For eons the Outer Banks were built and nourished by hurricanes, and they naturally migrated west toward the mainland. Today this process is disrupted by overdevelopment and the highway that threads the island villages. Instead more frequent and intense storms fueled by climate change are eroding the Outer Banks, and six feet of global sea level rise by 2100 threatens to inundate the islands.
Locals are already watching their ancestors and memory slip into the sea. Halfway down Hatteras lies the Salvo Day Use Campground tucked between the edge of the Pamlico Sound and a parking lot — a place teeming with tourists and estuarine life, and a final resting place for descendants of some of the first European settlers to America. But when the storms blow and the water surges, the sound floods the cemetery, which is disappearing grave by grave.
A group of cemetery descendants are racing to build a bulkhead to keep their ancestors from washing away. They discovered that we share a distant ancestor who was once buried at the cemetery, but a storm sucked her into the sound years ago. They introduced me to an elderly woman grew up in Salvo, who, all her life, has watched the ceaseless storms reshape the Outer Banks. Her memories of the only home she has ever known are fading as quickly as the sea strips the island away, but she still wants to be buried at the cemetery next to her grandparents even if the sea eventually takes her bones.
Protecting expensive beachfront homes and billions of tourism dollars are central to sea level rise planning on the Outer Banks. But what about culture? Tide and Time explores the effects of sea level rise on memory and familial roots, creating a historical document of a resilient people on this restless sliver of sand.