Ocracoke, North Carolina

Recently my husband and I spent nine fun filled days on Ocracoke Island, NC.  We took lots of photos, walked down village streets, attended music concerts at the Deepwater Theater, listened to stories and history told by local islanders and took walks on the island beaches.

One day we were nearly blasted off a sand dune by wind and sand.  Ouch, that sand stung from head to toe.  Later in the day we returned to Ocracoke Village only to learn there was a tornado warning until 8 pm.  No wonder the wind blew so hard; we confirmed it was up to 25 and 30 miles per hour.

We walked an interesting nature trail, Hammock Hills, out on the island near the campground.  Here’s a critter I photographed, out of many, as I watched him move about in the swampy area near the trail.  I’m amazed at the cute little cartoon like face, reminding me of a Disney character.  What would you name him?  I spotted other interesting creatures that reside there.  The trail goes through a part of the island forest that serves as a habitat for small wildlife, though nothing as large as deer.  Actually, the island itself is not a habitat for deer. 

I plan to blog more about Ocracoke.

 

Great-Grandpa’s Civil War Thumb

In the middle of our conversation Daddy disappears into the next room. He returns with a pair of gloves from his grandfather’s old trunk.

He hands them to me. “You ever see these? They belonged to my Grandpa; your Great-Grandpa, Charles Whitfield Leckie.”

I hold them in my hands and study them carefully. I can tell they’ve been packed away for safekeeping. They exude that ‘old museum sort of smell.’ My hands carefully stroke the bulky wool that contains no more than three moth holes. The natty leather trim stitched around the top offers a clue that they are well worn.

My eyes follow the shapes of the fingers and thumbs. I notice the long fingers, but there’s something extremely odd about the thumbs. The left thumb seems unusually long in comparison to the right one.

I’m puzzled. “Daddy, why on earth is this thumb cut off? These gloves couldn’t have been made this way. What happened?”

“Well, I’m not sure how it all happened, but Grandpa was in the Civil War. I think he must have reloaded his gun. He had his thumb across the end of the barrel and somehow the gun went off accidentally and shot off his thumb. After that he had to alter the right thumb of his glove so it would fit.”

Time passes. Several years later my cousin hands me several pages of our family history. I read through it and notice an account that distinctively clarifies Grandpa’s painful accident. It explains what I believe actually happened to amend Daddy’s account.

This is what I found. ‘Sometime during the Civil War, Charles W. Leckie was sick while marching. He stopped and rested his hand over the end of his rifle when it discharged and blew off his thumb.’

Ugh, I begin to feel a bit queasy, but read on. ‘He returned home and lived the remainder of his life in Iredell County, approximately five miles northeast of Statesville. He lived to the ripe old age of 94.’ The account was scant. The Leckie side of my family were neither loquacious nor meticulous record keepers. Yet, for now, this discovery was enough to satisfy my curiosity about Great Grandpa’s peculiar wool gloves.

Just imagine- what stories might spring forth if an old pair of worn gloves, pulled from a family trunk, could discharge their secrets.