Sarah E. Moffett

Cross Road Bookstore
Barnes & Noble (Brier Creek Commons)
Roxboro and Raleigh, North Carolina
Week Six

This past Friday morning, I returned to the land of Faulkner, sweetened ice tea, grits served 45 different ways, and the five syllable “hhh—eee—llllll—ooo—ooo.” North Carolina.

“In my mind I’m gone to Carolina/ Can’t you see the sunshine?/ Can’t you just feel the moonshine? And, ain’t it just like a friend of mine/ To hit me from behind?/ Yes, I’m gone to Carolina in my mind.”

It seemed appropriate to be returning to my childhood home mid-book tour as so much of Growing Up Moffett is centered around that region. Not surprisingly, Faulkner’s words kept me company each descending mile down I-95 and I-85. “[l]t is himself that the Southerner is writing about, not about his environment…. We need to talk, to tell, since oratory is our heritage.” So it goes.

First book stop was at Cross Road Bookstore. A virtual institution off Depot Street in Roxboro, it has stood for 25 years and is run by the classy and respected Belle

Booth.

My grandmother.

Like all things done by my grandmother, this meant my experiences would be of a different variety. Prior to my arrival, the book had been broadcasted on the radio, advertised in papers, and even occupied the front page of the local newspaper. Put it this way, if Roxboro was Stars Hollow, I was enjoying the blessing of being Rory Gilmore. Upon arrival, hugs, and travel inquiries, Grandmother proceeded to conduct the most successful book event to date. In fact, I’m not even sure I was necessary. She had punch, finger food (including ham biscuits), and flowers. I shook half of Person County’s AARP population’s hands as she sold books like water in the Sahara. She even graciously overlooked me reading Kurt Vonnegut’s “Slaughterhouse Five” under the signing table.

In the end, I was touched. Awed. And humbled. If I am half the woman she is someday, I’ll be just fine with who I became. God bless her.

I spent that night out in the country in my mother’s childhood home with my grandparents. Considering their home was one of my favorite Christmas stories to relay in the book, it seemed fitting, albeit wholly narcissistic to be doing a location tour of one’s own book. But I digress.

“Dark and silent, late last night/ I think I might have heard the highway call/ And geese in flight and dogs that bite/ The signs that might be omens say/ I’m goin’, I’m goin/ I’m gone to Carolina in my mind.”

The next morning, after a depressing run (as in I can’t anymore) in Southern heat and some much needed tea, I sat down to breakfast with my grandparents. Once plied with the appropriate number of ham biscuits, they regaled me with stories I never heard in childhood. Stories that it pains me not to share with the rest of the world, because I assure you these gems far surpass any book tour details or road warrior disasters I may pass along. Alas, a promise of silence was exacted, but since my Grandparents don’t check internet, I’ll simply suggest that learning one’s proper Southern family may or may not have had to deal with probating unintentional opium plants over breakfast should include Bailey’s in said listener’s coffee.

That afternoon I drove to Raleigh for the B&N book event, which was hosted by the extraordinarily gracious community relations manager Jackie. When I attempted to take an “extended break” from the book event, I was quickly tracked down by a friend. He found in front of the Kerouac section. I’m disappointed by my own predictability. Anyway, for his thoughtfulness, he was commissioned to sit with me through the duration of the book event and then drive me to Quail Ridge’s Books, Raleigh’s most well known independent bookstore, to sign copies of the Growing Up Moffett stock. Consider this a warning to all good intentioned souls who come to book events. You may be shamelessly used.

“With a holy host of others standin’ around me/ Still I’m on the dark side of the moon/ And it seems like it goes on like this forever/ You must forgive me, if I’m up and gone to/Carolina in my mind.”

I wrapped up my time eating dinner with 3/4ths of the Yarborough family, my next door neighbors that rank only second to my immediate family in terms of time and attention in the book. We laughed, we ate, and we reminisced. It reminded me that being in the South is to be wrapped in something warm, familiar, but shifting and aged. I’ve missed it.

As I left dinner, I contemplated driving by the old homestead and revisiting my childhood home. Wisdom and focus took their appropriate lead, and instead of turning East, I moved North. Some things are best left in the past, even when they form the foundation to the future. It was enough. It was time to go home. And as I turned onto I-85 to travel the 262 miles back to my new home, I hummed along with James Taylor and sang

“In my mind I’m gone to Carolina/ Can’t you see the sunshine?/ Can’t you just feel the moonshine? And, ain’t it just like a friend of mine/ To hit me from behind?/ Yes, I’m gone to Carolina in my mind.”

Acknowledgments. Grandmother and Grandhoney, I am blessed to have you in my life. Timothy the Taxi, may this find you in your apartment on the verge of gainful employment. Mrs. Christie, Ben, and Adam, thank you for your time and dinner. And to the cop on highway 47, thank you for focusing on your donut as I cleared the corner at 75 in a 45.

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