Kitchen Witch

6 | Red Dirt Roads

Charlotte was nudged awake by a cold, wet nose; it was like Charlie knew the wait was over and that today was the day they could leave the boundaries of their home and finally explore their new home fully. Charlotte, usually a morning person, was surprised that she had slept in so late. She had fully planned to be up and ready to go by now. But the winds had howled hard the night before; not quite used to how the house rattled and creaked and groaned with the wind, she felt like she had spent most of the night tossing and turning. It was strange, though, as it certainly wasn't the first windy night in the last two weeks. Most of the time, Charlotte loved falling asleep listening to the sound of the wind. She would even leave her window open a crack and feel the cool breeze dancing through her room. It had become a comfort like her own personal white noise machine. But judging by the cold, sweaty feeling of her pyjamas clinging to her, she had run a marathon in her sleep last night. It was a strange night, filled with bad dreams.  That in the morning light, she could no longer remember. And yet they left a shadow in her memory, lingering like the sweat on her skin. 

Determined to shake off the bad mojo, Charlotte hopped out of bed and planted her feet in her slippers. She shivered at leaving her covers and walked to the thermostat to turn the heat on. It was only mid to late October, and she felt guilty turning it on, but her shivering body said crank it! She turned back to close the bedroom window and was surprised to see it firmly shut. She must have forgotten to leave it open a crack last night when she collapsed into bed, exhausted from finally finishing all the unpacking. A slightly burnt smell filled the bedroom, the dust being burned off the baseboards as they fired up and began to fill the room with a comforting warmth. Charlotte smiled at the simple luxury of turning the heat on, cranking it unnecessarily high for her own comfort, knowing she would soon find herself too hot and turning it back down. But the immediate comfort, her bones settling, felt oh so good as she stepped into the shower.

Freshly showered and caffeinated, Charlotte opened the car door for Charlie. She wouldn't leave him behind on this first outing, not that he would have let her. Charlie, as docile and sweet as he was, could also be as stubborn as a mule. She backed out of the driveway and turned onto the little red dirt road. Her heart squeezed, remembering how her Father, on vacation that year, had tried to take every unknown red dirt road he could find. "To see what we can see. '' He would exclaim, and Charlotte and her sister would groan at another detour. Today, she would take every red dirt road she could find. 

She rolled down the windows and cranked the heat. The air was chilly, but Charlotte wanted to take in that salty air. Charlie happily stuck his head out the window, and the breeze helped dry the tangle of wet curls on her head. Her hair was an epic tangle of curls lately; could it be the salty air making her naturally wavy hair turn curly, or was it the lack of constant straightening? Even the colour seemed to be changing from blond to more of a strawberry blond. She joked to herself that she just needed to wash it more, that it must be the red dirt being blown into her hair. Charlotte loved the change; she felt alive for the first time in a long time.

Alive like the island in all its fall glory. The trees were a beautiful canopy of colours: red, orange, and ochre yellow. The fields of blueberries were coloured a rich red as if to match the earth. Water was everywhere, and Charlotte soon began to play a game as she drove the hills, wondering if the blue ahead was sky or ocean. A towering red and white lighthouse could be seen poking out in the distance. There were something like 62 lighthouses on the small island, and she planned on visiting every one of them.

It wasn't long before she pulled into a small village, just big enough to house a small grocery/liquor store, post office, restaurant and bakery. The little village was home to a fisherman's harbour and marina. The fall lobster season had just ended, and there was a quiet lull in the harbour; lobster traps were neatly stacked, and weathered boats bobbed in the water. The more brilliant colours of the summer had faded away to the warmer, more subdued colours of fall, but bright pops of colour were still painted everywhere in yellows, blues, and red on fishing buoys, lobster traps, boats, rope, and even the little fishing sheds. All a little worn by the salt water and wind, the scene was both a feast for the eyes and the nose as Charlotte took in the briny air.