A Vexing Two Weeks Fighting Against the Despondency from the Land of Non-Sense

My attempts to continue posting to this blog, documenting the events of my travels from Kansas to the east coast of North Carolina, have been fraught with one difficulty after the next - of which lack of time has not been.  No, for the most part, I have written nothing because nothing is available to write.  I have ventured out nowhere; I have met no new people; I have seen nothing out of the ordinary.  My days have followed the same standard script of wake up, drive over to Edenton for coffee, return to The Beechtree Inn to work on my videos, drive into Elizabeth City for either a late lunch or early dinner at Chick-Fil-A, and then return to the inn for an evening of watching "Crossing Jordan" with Jackie Hobbs (the proprietor of the inn) until 9:00 when husband Ben returns to watch whatever might be featured on TV at that hour.  Such has been my past couple of weeks here.

Mixed into this routine, I add my own continuing thoughts on what my next move should constitute.  Realistically, my road out of here was drawn the day after my failed return from Virginia, which followed my disappointment at the Perquimans County Courthouse, where I discovered nothing pertaining to the Darby Sexton local historian Raymond Winslow the week earlier. 

I knew of Darby Sexton through my research on ancestry.com.  There were a couple records of him, which I added into my family tree as the earliest direct ancestor.  What Raymond Winslow added was a record in one of his books, which stated Darby Sexton, back in 1680, appeared in a Perquimans County Courthouse to claim his "headrights" claim for 300 acres of land.

As I understand 'headrights', it was a policy of North Carolina, during that time period, to offer 50 acres of free land to any individual moving into the province.  Darby Sexton brought with him six people, thus permitting him to acquire the 300 acres.  My naivete suggested the record for this should be located in the Perquimans County Courthouse.  The county was formed in 1670; they should hold a record for something that occurred in 1680.

The best I could come onto was a few land transactions conducted by Darby Sexton's son-in-law, Elihu Albertson in the early 1700s.  There was no mention of Darby Sexton, nor his daughter Sarah (who married Elihu), nor the son William.

Discouragement set in; yet hope was not entirely vanquished.  Though I held no port in Virginia through which Darby Sexton came to the American colonies back in the 17th century, I decided to proceed with my trip into Virginia, hoping I might discover something.

Hope springs eternal, but it does not guarantee success.  My trip into Virginia on that Tuesday was a disaster.  I departed the inn here plenty early, forecasting an hour to reach an amenable coffeehouse in which to begin my day, but as I drew closer to the Interstate leading into the Chesapeake/Norfolk/Portsmouth/Virginia Beach area, I found traffic bottled up to a standstill and a wrong turn led me nowhere.

I believe it took me three hours, from the time I departed Beechtree to the time I finally stopped for coffee (Panera Bread is wonderful); and after those three hours of non-stop nonsensical driving, I was sporting a rather sour disposition.

Panera Bread was the only positive for me on that day; for after I left there, I searched out a library to dig into some genealogy work.  My GPS declared a library in downtown Norfolk; but after several attempts to find a parking space, and even the library itself, I threw in the towel, opting to search elsewhere.  This led to the library in Portsmouth, which did show a very nice library; I must admit.  My problems arose, once again, with the parking.  While I found a space to park absent any charge, the space came with a two-hour time limit.

Okay.  Not a problem.  In the genealogy room of the Portsmouth library, no further doors were opened - only erected.   Like in other forays into libraries and courthouses, I gathered more names of people who may, or may not, be related. 

This experience may not have deflated my enthusiasm, as it did, if not for the realization some of the new names and places found were names and  place unearthed already - from other libraries courthouses perused.  Why, I asked myself, continue with the charade of visiting the locations of your ancestors, if every place you visit carries the same pieces of information?

Thus my quest stalled.

