There is a little house in a small village on a skinny island past fields and fields of cotton and tobacco on the other side of the country from where I now sit. The small village is called Duck. And we lovingly call the little house the Ducky Dolph Inn. We spent our tenth wedding anniversary looking at houses on the Outer Banks. This was the smallest and maybe even the most dated but it had our heart and fit our family just right.
In Duck, we spend our days on the beach, eating donuts, and playing video games. The activities don’t vary much between summer and winter, just the proportion of hours spent on the beach and in the water. With no city lights nearby, the sky is filled with stars, and somehow, the moon almost seems bigger. Phone calls and emails can always wait when we are in Duck.
One very early morning and a few plane rides later and we are back home – in our “other” home on the opposite side of the country. Sans Daddy, as he hopped on another plane to California for work. And a rushed #1, as she had play rehearsal followed by volleyball practice. As I unpacked and vacuumed the sand out of the suitcases, I looked out my bedroom at the city lights and the hills of Portland, and thought how this house fits too. We love the endless hikes and the nearby snow and wide beaches (cold though they may be).
The girls and I all woke up before 5 am as we try to adjust our inner clocks back to West Coast time, but we all agree our time in our beloved Duck was worth it. For me, I am feeling a whole lot more relaxed as we face down another week of back to back practices, permission slips, volunteer signups and sleepovers.