By Eliza Williams – 2014
2.05 p.m. My watch ticked as I stood waiting in the Boar’s Head group that crowds the deli in downstairs Colonnades right after classes every day. I glared down as the clock hands passed on and on, minute by minute. Taylor would be pulling into the parking lot to pick me up any minute. I felt my pocket buzz and reached down to see the notification. “Here,” read the text on my screen. This was it – the weekend I had been waiting for! Ever since Dr. Strickland had told us about this research project we would be conducting, I couldn’t contain my excitement one bit. Once my sandwich came off the hot press, I would toss my bags into Taylor’s car and we would start the drive to our first stop on Highway 64.
Tunes up (Country, of course), we hit the road and drove to Rocky Mount where we planned to visit the Rocky Mount Diner and pick up a souvenir. Thanks to Elon’s Media Services we were able to rent a GoPro to document our journey so GoPro in hand, we strolled into the diner – I was carrying the GoPro and definitely got some looks from the local patrons. We were lucky enough to interview one of the General Managers before stopping in Tarboro for a while to walk around and explore the quaint town. Before it got too dark, we got back onto the highway to drive to our hotel in Plymouth, The Sportsman’s Inn. Sad as it was to leave our first two towns and their charming inhabitants behind, we were struck by the immense beauty of the trip down 64. Florida Georgia Line, Scotty McCreery, Parmalee and a slew of other Country artists comprised the perfect playlist as we drove through the “country,” filled with fields of peanuts, soy beans, tobacco, and cotton. Coming from the north, I was so amazed to see this other side of life, one to which I had never been accustomed. And, you can imagine my reaction when we stopped to pick cotton. We swooned at the old-style plantations with their iconic wrap around porches and swore that we would buy one of our own one day. We arrived to our hotel in time to check-in before going to indulge ourselves in some local dishes at a nearby restaurant. A few days prior to leaving on the trip, I had called ahead to a hotel and spoken with the terribly friendly receptionist named Matt. He was kind enough to offer us a great deal for two nights at his hotel and couldn’t have been more hospitable during our stay. He provided us with all the information we needed to know about the area and even lent us a book about the Roanoke River and surrounding area. Being inspired by an episode of Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations we watched in class a few weeks before, I opted for an exotic dish for dinner. Something I had never seen on a menu before (apparently it’s common in the south?) is gizzards and livers. Well, I tend to “live on the edge,” or at least take some uncalculated chances and since it was unknown to both me and Taylor, I knew I had to try it. The young, high school-age girl, Phylis, who took our order was shocked at my willingness to try it but relayed the order to the back without questioning my motives. I must admit, I was surprised at my eagerness to try this….dish. Similar to my weirdest food experience that I wrote about in my Squeezal paper for class, this dish was something I had never had put in front of me. Essentially, I was faced with a paper plate full of round, fried parts of a chicken. The taste was unique. Gizzards, I learned, are tough and full of muscle…very difficult to chew. Livers, on the other hand, are softer and have a bit more of a bitter taste. Despite the struggle to eat the mound of fried food on my plate, this was perhaps one of my favorite memories of the weekend. I was constantly surrounded by friendly and warm people whose first priority was hospitality. The sense of community and support for each other was enormous, whether we were at the Sunny Side Oyster Bar, kickin’ it with Famous Floyd and my friends the duck hunters, or we were standing out on Jennette’s Pier licking ice cream cones and watching the surfers. People, strangers to each other, would sit side-by-side and chat, sharing stories from their past and forming connections that lead to solidified friendships. Their desire to build deep relationships with each other was at the forefront of everyone’s mind. The towns we visited were nothing like Raleigh, Charlotte, or even Greensboro but, I learned that every place has a special charm regardless of preconceptions. Plymouth has its intense Civil War history, Jamesville – its special connection to the Roanoke River, Williamston – its special community and active residents striving to make their town the best it can be. Each of the eleven towns had admirable characteristics that drew Taylor and I closer and made it that much harder when we had to close the car doors and drive off. I left Elon with perceptions of the state and the people in it as those to whom I have been exposed. Boy, was I wrong. I was stripped of this perception upon driving through the first town. I was stripped of any judgments I might have had about people or their backgrounds. I lost these things and gained a new insight on this state. When you are thrown into a new environment, it is only to your detriment to enter with your guard up and with judgments about people you have never met and places you have never visited. So, as we stood on the pier and stared out into the blue abyss I couldn’t help but be proud of what I had lost.
