Two years ago this week, we moved into our new home near Wilmington, North Carolina. We left the DC area in the fall of 2020, but lived in temporary housing for several months, while we oversaw the building of our house. It was the height of the pandemic and we also lost my mother-in-law during this time. So I like to think of March as our real move anniversary.
Wilmington is a small, port city located on the Cape Fear River. UNC Wilmington is a major university, and the film industry is a presence in the area. Our town is on the outskirts of Wilmington. It has less city influence and a more rural southern personality. Farming and fishing were once the main businesses. While things are quickly changing here, the homey ways intrigue me.
Just down the street from us on the main highway of our town is a pawn shop. I see bikes, lawn equipment and surf boards propped up for sale in front of the store. I ventured into the store because I noticed a sign for jewelry repair. Sure enough, past the case of pawned jewelry and watches, and the inventory of sports equipment and power tools, I turned the corner through the guns and ammunition section, to find the small work space of a jeweler.
The jeweler wears a large leather cowboy hat and decorates his niche with neon-lit western motifs. His space is neat, and he is soft spoken, especially when you consider he’s from Long Island. He assessed my broken chain and gave me an estimate. I left it for repair and in a few hours got a text from him with a photo of my necklace draped on a lovely velvet model, saying, “Here she is!” The idea that my necklace was repaired by a New Yorker in a cowboy hat who works in a pawn shop where they sell guns and ammo amuses me.
Just a few buildings down the highway from the pawn shop is a paint store. We were sent there by our builder to select the interior colors for our house. “Go talk to Jimmy, ” we were told. Jimmy and his business partner, who both sport gray ponytails, run a no-fuss paint supply store. Without fanfare, they carry all the paint brands in all the colors. A gentle cat keeps them company and one of them drives a vintage truck always parked out in front. Neither of the guys ever wore a mask during the mandate period.
There’s also a warehouse fish market off the highway strip where I occasionally shop. The place is wet and stinky but I think I get fairly fresh catches there, though I’ve never tried the alligator. They fly the American flag on the porch, carry homemade birdhouses and advertise bushels of crabs for Mother’s Day. Young kids, probably relatives of the owner, run the counter. In deep southern twangs they can advise you on flavor and cooking methods.
This culture is new for me; so different from the cosmopolitan suburban area we left. I enjoy the downhome feel of the unincorporated town where we now live. It is appealingly unpretentious. That’s how I find the true local people too: down-to-earth, authentic, likeable. Don’t get me wrong, there are also many conveniences and amenities that I miss greatly now! But as I said, the area is changing quickly due to
rapid growth and many outsiders who, like us, are moving in. I hope in our time here, it doesn’t completely lose its southern, country soul.
At the two year mark, my husband and I marvel that we are here, that we transitioned away from DC during such a crazy time. We are confident this is the new place for us now and thank God for His good provision. Like the Psalmist David wrote, “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.” (Psalm 16 v 6). Read all of Psalm 16 for insights into God’s goodness in this life and in eternity.
