Maybe it is the stiff wide leaf grass closely mowed or the salt air, but Saint Simon's Island brings so many memories back to me.
One memory happened when I was away at college. My parents and younger siblings made a jaunt to Brunswick and Jekyll Island which required a pilgrimage to the National Park Fort Frederica. They returned to the 62 rambler station wagon to see a man running off with the sausages, eggs and other groceries they had purchased. Mom would fire up the green camp stove and cook us a feast for every meal.
I went to the park so many times, I remember there was an Ann Bennett's tavern in the early settlement. This tickled my twelve-year-old heart to discover.
On father's day, I feel a special pain. My dad would chaperone our girl scout trips and one was to Jekyll Island. He purchased a large tent and my family started going several times a year.
My parents had swimming in the ocean down to a science so we didn't get sunburned. One time the undertow whipped my grandmother off her feet and she lost her false teeth. We did plenty of diving but never found those teeth.
I'm staying at the Booth motel on the retreat Epworth by the Sea for the Southeastern Writer's Conference. I may never chug out a published story, but they are a fantastic group of people. It is small and as I suspected many of the attendees know each other. So many have come many years in a row. There are some who have come for 20 years or more.
Just a few evening views of the Frederica River beside the Epworth retreat.