Ode to the Sound

This weekend we had the privilege of gathering together 20 of our closest friends and their families to engage in the traditional summer BBQ. It was outrageously fun and everyone left happy, full and exhausted. We are so fortunate to have the group of friends that we have. The girls and I have been through so much in the past few years; from the early days of trying to figure out what to do with the babies, to large family vacations, embarrassing nights on the town, surprise pregnancies(some of them twins!), losing loved ones and jobs and gaining so much more. In just two years I feel like I have lived a lifetime with these people and they really have become family.
I can not put into words the joy I feel when I see my little boys making memories and having the times of their lives. These are days I will never forget and hopefully, neither will they. I feel almost as if I am getting to live life twice, once as me and now through their eyes. Watching them experience all of the things I did as a child has got me feeling strangely sentimental.

I grew up in a picturesque setting. The type of place where movies are made (and some have been). My grandparents moved to the sound when my dad was a kid and made it home. Nestled on Whiskey Creek under a mound of oak trees and Spanish moss was their house, all brick with a detached garage and a swimming pool. If you continued up the dirt road you would pass a barn, a pasture, a shed-complete with picnic tables, a pig cooker and oyster roaster- and then an open area that would one day become my home. We moved to the Sound in the summer of '87 just before I turned 4 years old.
Every memory I ever made has this place in it. Even before we moved there we would drive down from Raleigh every Memorial day, Labor day and July Fourth to grill hamburgers on the side porch and fight with each other in typical family style debauchery. My Grandpa, Baa, would shoot firecrackers out over the water and my cousins and sister would ignore me while I tried so hard to play with them. We would go for tractor rides and make the craziest Oreo cookie sundae's you have ever seen. Nana would always stock up and get everybody their favorite junk food. Justin always got a case of Mellow Yellow, Maggie got Coke, Johnny got Miller Highlife and my Dad got a pack of Vantage cigarettes stuck in the sterling silver tea pot. Baa would tell us stories of Indian Joe and how he lost his head somewhere on our dirt road... A story that haunted me until I finally moved out when I was 20. I never walked down that road at night. Even the times that were bad were good. I remember one time in particular where my dad was supremely pissed off because we all wanted to go to the Piney Woods Festival. For whatever reason he did not want to go. Probably because he hates crap like that. Anyway, being the type of guy that he is, he took one for the team and went anyway but was complaining the whole way. He had just gotten out of the car at Hugh MaCrea Park, when another car sped by and hosed, I mean COVERED, him in mud. We all had to return home immediately but I remember thinking it was the funniest thing ever. Another laugh at his expense, sorry Dad, was when we were cruising along the Intercostal in our john boat and my mom and I turned around to find that he had flipped out a few seconds back.

He wasn't the only one who made me laugh, everyone had their moments. I especially, had mine. From the time where I stuffed a popcorn kerrnal so far up my nose that Nana was forced to drive over 100 mph (just on the dirt road) in Baa's bullet to get me to the doctor, to catching Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever with her in the woods.

Everyone drove my go cart like a bat outta hell. One girl ended up with a broken arm, Sabrina smashed into a tree and even Baa put us in the ditch one time. Once, I almost lost my finger to a snake at the shed. I ran to Nana's house and told her and she promptly grabbed a hoe and smashed it to bits. Gotta love how tough she was.

I was payed a penny per pinecone every fall and wouldn't be able to touch anything for a week after I collected my 4 dollars because my hands hurt so bad. Basic math will tell you that 4 dollars is equal to 400 pine cones. And 400 pine cones is a LOT of pine cones.

As a teen my memories, while less innocent and a little more blurry, always come back to one thing: The never ending love. Yes, we are a dysfunctional bunch, but you will never meet anyone more loyal than a Smith. When I crashed my car, my 75 year old grandmother took me everywhere I needed to go. I hated it at the time and would walk a mile so no one would see her dropping me off, but thank God for her. She was my savior. And when I ended up seeing what the downtown jail looked like from the inside, my mom and dad were there to pick me up. Both literally and figuratively.

With July 4th approaching I wish so much that I could go back and do it all over. But life goes on...even in the Western part of the state. I am so grateful for the memories and can only hope that Josiah and Oliver will one day look back with as much appreciation and gratitude for their own childhoods.