Wrightsville Beach

"Do you miss the beach?" I get that question at least once a week, and the answer is always an unequivocal "Well, yes and no". Ann and I were back in the old haunts earlier last week, saw several of our old neighbors and friends, and stirred up some pretty strong memories, both good and bad.

The bottom line, of course, is sure, you bet, I'll always miss Wrightsville Beach. Parts of it, anyway. The house, of course, #12 Birmingham Street, was our pride and joy, a 70 year old upstairs-downstairs duplex that had been rented out as a party and summer vacation home. We filled two huge trash bags with plastic flowers and gift shop trash when we moved in! The kitchen floor sagged to the west and the front bedroom sagged to the east, but we loved it and happily raised a wonderful family there. #12 sheltered us as we survived numerous hurricanes, a couple of personal crises, and the loss of parents who loved it as much as we did. Over the next 28 years we slowly renovated it into a warm and gracious home and garden which none of us will ever forget. Sure, we'll always miss Wrightsvile Beach, at least that part of it.



One of its attractions for us was not only the house itself, but the fact that it was just a hop, skip and jump away from the beach and the ocean. Just to know it was there, so close to us, was a source of peace and contentment, and that little path that led to the beach, sand spurs and all, might as well have been a street paved with gold. It was guarded by a lone and seemingly indestructible bird house, surviving dozens of hurricanes and developers' bulldozers. Several times a day, winter and summer, we'd walk our path to check out the beach, just to be sure it was still there and to soak in its treasures. You bet we miss it.




A short walk in the other direction, away from the beach, and we were in Roberts Grocery, presided over by Eva Cross, who always had a smile and a greeting for everyone, who sympathetically sent us some chicken soup when someone had a cold, and who even knew what color M&Ms Ann's father preferred. Everyone ran a tab (we were, as I recall, #192) and if you didn't pay for three or four months you might get a hand-written bill in the mail. It was said that we really didn't need a refrigerator in the house back then, since all we had to do was run down to Roberts for whatever we needed. Roberts was way more than a mere grocery store, and we sure do miss it.



We even had a personal investment in Roberts. Back in 1983, while fishing a marlin tournament in Morehead City with Heywood Newkirk, I snagged a white marlin, which was properly embalmed and hung on our stairway wall. Over the years its beady glass eye tormented many a grandchild, and it became a magnificent dust catcher. During one of our periodic renovations years later, the time came for it to be evacuated, so I did the only logical thing: I asked Mrs. Cross if she knew who might like to have it. "I would", she immediately replied, and to this day it hangs (appropriately enough) over the beer cooler in the store. I miss it, and still go by to check on it.



Sure, we miss Wrightsville Beach, but to everything, including beach living, there is a season, and that season ended for us two years ago. The "cute cottage" that everyone admired was becoming an expensive and worrisome albatross. People walking on the beach weren't exchanging greetings any more. Roberts Grocery became "Robert's Inc." and added boutique coffee and ice cream stands. Hummers began to outnumber the pickup trucks. It was time for us to go.

So we shed a few tears (well, more than a few), gathered up our memories, and sold #12 to a friend who knew that when folks these days look for a nice house at the beach they expect walk-in closets and two sinks in the bathrooms and such amenities. Our house was a dinosaur, and it had to go the way of dinosaurs. #12 Birmingham Street was demolished to make way for #10, a new home with many virtues, of course, but it wasn't the old Wrightsville Beach cottage. I feel safe in saying that whatever the virtues of #10, it will never be a home people love like we loved old #12. Yep, we miss it.



P.S. For those who read last week's comments about the neighbor's house fire, I'm happy to report that Kasper the cat is home! She somehow snuggled underneath a pile of debris and hid there for several days until the family heard a faint, "Meow" and gave a somewhat happy ending to an otherwise true tragedy.