Hunting And Hungry, Next Exit, Smoke!

Smoke!  From a distance we could see the smoke.   It rose like a "here am I" signal from an Indian's teepee village.

At the first, Spencer spied a sign on the interstate that stated the names of eating places coming up at the next exit.  We were hungry.  250 miles south of home and we were hunting.  Hunting and hungry for something to eat.  Turns out it was going to be smoking pigs!  LOL, at least that's what Spencer called Smokey Pig Bar-B-Que.

I took pictures of the wooden shack-like building with it's bar-b-que smoker hidden by the picketty-wooden privacy fence.  Couldn't hide the smoke, tho.

Oh, so good was that taste of sweet sharp sauce on shredded pork with fluffy fresh bun.
The customers were a happy lot, knowing their pleasure was coming.  One gentleman laughed, and sounded like my uncle.  I just had to greet him with a kindred smile.  Customers came and went, a steady stream, never empty-handed.

The hand-written signs kept us entertained while we ate.
"If you don't like it HOT don't get it DIPPED," and
"When you order Pork Chop that means Pork Chop (bone in)
N O T chopped pork!"

We couldn't help but laugh at some of the menu items:  Half Chicken, Large Dog, Small Dog, and Shred Dog!

Next morning we were parked, by Spencer self-designated driver, on a sad dreary vacant street in front of Bluegrass Grille.  He said he googled where to go because he wanted local food, culture of the city.  Grass grew up between the curb and sidewalk, the windows of empty storefronts were dirty, and all was quiet.  This was early morning, the sun just grazing the horizon that was still gray from the night.  No twitters from the birds, no coughs from old men, no car horns, nothing.

Then.  Then we opened the door to the grill.  Hubbub!  What a mix of sounds!  Clanging, high chatter, chair scrapings, ice clanking, laughter, kid trills, and "We'll seat you in just a few minutes."  We were third in line.  The back wall was a green, muted mural of the Appalachian Mountains.  The floors were knotted hardwood, and the side walls were red brick.  What a contrast!

From Louisville, to Chattanooga to Savannah, I can't fail to mention the Espresso Gallery, The Sugar Shack, The Social Club, and Coffee Roasters Cafe. Homeward through South Carolina and Tennessee we stopped at The Diner.

The Diner was retro to the 1950's.  All glistening, reflective silver chrome on the outside and red-checkered and soda fountain-like on the inside serving burgers and fries and berry cobbler and pies.  Yet we were totally taken aback by the wait staff, men and women who looked like they were the teeny-boppers of the 1950's!  Definitely put a smile on your face and made ya wish ya could afford their t-shirts.

Spencer knew I thought his t-shirt was threadbare and not worthy of being seen in public.  At the laundromat in Tybee, we were discussing this when an older couple joined in our conversation.  She was very grandmotherly and she commiserated with him, "He's treating  his shirts like he'll treat his car and his wife, "Keep 'em forever!"  Of course, I got the "See there, Mom" look.

So, one of the last places we went had the best fish, Molly McGuires, but I'll not return.  I got food poisoning from the cole slaw.  The last breakfast place we patronized was Bojangles, southern-inspired fast-food known for Cajun chicken, but we had nuggets, and biscuit sandwiches.  Gotta tell ya though, as we went through the drive-through Spencer was flirty with the girl.  Yep.  They laughed and giggled.  When we got to the window to receive our food, they were still laughing and giggling.

I asked if he wanted to get her phone number.  Guess not.  Maybe like the neighboring Coosaw Indians she should send up a "come hither" smoke signal.

By the way, can Cajun chicken make ya giggle?

Pet A Shark On Tybee Beach?

Exactly what were we doing?  Standing on the boardwalk, that’s exactly what we were doing!

The three of us were gazing south, leaning against a gray weathered pillar watching the day’s bathers exit the beach.  

Sun had just set when we decided to head for Tybee Beach, a mere block from our bed and breakfast.   We stood there enjoying the solitude with a good breeze whipping the sea salted sand out of our hair, and coolin' our skin.  The night was dusky gray, not yet opaque.  It was peaceful.  

“Watchin' the tide, roll away, sittin' on the dock of the bay, wastin' time.”  Yes, absolutely, we were wastin’ time!

Soon, lights like lightning bugs, flickered here and there at the waters edge. It took a bit to figure out if it was insects, or something else.  We finally realized it was treasure hunters with flashlights.  They were looking for shark teeth, jewelry, money; anything of value to them – even sand crabs that scamper away or baby loggerhead sea turtles that head for the moonlight.

The bouncing lights just added to the relaxed ethereal feeling.

“Sittin’ in the mornin’ sun, watching the ships roll in, then watch ‘em roll away again.”

The next morning Spencer pulled out his sand anchor and his beach umbrella of striped blues and white.  Right to the edge we went.  Right where the water slides up the beach.  We screwed the anchor in up to its handles, and then poked the umbrella shaft into that.  Ahhhhh, I had my beach, my cool water, and my shade, too!  Life couldn’t be better!

We casually watched a fisherman casting from the large black rock jetty nearby. As he made his moves, a series of little white fish jumped out of the water as if they were being juggled by an undersea creature, “Ploop.  Ploop. Ploop.”

Then John noticed water bubbles about two feet from him accompanied by a decent sized under-the-surface shadow.  “There’s something staying right with us,” he said pointing.

I turned to Spencer, “Didn’t you say you wanted to pet a shark?”  “Well, there you go.  From your lips to God’s ears!”

Swiftly, Spencer took two giant steps back!  Behind us he pushed.  I guess we were supposed to pet the shark!

Bobbing on Atlantic’s ocean waves, floating between the crests, we’d occasionally push off the sandy bottom with our toes.  

