Tag Archives: Nags Head Pizza Company

Camp OBX 2020 = ONE Single Camper

ACT ONE

It’s one crazy summer and midweek in late August veteran camper Jake has had enough. “I’m thinking of driving down for a Kill Devils burger tomorrow. Would love to say a socially distant hello.”

It’s early evening so I counter. “We can do you one better if you like. Stay here. Uncle Donny’s suggestion. Sleep in the pub. On the porch. On the deck. The trampoline (Lewis did that one night). Pitch your tent. Your choice if any of those work for you. And then you might fit in NHPC & Surfin’ Spoon as well. And get cinnamon buns for breakfast ❤️”

He ponders the idea, “Many good options! but I’ve got to be “in class” 8am Thursday.” I remind him that virtual class can pretty much happen anywhere. He agrees but it is the first day of class. He’s in the dark as to what to expect.

Then, “Driving tonight and sleeping out doesn’t sound like a bad idea. How are the bugs?” I send him a photo of the mosquito netting tent and memory foam folding mattress inside already set up, I know he’ll make the right choice.

Jake catches the sunrise on the beach while I make cinnamon buns and more for breakfast. He attends class. We head to Kill Devil’s in separate cars for lunch. Then it’s beach time. It’s a perfect Chamber of Commerce Day.

We leave the beach planning to stop at Kill Devils. NHPC is just that much too far in the wrong direction to even pick up pizza for the drive home and get the day tripper back to Richmond in time for classes on Friday.

ACT TWO

I’m in my car just about to pull out of the grassy access at Dowitcher that is town parking for Small Street beach access. “I can’t find my car key.” Jake’s key is literally no where to be found. It’s the kind that only needs to be in proximity to the car to start it but it’s just not anywhere. We retrace our steps. He is confident that he did not put it in his pocket. And if he had the pocket is a very deep one that would have made escape unlikely.

We ask the lifeguard. Jake even tries to find it in the ocean. It’s no where we look. Vanished. Jake calls his mom. She says that Triple AAA will be able to start it. We all know how long it takes Triple AAA to respond so I volunteer to go get Kill Devil’s while Jake car sits. When I get back I find out that Triple AAA cannot help.

Diane has a spare key but cannot afford the time to bring it, she will Fed Ex it overnight.

Jake can barely enjoy his bonus time at camp he’s so vexed at losing the key. During this act Lewis sees my video of the excellent tide pool and they decide bring Felix after nap to play in it. I spy them walking toward Small Street as I return with take out. Opportunity to play at the beach! Jake distance joins while still looking for his key. Later we even check in with the town of Nags Head and advise them that there will be an overnight car at Dowitcher. Then we reason we may as well pack more into the day and step one last time through the original hobbit door at Surfin’ Spoon.

NHPC too is now on the agenda as well as a stop at Jockey’s Ridge for a sunset sprint. And a wrap up moonrise on the beach with a lanterns launch in the distance.

ACT THREE

Next morning Jake raises the camp flag and attends his virtual class with an awesome sound side view complete with breakfast while waiting for Fed Ex to deliver the key. We are crushed when the first Fed Ex truck to arrive on our street is the wrong one. “You’re looking for an Express truck,” the driver tells us. We’ll take any truck with the key. Finally it arrives, class is long over so we are good to go get Jake’s car and polish off the day in camp style. Our customary camp hilarity is quite present but I can’t get Jake to put anything on the joke list. “We all need to be here.” He’s right, the joke list requires Martin and Lydia in attendance.

Thanks for holding up camp tradition Jake. 2020 did not defeat us!

