By Kirk Ross
Welcome to the post-Memorial Day part of the program: You may relax, wear white shoes and openly frolic.
It always feels a little strange that a somber holiday to mark those lost in conflict has morphed into the starting gun for all things summer. While that’s odd enough, the amateur anthropologist in me can’t help but marvel at the evolution of summer itself.
The school calendar was originally designed to work with a predominately agrarian culture. The end of school was the start of long, hot toil in the fields. Now it’s par-tee time. You kids don’t know how good you got it, consarnit.
For most of my youth, Memorial Day weekend meant the beginning of vacation season, commencing with a trip to Grandma Ross’s house down near the banks of the Ohio River. She would cook a big pot of chili and we’d sit around and listen to the 500 Mile Race on the radio, lulled into semi-consciousness by the cadence of the announcers, the muted roar of Offenhausers and a sweltering heat as potent as that of any Southern swampland.
When I moved to North Carolina half a lifetime ago, the Memorial Day ritual was much different and involved discovering where in the world one could enjoy a relatively uncrowded beach on peak weekends. (The answer is still Ocracoke. Please don’t tell anyone and make sure you book your ferry reservation well ahead of time.)
Then came the discovery that this little spot here in a college burg in an area brimming with colleges and universities is one of the most chill spots to ease on into summer. What few students are here tend to head home or to various vacation spots, as does a fairly large percentage of the indigenous population, enough so that one’s presence at a restaurant or bar is especially appreciated and a slow evening stroll to the ice cream parlor and back can seem like a first date.
The economy still being what it is, more and more of us are learning the value of the staycation. Can’t think of a better place to be stuck than around here. See you down at the parlor.
Franklin Street flooding
Several friends posted a now familiar photo of a quite flooded Franklin Street during that torrential downpour last week. Granted, the rain fell at a pretty good clip, dumping 4 to 5 inches on us over the afternoon, but that much water in the street is not a good sign. The low spot at the corner of Mallette and Franklin once had a long history of flooding woes. The front parking lot of Fowler’s grocery store, which was about where Vespa is located, was a notorious spot for drowned autos. That all seemed to be fixed after the storm drains were upgraded in the ’90s, but one lesson we’ve learned time and time again is that the drains and stormwater channels have to be maintained and monitored.
The great Eastgate flood of July 2000, which caused more than $10 million in damage and led to the departure of Food Lion for higher ground across the street, was greatly worsened because of a buildup of debris in the channel of Booker Creek, which runs under the shopping center and then a couple of bridges just downstream.
That flood was likewise caused by a torrential rain. I remember trying to drive into town that evening for a gig, and even with wipers on full speed it was like someone was pouring buckets of water on the windshield. We had to help mop out Henry’s Bistro before we could play that night.
At Eastgate, which had experienced periodic flooding, it was like a dam had burst, as Booker Creek, fed by 7 inches of rain in less than six hours, sought alternatives to a silted channel clogged with trash, logs and even a mattress. Booker’s preferred route was across the parking lot, down the aisles of the low-lying Talbots and Food Lion stores and out the loading docks. Two-dozen businesses were heavily damaged.
Prior to the flood, there were other high-water moments that in hindsight were clear warnings that all was not right with the flow of Booker Creek. The high waters the other afternoon may just be a similar warning. Given that it’s been a year of big rains already, it might be a good idea to poke around under Franklin Street and a few other spots.