 which beautifully captures the ordinary magic of traveling. The family trip serves as respite from daily life and offers up time for reflection and rest away from the rush of work and home.
The story unfolds on the evening before the trip begins, which is its own kind of pleasure, then follows the family as they embark on the train journey to the sea. Suddenly, they are transplanted from the routine of their daily life to the wonder of their vacation. Author R.C. Sherriff masterfully conveys that feeling of transport from the grind into leisure. The mind and the body on vacation unfurl in unexpected ways when the days loosen and the hours are no longer constrained by 9-5 tasks. There is a feeling of infinite possibility when traveling because the day is unwritten, a true blank slate to etch with experience.
“In a fortnight, he would be sitting in this room on the last evening, thinking how the first night of the holiday seemed like yesterday-full of regrets at wasted time...” ~R.C. Sherriff
Our family’s travels don’t often look like the Stevens’ family trip depicted in this novel because we never stay in one place for two weeks, and we don’t really have a location we return to again and again as a yearly tradition. The closest we ever came to our own fortnight in September was a summertime week spent in Nags Head in a rented beach house with our extended family.
Nags Head is the nearest thing I have to a place of family pilgrimage, but growing up we mostly took daily trips to the Outer Banks on weekends. When we had the opportunity to spend a week with our big family, we didn’t hesitate. Three generations under one roof with just about all ages represented offered amazing opportunities for connection and for giving the ultimate gift to everyone: time. That’s what my older sister said when she started arranging the trip and finding the beach house to rent. She wanted to give my mother the gift of time with us and with her growing grandkids. So, we all piled into a big house near the beach and lived amongst each other for a few halcyon days in June.
Upon arrival, my sister doled out the rooms to the couples and crammed the kids into the nooks and crannies of the house. Located right across the street from the Atlantic Ocean with a nice pool nestled in behind it for everyone to enjoy, it was abundantly clear that this structure was built for relaxation and reflection. Yes, this was a gift from my sister to my Mom, but it was really a gift to all of us.
As we sat one evening on one of the three decks at the front of the house contemplating the good life, we tried to remember when the last time was that Chris and I had been together for more than a day or two in North Carolina with my family. After some debate, we realized it had been over 30 years. The last week we spent together in a beach house occurred while we were still in high school.
That week we were teenagers, and were quickly becoming inseparable and in love. So my mom and stepdad invited Chris to come with us to stay in a beach house in Corolla over our Spring Break. During that week, we enjoyed the time with my family but we also tried to find any minute we could to be alone.
Thinking back on that first visit, we remembered waking up early one morning and seeing the wild horses in Corolla. We remembered my Granny being with us just sitting and observing. We remembered walking on the beach holding hands and shooting baskets at the hoop outside the house.
We remembered my stepdad and Chris going fishing at the crack of dawn because the schools of bluefish were running along the shore. After a few hours of casting, they returned with nothing, not a single fish. My stepdad told Chris the fish would be biting in the afternoon, but we were desperate for those minutes together. So, when my stepdad loaded up the Chevy Blazer again to go for the second run, Chris stayed with me and we went to the movies instead.
After the movie ended, we returned to the beach house and my stepdad was still gone. When he finally pulled into the driveway, Chris asked him “Did you catch anything?” My stepdad smiled and said “Come on over to the back of the truck, I want to show you something.”
As soon as he opened it up, Chris turned and looked at me shaking his head. The back of the Blazer was completely full of huge bluefish. It was a fish bonanza. All these years later, there is still pride in my stepdad’s voice when we recall this story and sadness on Chris’ face!
The beaches of Carolina contain so much history for fishermen, for families, and for me. I have so many memories of days spent in the sun and nights, too with the sun still burning on my skin.
How many friends and families over the years have surfed, grilled, golfed, fished, rested, and relaxed on these lovely dunes on the Carolina shore?
My sister’s gift was one that still resonates and keeps giving today. The chance to be together spending time doing nothing in particular was priceless. It is something we will never forget and something that will stay with us like our first memories there all those years ago.
I adore these stories because I’ve been there….to these beaches growing up!!Driving with friends or family ,stopping before we went out onto the sand to drop the pressure in the tires of my broncho😍(even though we always seemed to get stuck somewhere)listening to the Smiths!!Your words make me stop for a few minutes and reminisce…I love all of the tiny details ,thank you so much 💚