Under the Belhaven Sun

 

It wasn’t how I had envisioned it. In the original script, my husband and I arrive in Alessandria, Italy. Unexpected, we ask directions to Luca’s farm in amazingly practiced Italian. Lenny, Luca’s Labrador retriever, greets us on the dusty road. Signaled by his dog, Luca shields his eyes with his hand and squints into the sunlight. A smile slowly comes to his face as he recognizes us. “Luca!” we yell, waving. The sky bursts into the thousand colors of Belhaven. “We’re here!” We kept our promise.

In the revised version – how it really happened – we are in Milan, Italy’s second largest city. It’s raining. Holding a map in one hand, an umbrella in the other, Alan and I are struggling to find our pre-arranged meeting point. The streets are crowded, and everyone is moving fast to get out of the rain. We are lost, and late. We stop to get our bearings. Someone nudges us from behind. It’s Luca! Our smiles radiate the thousand colors of Belhaven.

We settle into a neighborhood pizzeria, where we meet Luca’s girlfriend, Giulia, and catch up on life. She shares photos of the beautiful stucco farmhouse they are renovating, their creative display at last year’s farmer’s market, and a recent trip to Thailand. Luca talks about the difficulties of converting from traditional to organic farming, the bad weather that has delayed planting season and his latest venture — egg-laying chickens.

“It’s so weird seeing you in Milan,” Luca said. “When I think of you, we are in North Carolina.” Intuitively, I understood. Before Milan, our relationship existed in fixed space: a single Google Maps pin for the five weeks Luca spent as a Workaway volunteer at our bed and breakfast.  Fast-forward two-and-a-half years. Here we are, gathered around a new pin 4,341 miles away, eating pizza and gelato.

We recalled how difficult it was to say goodbye in North Carolina. At the time, we didn’t have a plan to re-connect, only a promise. Parting in Milan, we had neither plan nor promise. We had possibilities. And all things are possible under the Belhaven sun.

 

My Year of Conjugal Visits

The headline is racy, but the reality is not nearly as fun.

My husband and I had the brilliant idea that I would move to North Carolina a year ahead of him to start our bed and breakfast/yoga studio. That year will be 62 weeks, almost one year and a quarter, but who’s counting? After commuting from New Jersey to North Carolina almost every weekend, and I mean arriving in the wee hours of a Saturday and heading back most Sundays, Alan finally turned in his resignation letter. After 23 years with the same company, he drew a line in the sand: No more conjugal visits.

I sometimes worked with executives who lived apart from a spouse who simply did not want to relocate. I was sure I could never do that. I would never want to live that way.

Never say never. God just laughs.

Today I ran into Ed Wall, a Belhaven resident who, on his own dime, was airlifted into Alaska’s Northwest Passage. Looking back, he said, “I don’t know why I thought that would be such a great challenge. It wasn’t even that beautiful. I have all the wilderness I need right across the river.” As he lamented about the cost of his great Alaska adventure, my friend and I encouraged him to think of something worthwhile he gained from the experience. What did he learn? “To survive, I couldn’t sleep for more than 15 minutes at a time,” he recalled. “Sleep deprivation is hell. I also realized that I like people too much to be isolated for so long.”

Ed’s revelation prompted my own self-examination. What did this year teach me?

I learned to rely on my instincts to assess situations more quickly and call-in lifelines as needed. I learned that I could rely on others, especially my new girlfriends. I could write an entire blog about them – women who keep confidences, who aren’t afraid to share a different perspective, who are there when you get in over your head or when you lose it. I learned to share living space with a revolving door of “volunteers” (courtesy of the Workaway program) who brought with them not only helping hands, but also new ideas. They have added so much joy to my life and the inn, making a lasting impression on our guests, our business, our community and us.

I wish I could say, “Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing,” but that would be a big fat lie. One night recently I called Alan at 1:30 a.m. I did it in my sleep. I don’t even like talking on the phone, but it’s the best way for us to communicate during the week. I wonder what I would have said had I been coherent? Maybe I whispered it in my dream: “I miss you.” This year of going it alone, I learned just how much those words mean.

 

 

 

The Law of Attraction in Action

 

 

Even before he met her, my husband would break out into a chorus of the Kinks’ Lola whenever he heard her name: L-O-L-A Lola, lo lo lo lo Lola. Her name wasn’t Lola, but it was close enough for him. And while the song lyrics don’t reflect her person, Yola herself did inspire a chorus. Or a musical. The way she came into our lives was more like a young and stylish Mary Poppins, bringing a touch of magic to everything she did during her month at Between Water & Main.

Yola came to us as a Workaway volunteer, making her way from Florida to New York. She arrived at the inn, nearly unexpected, at the end of tundra swan season and just in time for spring cleaning. She approached chores with an organized business-like approach augmented with a joyful spirit. Happy “coincidences” seemed to pop up around her, like the waffle she made with leftover batter that turned out to be a perfectly shaped anchor, a “sign” for one of our guests. A couple with no reservations were pleasantly surprised to find cotton bolls decorating the breakfast table; it was their second (cotton) anniversary. No need for gift shopping.

When Yola wasn’t working, she was meditating, cycling, painting in a community class, taking photographs and helping a local artist design a website. She was busy, stirring up adventure wherever she went, and she didn’t even go very far. Coincidentally (or not), her favorite place was the Outer Banks. Get it? Banks.

There were no tea parties on the ceiling or dances with chimney sweeps, but we did accomplish the goal of getting the inn all shined up and ready for boating season. Just in time for the west wind to come calling Yola home to Poland after a long absence.

Yola left Belhaven with happiness and daffodils blooming all around her. I am sure she is bringing springtime to New York, and that the wings of love will carry her safely home.

Heart of a Farmer, Eye of an Artist

 

One evening Luca said, “I know why you live in Belhaven. It’s the sunset.”

Luca, a young farmer in Italy, spent his winter vacation as a volunteer for Workaway, an organization that links volunteer workers with hosts in exchange for room and board and some time off for travel. Alan and I were so fortunate to have him choose five weeks at our bed and breakfast in little old Belhaven, NC — far from city lights, mass transportation and just about everything. Lucky for us, he lives in a small village and had already spent time in Miami, Orlando, Philadelphia and New York City.

We loved our hosting experience, and our dog Maya gave Luca her four-paw stamp of approval. Our guests were charmed by his accent, his smile and the artistry he added to their breakfast plates, shaping fruit into butterflies, flowers, happy faces and abstract

arrangements. It made everyone smile (even before the first cup of coffee was poured).

 

Before he left to return home, he sent me a series of sunset photos that he called Thousand Colours in Belhaven. A thousand colors is a fitting gift for Belhaven to give, as Luca fills his backpack of cultural and other experiences he gained on his first trip to the United States. But the gifts he leaves behind are just as enduring.

He helped us see our own world differently, sharing his vision for a healthier, more organic world, filled with natural artistry, like spectacular sunsets. He showed us how to tread lightly through the world by carrying everything he needed on his back.  Simply, a thousand colors of Luca.

I envision wandering into Luca’s village of Alessandria one day, unexpected. As in any truly small American town, I can ask the first person I meet to direct me to Luca’s farm. “Puoi indirizzarmi a Luca’s farm?” And that is where I find him, farming his own way, smiling like the thousand colors of Belhaven.
Be well, Luca. The world needs you.