Propinquity, makes me think of Pachinko, not because I am like Japanese people, but because of the sound of the word. I can imagine a Propinquity Parlor full of my family members being louder than a Pachinko parlor in Tokyo. But that is not what I am here to talk about today, no it is not.
Two weeks ago I drove way down east to go to a wedding. The map says it is 130 miles from my house to the site in the woods where the couple got their nuptials toasted, but my odometer suggests it was over 150 miles, making it the longest drive I have made this century. The wedding was good, and I had a good time. I grabbed a beer to drink when I got home and ghosted. Made an Irish exit. They looked around and said "Where is he? He was just here! But now he is not!" Yep, I was just that slick.
Since I had never been to that area before I felt I had to visit the river. It was just 3 miles through the woods and bam, there it is, a state park with an overlook. I may have mentioned in the past that I live near a river. It's called a river, but in most places, at least when it's not flooding, it would be called a creek. Well what do you know, by the time it reaches the ocean it truly becomes a river. I live upper reaches of what becomes a two mile wide river when it reaches the Pamlico sound. It has strong currents, waves and tidal fluctuations. Which reminds me of a joke, but now is not the time.
I got lost on my way down and spent too much time exploring the area around the fall line - where the Piedmont becomes the coastal plane. One missed exit led to a tour of an area that I find fascinating, great geology, interesting terrain. I eventually got back on track and it was a nice little detour.
Heading home I noticed that the coastal plain, at least the portion I traversed, was 100 miles across. Then you start to hit towns with the word "Mill" or "Mills" in the name - a sure sign that one has reached the fall line. The sunset that day was beautiful - I think the wild fires in the west contributed to the great colors.
There was a bright and persistent sun dog - it hung over the town where my next oldest brother was born just over 72 years ago. A portent? A sign? Well, I'll leave that to others to discern.
