The Atlantic Ocean!

A few days ago, when I couldn’t figure out where to go next, I got an email from a woman I didn’t know, inviting me to come stay with her on Amelia Island. I accepted.

I hear your sharp intake of breath at my foolhardiness, but such a visit is not as risky as it seems. The woman lost her husband two years ago, and between us there will always be a bond of shared pain and struggles for renewal after the devastating upheaval of our lives. Besides, I’d never been to that island on the east coast, and my goal for this trip had aways been to go all the way to the Atlantic Ocean.

The roads from New Port Richey to Amelia Island seemed a ridiculous mess of twists and turns from one highway to another, so I opened the Google maps app on my phone and followed where it led me — through orange orchards, past emerald fields where white birds grazed among black cattle, and onto forested roads.

I stopped for the night at a fifties era motel in Starke, and took a stroll on a red brick street lined with old houses and moss-draped trees.

Now I am having a picnic on the beach until it’s time to visit my new hostess.

And afterward? A zig through Georgia, a zag to North Carolina, and then west again.

But I am getting ahead of myself, anticipating future moments when this particular moment — my arrival at the Atlantic Ocean — is worth savoring.

I hope you are savoring your moment, too.

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

***

Immersing Myself in Southern/Island Culture

My visit to St. Simons Island, GA to speak at the Scribbler’s Retreat Writers’ Conference was my first trip to the south, and I made sure that I immersed myself in the culture (at least as much as one can in a few days). I walked on the beach, climbed the lighthouse, toured a Civil War era cemetery, strolled among live oaks dripping with Spanish moss (which is neither Spanish nor moss but a member of the pineapple family). And ate. She-crap soup. Crab cakes. Shrimp and grits. Red beans and rice. Key lime pie. Fried oysters. Fried green tomatoes. Fried dill pickles. Vidalia onion pie. I was disappointed in the fried green tomatoes and the beans and rice. Both dishes were seasoned heavily with rosemary, which is my least favorite herb. And I was disappointed not to find such haute cousine as fried Twinkies, but I’m sure my stomach thanks me for the oversight.

I also met a woman I considered to be a quintessential fading southern belle. She was still beautiful despite being past her first youth, and hospitable (she took me on a tour of the island on Sunday in the hours between hotel check-out and my flight home). She was also charming, sweet,  and  . . .  from Maine. Just shows one should not assume anything.

Several of my meals were eaten in the company of fellow speakers Phillip Margolin, Chuck Barrett, and Jane Wood, (and Chuck’s delightful wife who taught me that “the store is always open,” meaning that authors always need to be ready to promote themselves. Maybe I’ll even heed her words and carry my bookmarks with me!)

I’m still trying to collect the photos that people took of me, but until then, you’ll have to be satisfied with photos I took.

The Hotel where I spent Wednesday and Thursday night

My room at the Village Inn

Atlantic Ocean

Pier at St. Simons Island

Civil War Cemetery

Southern Gothic

Fried Green Tomatoes, Fried Oysters, Vidalia Onion Pie, Fried Dill Pickles

St. Simons Island Lighthouse

I mentioned in my previous post that I went visited the lighthouse on St. Simons Island instead of working on my presentation for the Scribblers Retreat Writers’ Conference, and it was time well spent. How often does one get to roam around a lighthouse unsupervised? Luckily there was a handrail, because 129 narrow steps is a long climb!

Lighthouse at St. Simons Island, GA

Lighthouse tower entrance

View from the top of the lighthouse -- Jekyll Island and the Atlantic Ocean

One foot forward -- Beginning the dizzying descent.