I considered an earlier thought of renting an apartment for a month, continuing my search with a months' addition of time, while also investigating any job opportunities out and about.  This idea led me to my most vexing experience of my entire travels.  The following day, after leaving the coffeehouse in Edenton, rather than returning immediately to the inn, I opted for a foolish venture over to Plymouth, thirty miles distant along a winding array of one-lane roads.  If I remained, perhaps Plymouth could offer me something.  A parishioner at the church Ben and Jackie attend, emailed Jackie a listing of about twenty Sextons buried in the cemeteries around there, Washington County.  I turned off highway 17, leading out of Edenton and towards Hertford, and began my disastrous trek in the direction of Plymouth.

When I reached the city limits, I spotted a McDonalds on the left side of the road, and I decided to stop and see if I could pick up an Internet signal.  If I logged onto the Internet, perhaps it could provide some information on Plymouth; perhaps I could discover some direction of where to look and for what.

It was less than half a second after I signaled to turn into the left-hand lane to make the left turn ahead that a state trooper vehicle comes racing up behind me.  I'm thinking he wishes to get around, as his lights are blazing, so I move back into the right lane.  He flies into the right lane, behind me, on my bumper.  I pull the car over to the side of the road.  He steps out.  I roll down my window.  What on earth is going on?

He proceeds to tell me he  pulled me over because I was not wearing my seat belt.

!@?!???@#$???

I am aware of seat belt laws.  They flood the states.  I would imagine all fifty states sport them with the same standard highway patrol threat of 'click it, or ticket'.  I also realize how utterly intrusive, unconstitutional, and inane such acts are.  If a driver does not wear a seatbelt, the only person that driver is harming, if they have a wreck, (and not everyone who sits behind the wheel of a vehicle is going to have a wreck) is themselves.  I don't wear a seat belt because it is an annoyance, and it is uncomfortable.  The constraining of the straps, in my view, could cause the same impediment to safe driving that wearing it is meant to avoid.

However, my view means nothing.  I am an American, and that is supposed to stand for the right to an opinion; but when facing an overzealous state trooper, who obviously is so bored he needed to act on this highly illegal and criminal activity of non-seatbelt wearing, my rights as a citizen are non-existent.  All that matters is the high and might monolith of the state.  Nothing else.

Needless to say, I did not remain in  Plymouth.  Such a greeting into their community spoke volumes to me of 'GET OUT.'  I turned around and headed back the way I came; and as I drove the same two-lane roads that would lead me back to Hertford and The Beechtree Inn, I could not help but consider one striking characteristic to my experience in North Carolina that differed from my time driving through Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, and Tennessee.

I have seen more state troopers, with people pulled over to the side of the road, than in all those other states combined.  In fact, I took note of the decidedly absent presence of law enforcement in Kentucky and Tennessee.  Certainly, they were out and about; but they never made their presence as pronounced as what I have observed here in North Carolina.

Were all those stops justifiable?  Were they people speeding?  Or driving in a reckless manner?  Such was my initial impression when arriving in this area, my impression prior to my own stop.  Now, reflecting on these things as I drove back to Hertford, I had to wonder if all of those stops were also for the dastardly crime of ignoring one's seatbelt.  And if so, why the zealotry?  My belief, on the enforcement of this stupid law, has been, up to this point, law enforcement would only enforce it if they pulled a driver to the side of the road for something else.  I could never envision a state trooper chasing down a driver because he wasn't wearing a seatbelt.

Obviously, it happens; it happened to me.  It probably happened to all those people I saw, pulled off to the side of the road, having committed no crime, having merely fallen into the sites of an overzealous state trooper looking to fill out his quota of tickets for the day.

Thus, I am fighting through a despondency that tells me you are a fool.  You will never fit in anywhere.  Your efforts to accomplish anything in life are so nonsensical, the nonsensical (being pulled over for not wearing a seatbelt) will continue to haunt you all your days.  Common sense, which I care to pursue, so inane ideology of the Gestapo doesn't befall me too, is falling out of favor, as people assume surface-level reporting of events as the cardinal truths of life.  No one investigates.  No one asks questions.  No one seeks to search deeper.  What is the truth?  What is right?  What is the pathway God set up for right and wrong, good and bad, truth and lie?  No one puts in the effort to make that determination; and thus, people get pulled over for not strapping a belt across their chest.