As Taz and I make our way up and down the narrow streets, looking for a coffee shop, deli or restaurant that's open, we see a couple walking down the street and agree that they look like tourists so will surely know a place that we can retreat to. As we get closer, a loud gasp escapes from my throat, as I recognize first the man, and then the woman. They're Charlie Welles and Carol Harding from our hometown of Homer, Alaska 4,500 miles away.
We pull over to the side of the road and I leap from the car and hug them both, We share stories of our adventures on the island this past week and discover that not only are we staying in the same hotel in the same town tonight, but we were at the same hotel in Buxton the previous night as well. We simply didn't see their car with the Alaska licence plates because they were on the other side of the hotel. What are the chances of this? Here, so far from home, on a small island community with so few visitors, that we meet up with people from our hometown? There are thousands of small happenings that had to occur in order for this to happen. This, for me, is part of the joy and the mystery of life lived so spontaneously.
And so we gather behind our hotel, enjoying a fantastic view of the harbor and the Ocracoke Lighthouse, as the sun sets as we relax in to one another.