Last Friday continued the (at this point in the season) seemingly endless trend of warm, sticky conditions we've been experiencing. (Tangent alert: as I was deciding how to describe our weather just now, it occurred to me that while those two particular adjectives aren't terribly pleasant when characterizing the discomfort of Summer-weary humans...they would be absolutely delightful when applied to, say, a freshly-baked cinnamon roll...mmm, how's that for reframing? Sorry, back on topic...)Nevertheless, I had an unusually light day of errands to address, and an urge to go explore...somewhere...so I picked a historic spot I hadn't visited yet, grabbed my camera, and hit the highway. Or perhaps I should say "rural back roads", since my route took me south and west, through...well, basically the proverbial middle-of-nowhere...ville.
It was definitely scenic and peaceful, though, so the 45 minutes passed enjoyably--with me singing along to my showtunes playlist and wondering just where the HECK I was going to end up whenever the GPS cheerfully informed me "you've arrived!" As it turned out...a modest structure known as any one of the following: 1) the Alston House, after its first owner, a Whig colonel on the colonial side during the Revolutionary War; 2) the House in the Horseshoe, based on it being situated within a bend in the Deep River, which flows nearby; or 3) the Retreat, so designated by North Carolina Governor Benjamin Williams, who purchased it after Alston left.I didn't feel compelled to take the formal tour, but I peeked in the windows and strolled around the grounds for a while, (sweating and) relishing the bucolic farmland surrounding the property. I also read up on the historical background--about how in 1781, Alston and a group of his soldiers who were camping out at the homestead clashed with Tory forces, culminating in casualties on both sides, and Alston's ultimate surrender. (Supposedly there are still bullet holes in the walls of the home...I took their word for it.)
Having satisfied my educational and photographic needs, I headed back toward the Triangle, knowing that I'd be stopping several times along the way to take a closer look at a couple of things that had captured my interest on the trip out. For example, a tiny little...really, "town" is too strong a word for it...I don't know, "borough" maybe?...called Goldston, which sits next to a set of train tracks, and as far as I could tell consists of a couple of restaurants, a bank, a post office, and a gas station. However, they proudly proclaim (in no fewer than two spots) their pride for (wait for it) Charlie Daniels, he of the fiddle-playing Devil Went Down to Georgia fame. (Ahhh...America...)
And then there was the outpost that I'd passed--not near anything, as far as I could tell--with an irresistible old Esso gasoline pole, and a set of businesses that I wasn't entirely sure were open...or abandoned. I mean, the signage looked to be recent, and in good shape. But the buildings themselves...well, let's just go with "rustic" (one of them a smidgen shy of "dilapidated", to be honest). Still, I felt like I had to tiptoe around with my camera, in case I was, you know, trespassing or something. I'm happy to report that no attack watchdogs came after me; nor did I hear sirens approaching while I snapped a few pictures...and then skedaddled.
So there you have it: a low-key field trip which included a lovely drive through the countryside, a little bit of learning, and a glimpse of some previously unknown (to me) parts of the state. Not a bad Friday's "work", if I do say so myself!
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