We rolled into Holden Beach, North Carolina, in classic style—RV front, beach ahead, adventure pending. That unmistakable Entegra coach shimmered like a knight in maroon and silver armor, claiming a spot in front of a pastel parade of beach houses. The sun had made it across the midday sky when we parked, but still the promise of a great day ahead was already thick in the air. Chris and I teamed up with my cousin Denise and her husband Mark—two seasoned travelers with sharp eyes for antiques and sharper commentary on roadside oddities. Our adventure began the way every American beach day should: wandering into a roadside antique mall that somehow doubled as a time machine.
Inside, we found everything from patriotic gnomes and disco Santa figurines to signs that encouraged us to talk to the plants because “they understand.” Frankly, after a couple minutes inside that store, I believed it. Denise was in her element, eyes gleaming over unique figurines and shelves lined with Depression glass. Mark, meanwhile, leaned in seriously over a bin of old tools like he was deciphering the Rosetta Stone. Chris floated between booths like a treasure-hunting archaeologist in sandals. I held the door open. Every expedition needs a base camp. Once we’d unearthed the best deals and resisted buying a six-foot lighthouse lamp (barely) and opted for a three-foot concrete alligator, it was time to refuel.
We grabbed lunch on the Intercoastal Waterway, seated with views as wide as our appetites. A light breeze, boats lazily floating by, and that subtle salty air reminded us that heaven might just have a Carolina zip code. The food? Let’s just say the seafood didn’t die in vain. From there, it was on to Holden Beach proper. Beach chairs unfolded with the efficiency of a military drill. Our trusty sunshade canopy staked out. Sunglasses deployed. The four of us settled in for deep relaxation—our toes in the sand, our eyes on the waves, and not a care in the world. Topics ranged from theology to snack options, with frequent breaks for laughter. Somewhere between sunscreen applications and beach-walker people-watching, the soul got a little lighter.
And just when we thought the day couldn’t top itself, the grand finale arrived. That sunset—molten orange, low in the sky—descended just perfectly onto the roofline of a beach house like God dropped a glowing marble and let it roll to a stop. We stood there quietly, full of food and salt air and gratitude. No hashtags, no filters, just the kind of moment that sticks. The day closed like a hymn—satisfied hearts, tired feet, and the kind of stillness you only get when you’ve done a whole lot of nothing that means absolutely everything. Moral of the story? Pack light, laugh loud, don’t skip the antique store, and always catch the sunset. Especially in Holden Beach.
