Carolina!

I wanted to re-indoctrinate myself back in to the culture of these United States quickly and efficiently, abruptly and rudely, so after touching down in our nation's capital, I took a walking tour of the highlights, then hopped on a Greyhound. Have ya'll ever gone Greyhound? Woo boy! Welcome back Zack! Don't get me wrong, now, everbody was real nice, but a lack of competition in the travel-by-bus market has left the standards of comfort and efficiency in the the proverbial gutter. I might could go so far as to say that a bus in Bolivia is more luxurious. I won't say it, but I might.
But, I'm here now, in North Carolina, settling into my grandparent's old beach house, a place that holds a large chunk of my childhood memories. Many a'summer was spent here with them before they passed away a few years back, and now it sits empty for most of the year. I have no phone, no Internet, and no television. The closet grocery store (or any store for that matter) is a 10-mile round trip on a borrowed bicycle. I am a hermit for the summer, left to write and juggle and work on my tan lines.
Here are some photos of the homestead. Hurricanes took out all the tall, beautiful pines I remember from my youth and a good length of pier, but for the most, things on this lot of land (and inside the house itself) haven't changed much. I half-expected to see my grandma come out on the porch, with her hands in her pockets and a smile on her face, when my uncle dropped me off. Taller houses have sprung-up all around, though most seem unoccupied, waiting silently for buyers or renters, and others for their owners to get some vacation time, but this little house remains.
If any of ya'll want to stop in and say hey, just give me a holler. I'll be here.