Chapter 7 #2
Cavin rolled down the windows and drove slowly wanting to take in every little detail of his first impression of this town.
The air smelled like the beach as a short bridge just above sea level crossed the waterway previously visible from the taller bridge now observable on his right.
The body of water pretty much ended flush with this bridge along with what resembled a kayak trail leading through an uninhabitable marshy area on the left.
He imagined specific breeds of wildlife probably loved that terrain.
A few blocks lined with cute houses slowly gave way to the waterfront business district after Cavin passed a small old convenience store named Big Daddy Wesley’s, at which he chuckled, and the courthouse.
As the tires circled so did the thoughts in his entrepreneurial mind—all the homes located along this entry route could be acquired and converted to retail space allowing for a next-level wow factor for tourists.
He envisioned a boardwalk along the first waterfront that resembled the one the GPS map showed when Turner Street came to an abrupt end at Taylor Creek.
Pedestrians filled the sidewalks on either side of the road and the walkway on the other side of the road in front of him which formed a T.
While sitting at the stop sign that forced motorists to take a right or left, Cavin read the words Front Street on the green street sign located on the corner while waiting for a family and a few stragglers to filter across the white-lined crosswalk.
This seemed like the hub of the Beaufort waterfront area.
When the coast cleared, he maneuvered the steering wheel clockwise following the road that paralleled the creek on the left though a row of standalone buildings obstructed the full view of the water.
He noticed a couple of restaurants, some small shops, and what looked like a boat-building facility with a large opening on either side that allowed passersby to peer straight through to the creek.
Cavin, taking in the buzzing sounds of saws and sanders, made a mental note to visit that facility.
He could already smell the pleasant aroma of freshly cut wood.
The North Carolina Maritime Museum sat on the right side of the street before giving way to a few blocks of nice homes, while the opposite side of the road suddenly offered an open view of the creek and what looked like private docks stretching into the waterway, and there he spotted several boats cruising along the calm water.
The words potential, potential, potential darted across Cavin’s mind like a banner ad in Times Square.
The town already embodied a Hallmark movie, but this place could grow significantly without losing its charm.
Although not an island, Beaufort felt like one which spoke volumes about the potential for this gold mine.
Vacationers wanted to unplug from reality, and nothing accomplished that feat quicker than living on island time in a quaint town.
So many people were fed up with big cities—the busy streets, the ridiculous crime rates, and all the rest—yet they still wanted to visit a spot featuring everything they needed and more.
Cavin’s land acquisition and business development goals were to achieve this feat without losing the small town’s ambiance.
A few blocks from where he initially turned, Cavin reached a cul-de-sac that required traffic to turn around and head back in the direction from which it came.
Before spinning the wheel, he stopped to take in the view since the rearview mirror showed no cars directly behind him.
A few stray benches in grassy areas overlapped by live oak trees overlooked marsh grass and the waterway that circled this end of Beaufort.
Across the channel he captured the sight of a slew of fishing boats with large nets strung high while the crews rested somewhere else.
Cavin doubted they got much more time off than he did but maybe the fishermen were home with their families for the long holiday weekend.
He imagined Beaufort's makeup included many native residents as well as wealthy outsiders who retired here.
That rang true for most small waterfront towns these days.
Often an ongoing battle existed between the two groups, the former wanting to maintain the status quo of a slow-paced environment while the latter pursued change in the form of adding modern amenities.
Cavin hoped to find a middle ground between the different perspectives. That goal provided him an opportunity to appeal to each group although the ice on which he had to tread was usually as thin as paper. Nonetheless, he welcomed the challenge.
Pivers Island, housing the Duke University Marine Lab, came into view on the left across the channel, close enough that Cavin could pull an iron from his golf bag and send a ball over there without a problem.
He wished he had brought his clubs with him but knew he could rent some at a local country club if he wanted to play.
There was a good probability he would meet other business professionals who enjoyed the game, and he would treat them to a round of golf while discussing the endless possibilities his family’s firm could offer the area.
Heading back in the other direction, Cavin noted that the town would benefit from a boardwalk on this end of the road to meet up with the one he spotted on the map earlier.
When he made it back to that point where Turner Street met Front Street, he kept driving straight with the creek now on his right yet hidden by a row of two-story shops.
On the left the buildings resembled those in a normal small downtown area.
After passing a candy store with a mouth-watering display of festive holiday treats in the windows, he pulled into a parking lot overlooking the waterway.
“Waterfronts are not for parking lots,” he murmured to himself, although he appreciated the spectacular view.
Across the street Cavin couldn’t miss the long red sign with bold white lettering on the front of Clawson’s 1905 Restaurant & Pub.
After closing the SUV’s windows and sunroof, he ventured in that direction hoping to find a delicious breakfast and some chatty locals who might divulge information about prospective real estate development opportunities.