Living at the River

There is very little better than walking out my front door on a cool morning with a cup of coffee in my hand and traveling the 50 feet to the edge of the Neuse River. Often I'll see dolphins traveling up or down the river, but always there are the lonely cries of the gulls, the splash of mullet jumping, and the silent flight of pelicans skimming inches above the water. We have a blue heron who lives in the cypress swamp to the east--my family named it "Paul"--and who likes to sit on one of the posts just offshore, if they are not occupied by pelicans.

In warm weather (and in eastern North Carolina it's almost always warm) my walk out to the river usually is preceded by watching one of the chameleons--collectively named "Andrew"--sunning on the front porch. These lizards occasionally get into the house, requiring us to chase and catch them in a coffee can for delivery back outside.

It's unusual to get all the way to the river without our dogs--Smut, Mischief, Black Dog and Abbey (although, strictly speaking, Abbey is my daughter's dog), all black labs, and our orange dog, Luce (Latin for "in the light," although as a Southerner I think of her as Lou Kay)--spotting me and joining in a loud, cacophanous canine chorus.

As nice as all that is, there is one thing better: Sitting on the deck by the river on a hot afternoon with a cooler of cold beer by my side, and an open one in my hand. It's enough to make me forget about the terrible trio, Iraq, Iran and North Korea, the presidential campaign, Paris Hilton, and the like. At least until I go inside to watch the news.