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Filed under Beach Life, Camp OBX

The Fabulous BUNDY Boys

6416 Three Chopt Road Richmond VA circa 1959 home of Dr Starke Jett Jr and Leigh Arthur Jett

“Your son is d-r-u-n-k.” No words any mother, especially one of a two year old, wants to hear; even being delivered in an easy going southern drawl. My mom is aghast. How has this happened? We are at my grandmother’s antebellum home on Three Chopt Road in Richmond Virginia for Christmas. It’s a family tradition faithfully supported by my dad, two sisters and respective families. We total fourteen counting Mother Leigh, my namesake and family matriarch. Our drive is twelve hours straight through from Columbus, Ohio before the days of interstate. Our only brief stops are for gas, bathroom break and a quick picnic Mom will pack if the weather looks to be good. Occasionally on our trek Dad stops at a Howard Johnson’s for an actual meal. This exceedingly rare treat requires that my two siblings and I, tired of the endless car ride and constantly picking on each other out of boredom, straighten up and put on our best behavior. Once when we stop I am completely fascinated by a traveling family of five children all genuinely enjoying each other’s company and at their parents urging ordering favorites from the menu. I store the vision away in my future family file.

This Christmas, my brother Star (he’s number five unclaimed nicknames are scarce), has picked up some childhood bug. It’s not enough to keep us home but erring for caution Mom gets a prescription and begins dosing him. By the time we get to Richmond, he’s pretty much uncontrollable. He displays endless temper tantrums and fits of flinging himself onto and off of any surface. My grandmother, probably at her neighbor’s suggestion, gets Mom an appointment with Dr Bundy, whose office is a few blocks away near the corner of Patterson Avenue and Three Chopt Road. He is the favored west end proper society pediatrician.

Dr Bundy takes one look at my brother and declares his diagnosis. The medication is not in sync with Star’s system and with each dose he has become more and more inebriated compounded by Mom upping dosages thinking that his tantrums were a result of the illness, never suspecting the medicine. She was sent home with instructions to let him sleep it off  to sober up. The adults came up with a faster plan, coffee milk made using Mother Leigh’s A&P drip grind 8 O’Clock deliciously strong (made so by pouring it through twice) black coffee.

Many years later, when Donny & I begin our family, I will consider no pediatrician other than Dr Bundy. No matter that we move to Varina in the east end of Richmond when Emily is six months old, our family pediatrician remains Dr Bundy. By the time Donald arrives Dr Curry has joined the practice but I still opt for Dr Bundy, who wants to know what we will call Donald. “Athelstan?” his middle name as he is a junior. I never gave it much thought. My grandfather, Dad and brother all have the same name, each generation with his own unique tag. But I guess being from a family of his own with generations having the same name, he has more direct insight into the same name game twists and turns. By the time we move to the Outer Banks the practice has several more pediatricians and Dr Bundy only sees select patients. No matter, we have established our history with this legendary man.

Our next encounter with the Bundy boys is when Donny, upon recommendation from his diabetic specialist Dr Jordan, becomes a regular patient of Dr Walter Bundy III. He is the son of our beloved pediatrician and is making his own mark in the world of ophthalmology at Virginia Eye Institute. When we first relocate to the Outer Banks, Donny commutes to Richmond to continue running the family lighting business, Advance Electric Supply Company. During this time Donny’s right eye starts to give him vision problems and it’s Dr Bundy to the rescue. Several successful laser surgeries save Donny’s eye from complete shut down. By the time cataract surgery is on the horizon Donny and I have our own at home business, Bayside School Services, on the Outer Banks; but of course the only recourse to consider is Dr Bundy. We head to Richmond for the scheduled outpatient operation. It goes well.

As with all of his patients Dr Bundy wants to see Donny the next day for the routine follow up exam. We want to go home. Donny asks if he can send a text photo. Dr Bundy ponders briefly, he admits that it is rather unconventional and nothing he has ever done. But he’s tech savvy. He uses his iPad when piloting his plane. He agrees to be a pioneer with Donny. We head home. The next day I take a close up of the eye and Donny sends it. Dr Bundy is impressed with the photo and how the eye looks.

The perfect Ocracoke get away for us – small, family run with windows that let in the cross breeze & is right in the middle of town

Our latest interaction with one of the fine Bundy boys comes this fall. Donny knows that Walter has a brother, David, who lives on Ocracoke where he began what is now an island favorite and well respected eatery, Zillies. David and staff plan periodic special dinners and one that includes wine pairings with each course catches Donny’s eye at the last minute. He tries to find a place for us to stay on the island but comes up short.

