“This is your Little House on the Prairie. ”
When my sisters and I were kids, our father built a cabin on the Outer Banks, the Cape Lookout National Seashore to be more specific. It was early in the 1970s. No, he didn't own the land--and that was part of the charm for him. He was introducing his children to the great American tradition of squatting, he used to say.
A photo of Core Banks from the National Park Service.
Whenever I tell stories from this time in my life, my friends will say I should write about it. A few years ago at a writers' retreat in California, author Phyllis Theroux said, "This is your Little House on the Prairie." And I think it is.
But here's the problem. Though I rate this adventure as one of the most influential aspects of my upbringing, I struggle to remember the particulars. My mother and sisters do, too. Our father knew every detail. If only we'd listened more carefully to his stories. If only I'd videotaped it all or written it down.
But I didn't. He died 14 years ago. I've been trying to fill in the details when I can--the names of the other families who were our fellow squatters, the places we rode in our rusty old beach buggy, the adventures we had surviving storms, battling mosquitoes, and learning to catch our own food.
A couple of years ago, I started a little blog, so that I'd have a place to park that information when I came across it. I'm not ready yet, but this is a story I want to write.
So if you do happen to know something about Core Banks and the little village of squatters who spent weekends there in the 1970s, please let me know--either here or over there.
Meanwhile, I'll tell you something I wish someone had told me. When your nutty parents tell their crazy old stories you've heard a million times, don't moan, pull out your phone and check Facebook. Pay attention. Use your phone to record it. Or how about this: Write it down.