We watched sailboats cruise by, then two big ships made their appearance out of the ocean’s haze.  The first one veered off and disappeared out of sight.  The second one, bigger, of a more impressive hulk, stayed on his tail, but didn’t veer off, instead disappeared into his own journey.

That’s us -- disappearing from our normal life into our own journey.

“I'm sittin' here restin' my bones, this … thousand miles I roamed, just to make this dock my home, wastin’ time.”

Being back home, back to normal life, I’m a’wastin’ time!  I gotta go back.  The sirens of the sea are calling me.  Gotta go back to that dock in Tybee to watch some “tides roll away!” 

Pier Pleasure, Tybee Island

“Some beach, some where” lyrically rambles through my head.  I know, I know, it’s all about a man who endures frustration, but I hear Blake Shelton’s voice in there coaxing me right back to Tybee Island to sit under “a big umbrella casting shade” with “a warm breeze blowin”.  

East of Savannah, you know, a wonderful getaway, Tybee Island.

You can’t resist the tug and pull of the Atlantic waves for soothing away the troubles.  Nor for salt washing the soul.  It’s Pier Pleasure.  LOL, yes, I said that.  Puns are fun, aren’t they?

There were plenty of them as we navigated the side roads, and main thoroughfares with our golf cart.   We saw Pier Pleasure tacked to an outside shower house, a must to keep sand out of plumbing and off hardwood floors.

John preferred riding in the back of the golf cart.  He could relax.  Didn’t have to concern himself with traffic.  Just the vacation he wanted he said.

Spencer liked being the man behind the wheel.  He drove us through allies, and down to boat ramps, where we watched red sailed dinghies take off, and through the sandy paths, and over the graveled bypass created especially for golf cart traffic.

So, up close, first hand, we got to see the islanders’ happiness printed on signs nailed to their beach houses, and hung on their yard ornaments. Some were even painted on their garage walls.  One such sign punned the French phrase “C’est la vie” with the words Sea Le Vie.  We pointed and grinned.

Slowly cruising by the next house that had an open-air carport, we spied a sign hanging from a bird’s neck.   “Sassy Seagull” it read.  Funny.

So was the dinosaur with multi-colored Christmas tinsel dangling from his jaws, like it was still Christmas!   Sheesh.  Then there was the giant sea turtle climbing up a house wall, and the truck duck.  There was a white duck peering at us through the closed window of a big red Chevy truck.  For a nanosecond we were concerned until we realized he was stone still.  Made of cement, he was; all too funny!

A billboard advertisement said they sold Handi-Houses.  Of course, Spencer looked closely.  He claims he’s moving to Tybee, but, alas, this sign was not for home buying.  This Handi-House sign was for the common shed!  Ha, ha.

We saw Cap’n Mike Dolphin Tours, Dizzy Dean Liquors, and the alligator at the Crab Shack.  That green imitation alligator was about seven feet tall including its open gaping mouth.

On the way home, “leaving the palm trees, and salty evenin’ air”, we went through South Carolina and passed another fun sign, Coosawhatchie.  That one I had to look up!

It’s a city's name derived from the Indian tribe of Coosaw and their word for river, hatchie.  Well, that explanation made sense, but it was more fun to have it tumbling around in my brain and spilling off my lips, “Coose-a-watch-ee.”  Say it again.  “Coose-a-watch-ee”.  One more time and you’ve said it three times fast, hilarious.

If you’ve been landlocked by the flats of Illinois, the hills of Kentucky, and the rolling plains of Ohio, and have ever taken a vacation to ocean waters, you know what I mean -- there’s nothing like “nowhere to go” and “a beautiful sunset”.    My mind is still rambling that beachy song. 

Waving goodbye, sea waves back!  It's a Conch-clusion.  Chuckle, it’s punny!

What's A Tybee Island?

“Islands in the stream” sings Dolly Parton.  “Sail away with me, to another world,” croons Kenny Rogers.   And that’s what runs through my mind when Spencer says, “Let’s go to Tybee Island.”

Tybee Island?  What’s a Tybee Island?

Put your wheels on I-74 South and keep going until you hit ocean, the Atlantic Ocean.  By then you’ve passed through Savannah and Thunderbolt. Tybee is one of two.  You have to pass through Wilmington Island to get to Tybee Island.

Citizens of Tybee work on Wilmington. Those that live on Wilmington work on Tybee!  It’s a conundrum.

Spencer falls in love.

He loves the air.  He loves the people.  He loves the beach.  He loves the accommodations.  He loves the golf cart.  He loves the grouper.  He loves the sightseeing.  He loves the seafood.  He loves the stories.  He loves the golf cart.  Oh, I said that before didn’t I, ha, ha.  He’s in love.

You can order Boom Boom Shrimp at the restaurant where one of the waitresses said she originally came from Michigan.  She came to Tybee on vacation, loved it so much she went home, packed up everything, sold everything else, came back and never bought a coat again.  That was eleven years ago!  Spencer’s eyes are excited.

The tall black-haired lady at the convenience store said she came, she stayed, she swims EVERY DAY!   Spencer’s eyes get moony.

“Spencer, you can’t leave home.  You’ll break your mother’s heart,” I say.  “Twenty miles is already too far away,” I am the mom.

A gentleman near by hears our conversation and tells us his story.  He was twenty some years old when he left home (Illinois) to live in Tybee. He came down for vacation, fell in love with the place and stayed.  His mom, too, hated to see him move.  He invested in a rental property, and then invited his dad to come check it out. His dad came and stayed so long that he lost a months rent!

And now his parents come every year!

Aunt was no help.  She flew in to join us on Tybee.  She flew right to his side, “No one in between”.  She helped him check out the babes. Their eyes scanned available properties. They dreamed of living on “Islands in the stream.”

 His eyes stay moonstruck.