By now it’s the day before the event, I jump in and message friend and local family motel owner, Jennifer Garrish. She is out of town but is fairly sure there is an opening in the six unit business. She says to call in the morning. That is how low key and small they are. There is a web site but no online booking. I call the next morning and get voice mail. I end the call, not wanting to tie up the machine with my explanations. Then rethinking I call back with a short version of the story in my head if needed. I still get voice mail. I leave my note and move on.

Donny has bought tickets late Friday night after we hear from Jennifer, as there are only four left. We are willing to gamble. Saturday morning we see Sunday’s weather calls for high winds, the ferry ride will be exciting, if it’s even running. As we ponder whether to go or not, I get a call back from Jennifer’s niece, do I want two doubles or a king. We’re in, our date night is on. We’ll take our chances with the weather.

We agree not to dash for the ferry Sunday morning either and we don’t. We get great double shot red eye coffees at the Magic Bean Coffee Bazaar, we walk back to our room down Howard Street where much of Ocrafolk takes place, and before leaving the village take a driving tour of the other side of Silver Lake with a photo op stop at the lighthouse.

Finally we head toward home, and find a line backed up down highway 12, ferry dock not even in sight. I’m betting it’s all those sprint for the boat morning people thwarted. Much later we inch within sight of the dock since at long last they’re loading a boat but we’ll not make that one. Much later we miss the last place on the second boat to leave, eclipsed by a priority golf cart in tow. After another long wait we are at last on the ferry. Once underway we are cautioned about a rough crossing and potential over wash. Then we find ourselves stopped mid-crossing for an on coming ferry to negotiate a one way channel. We do know how to rock a date night.

Our delay puts us on Hatteras yearning for fresh coffee and actual food. All the spots that we know are good are closed. We happen upon Pamlico Deli and turn in. It looks great and it is. Nick, the owner, is a real foodie coming from a long line of meat handlers. He cooks all his own and the proof is in the tasting. Hands down the best Ruben sandwich I have ever eaten. But he does not have coffee. A few miles along we find a coffee shop, Uglie Mugs, but they have just closed. We can deal with it, we’re almost home.

Zillie’s 538 Back Road Ocracoke Island NC

But back to our date. Saturday on Ocracoke is charming. The nasty weather is still on the horizon, this day is sunny and just breezy enough for my Nags Head Pizza Company hat to be useful. We check in and decide to take a walk. We find Berkeley Manor and are delighted to see that it’s but a stone’s throw from our abode, especially if you cut through the back yard. Then it becomes a Walk Your Ass Off by Sandra tour. I want to show Donny where the Ocrafolk Festival is set. It’s been a couple of years for me since that fun girl weekend. And decades since Donny has even been on Ocracoke. Neither of us recall much about the layout of the island beyond the basics. GPS in hand we head toward what I think is the festival epicenter. We find ourselves on Back Road. We see Zillie’s. We see the back of the school. At the festival I only recall seeing the front of the school and that from a distance. We need to go right but by the time we have a chance we’re back on Irvin Garrish and at our motel. The festival overview will have to wait. It’s time to get ready for dinner.

We are forty attendees strong with assigned seating. Donny finds himself next to a whipper snapper Naval Academy career graduate, who is more than ready to compare survival stories. I am next to a gentleman whose hobby is native plants. He has the perfect idea for our eternal erosion, papyrus. He and his wife will share when they divide theirs. The six courses starting with shrimp and grits and progressing to prime rib plus dessert are paired with amazing wines all explained to us by our sommelier. It is all so good! I am not going to waste anything and polish off every bite and every drop of wine.

Walking home is more like weaving for me but who cares. I later chuckle that it would not have been incorrect for an apparition of senior Dr Bundy to appear, drawl in Donny’s ear, “Your wife is d-r-u-n-k,” wink and fade away.

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Filed under Dr Walter E Bundy, family, Ocracoke Island, Richmond VA