Editor’s note: This is a translation from what was first published in French
By Carole Sierpien
1964 and I was only 8 years old. We had set up our tent in the village campsite, where today there is a large parking lot, opposite Silver Lake. The quay accommodated fishing boats and a few sailboats; In the afternoon we took the path to the beach, near the airport, or my father took us by car on the sandy path towards the southern tip. He threw a line into the sea and I found small lakes left by the tide to dive into.
The beach! It was my first encounter with waves, these companions who taught me to keep my head up and my eyes open, otherwise I risked buying myself a cup of salt water! I learned to jump to avoid them, to let myself be lifted by them and then to dive into their hollows before they broke. I remember the time that my sister, seeing a very big wave approaching, shouted “Jesus, Mary, Joseph…” to warn us, but it was too late. Even today, we laugh about it.
In the evening, we set off on foot along the sandy paths of the village to visit the small cemeteries. My mother really liked cemeteries. It was moving to find the one where, over the course of a year, several children had died. The flu perhaps or some other misfortune. On the way back from our walk, we would stop at the Community Store for ice cream and sit on a bench next to Jack’s Store. Sometimes my father took us to the bay to spear fish for sole. What a thrill to set foot on a stingray that was buried in the bottom!
We came back every year for our summer vacation. Then the years passed. During my years of residence in Chapel Hill, I came there sometimes, including once in the depths of winter. I took a room in the Island Inn. I took my meals there with the few fishermen and other guests and I took long walks on the beach, swept by winds, rain and foam.
Since 2019, I have renewed my visits to Ocracoke, almost every year. I was sad to see the disaster, human and material, caused by Dorian. Frequent and devastating storms eat away a little more each year at the north of the island, almost unrecognizable now. And I don’t know what to think of the large buildings around the village: second homes, often rented, but which contrast with the relative modesty of the village. I am, myself, one of the elements that contribute to the prosperity of the island both as a visitor, but also I am just a passerby, someone who comes to enjoy the beauty of the island without providing any real help.
On a happier note, I admit that the island has become a mythical place for me. A place that connects me to my past, certainly, but also a place of contemplation and tranquility, a place where I can step back, where I play in the waves and look for shells, where wonder occurs where I least expected: a little green frog on a chair, a sand dollar on the water’s edge, a red setting sun over the bay, a warm meeting with Peter Vankevich who invited me to pass by the island radio WOVV to broadcast songs from Quebec.
Born in Montreal, Carole Sierpien lives in Saint-Mathieu-de-Rioux, Quebec. She holds a bachelor’s degree in mathematics from McGill University and a master’s degree in computer science from UNC Chapel Hill. After living 17 years in the United States, she returned to Quebec where she was an analyst with the Quebec government. Since her retirement, she has studied philosophy and is a municipal councilor in Saint-Mathieu.
I love to read stories like this from this outer banks paradise. I particularly like to read the obituaries of long time residents and their history with the island. We’ve been to the island only a handful of times but once you leave it seems like you’re always trying to get back. But it’s the full days journey from our home that keeps us from getting there.
Just a note about the photo that’s said to be from 1964, the pickup truck in the background is at least from 1967.
I have also known and loved Ocracoke in just about all seasons and all weather’s. One year, I rode out a full-on hurricane with dear friends after I decided not to catch the last ferry off the island. Another year, I spent a wonderful Christmas/Hanukkah with the same dear friends in their newly-built house on Back Road. Happy memories!
I’m the great great great grandson of William Howard, who founded and owned Ocracoke ! He was Blackbeards quartermaster, exonerated of piracy along with the ships doctor, on trial in the bahamas. The King of England sold the island to my great great great grandfather as a reward for coordinating the beheading of Blackbeard for 150 English pounds! My grandmother,Aletha Pearl Howard left my father and her survivors land still not developed along with my cousin who is the grandson of my Great Aunt Suzanne “ Suedy” try to get a realtor to list the property, Ocracoke natives do not like the family that left, that’s for sure, except for one cousin Lidia Freda who away like my fathers sister, who is one of the loveliest people I’ve known on the Colonial Howard/ Spencer side! We are all descendants of the Duke of Norfolk, from what I’ve read , very cool to know where you’re from and where history took their ancestors! I could t be more grateful !
My dads father was a decorated war hero and confederate Jew,Dr James Beale Angle , survived the battle of Virginia on foot, and was the first class at John’s Hopkins, he retired from Harmony NC as a tobacco farmer and general practitioner to coast guard physician on ocracoke ! I’m his great grandson .! My grandparents and father left ocracoke after a hurricane left them with nothing and was given a job at the Philadelphia Naval yard as a civilian , my grandfather was in his late 60 s s d worked up until the age of 80 at the yard doing all maritime fixes etc ! both grandparents eventually retired back to ocracoke, my grandfather died the summer of 1964 at the age of 87, my grandmother past in 1999 and was the oldest member of the Ocracoke Methodist Church, see was at least 100, but always lied about the year she was born 1899 when i think my dad said 1897, at that point, why fib, right! My father and grandparents are all buried in the community cemetery , and have t bern back since my father’s memorial over a decade ago! It’s a mixed bag for me about the Island, but it’s part of my history, just wished the locals weren’t so ready to dis you when you are greiving the loss of a parent ! The alcoholism is also alarming !
Love this story. In 1962 I was 5 years old but by the time I was 10 our family would drive our (speed boat) to Ocracoke from Vandemere NC on the inner banks. There we could spend the night on Ocracoke city dock or just stay on the boat. Nobody bothered us or our things. Not many tourists then, mostly local fisherman catching mullets that they would give us so we cooked them on the grill. Great memories not unlike yours. Thanks for sharing.
That echoes my own life experience in a similar manner. Growing up, we always spent a week camping at Cape Point in Buxton, most years we spent a day visiting Ocracoke. When I got married, my wife and I spent our honeymoon on Ocracoke. Afterwards, we started fall camping trips to Ocracoke, my parents often coming at the same time and staying longer than we could. They have continued the fall camping trips, and now sometimes spring too since they have retired. We shifted to summer trips when the kids started school, but did not come every year. Sadly, the kids don’t seem to enjoy, or perhaps I should say barely tolerate, those trips to Cape Point or Ocracoke campground. I long to visit again, but I seem to be the only one. Time changes things as well, the last time we visited Cape Point, the NPS was starting to let grass grow up close around all the campsites, plus they can’t drain off any standing water, so it’s getting overgrown and often flooded. I guess it’s like they say, you can’t ever go home again. And Cape Point kind of is like home to me, having spent so many summer weeks there over the years. I’ve spent more weeks of my life there than I have any place other than the couple places I have called home…
I had the same experiences from 1970 to s few years ago. We always camped at Ocracoke, Hatteras and Avon. In later years we stayed at the Island Inn and Pony Motel. I could stay out there forever.
I could read more stories like this!
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