THE FUN, THE FEEL, THE FUNKY

                       

"Thoughts drifting to a sunny getaway?" YES!  One vacation reviewer says, “Tybee Island has a laid-back atmosphere, small-community feel and funky vibe.” 

                   Ha, ha, funky vibe.

You could say that.  Remember the dinosaur statue with Christmas tinsel hanging from his gaping mouth?  It was July!  

Then there was the cat.  Spencer said it was "the laziest cat I ever saw" living at the Beachview Bed and Breakfast.  We walked up from the breezy beach, took a turn to go between the patron's cars to the outdoor shower, and walked right upon this mature, well-fed, mostly black cat.  It had a white vest chest and was laying in the shade in the same place in the same parking spot under the same car every day.

If ever there was an un-curious cat, this was it!  Never did we see him eating from a dish, chasing a bird, or browsing through the bushes.  All his nine lives were safely in tact.

Sometimes he would rouse himself to raise his head to boringly gaze at us.  Most times he'd just lay there calm and convinced we'd know our place and step around him!

The Royal Palm Motel, too, had an outside shower.  The bed and breakfast had an enclosed one, looked much like an outhouse of the mid-west.  The one at the motel was just a drain in the ground, and a pipe for sending water up to the rain showerhead. 

Homeowners of Tybee didn't want sand in their carpets, or on their hardwood floors, or in the plumbing.  It was a real problem.  

So was the carpet in our Royal Palm Motel room.  I asked the motel owner about it.   I wondered if they'd used some strong chemical to clean it.  He said, "No, it's just all the sand.  In the fall we're going to replace all the rooms' [carpet] with linoleum-like flooring."  

I told him, "Sorry about all the linens."  "We had to wash our feet multiple times and the white washrags and towels are not so white."  One evening Sis laughingly went to each of us as we were relaxing, after a good meal of seafood, and while watching TV, to wash our feet.  It didn't matter.  A walk back and forth through the room on that awful carpet and we again had feet that were black as that lazy cat!

Speaking of feet, we went to the Crab Shack "Where the elite eat with their bare feet."  Too funny.  We didn't eat with bare feet, but there were plenty of other oddities.

The place had outdoor seating, amongst 100 year old live oaks, on a planked deck, right on the bank of Chimney Creek.  The original menu on 4x8 sheet of plywood still hangs nearby. A large upright faux alligator greeted us.  Dotted throughout the tables were water stations -- each with a sink and towels.   

And, oh, the tables, ha, ha, I laugh thinking about them.  They were about the size of a card table, with a raised section in the middle that held condiments and needs like napkins, but mostly the raised section covered a large hole in the middle - easy access to your own personal trashcan!

To add to this quirkiness, after eating crabs, crawdads, shrimp, potatoes, and sausage, you could walk-off your lethargy by touring the live baby gator lagoon!

The gators were inert.   We wanted pictures.  So, I leaned over the railing, let out a holler and clapped my hands.   They reacted.  We got our pictures.  John reacted too, "Don't do that!  They're alligators!"

Well, sheesh, what's to fear?  They were babies, 5 feet beneath us, and caged -- the best kind of alligators.

Oh, and don't forget Crab Shack cats. Though one Crab Shack sign says, "It's illegal to feed the alligators,”  the other sign says "Crab Shack cats are not feral, they are family.  Don't feed the cats."

And this was my kind of getaway:  sunny, funny, and funky.  

Trip To Tybee High Jinks

The trip down.
The trip down to Tybee Island.
The trip down to Tybee Island was...high jinks!

In the background of my mind I hear muddled song lyrics "Do you know the way to Sand Tybee?"  "I'm going to find some peace of mind."  "There's a great big freeway."

Dad, born and raised in Indiana, was in the medevac unit during the tail-end of the Korean War.  There he learned to read a map.  Then he married Mom -- born and raised in Kentucky.  He had to travel between the two states and this BEFORE INTERSTATES!

Along came kids, 6 of us, and as we each reached that age we were put in the front seat and taught to read a map.  When we reached that other certain age, we got to sit up front due to car sickness, unless brother was the sicker, or sister was the sickest yet.  Anyway, back to the subject, I could read a map.

On this trip?  Not necessary.  Spencer commandeered the steering wheel and used his cellphone GPS propped; propped right up there in the gadget dash hiding the speedometer.  What a difference in the times!  From zig-zagging back roads up and down the mountain with a paper map to straight shot interstates with a cellphone!

As I said HE commandeered and we went to Chattanooga before we knew it.  HE said you couldn't go through Chattanooga without checking out the trains.  HE drove us straight there.  So, we took a train ride, on the Tennessee Valley Railroad.

Three things stick out about that train ride.  One, the tracks had to be built up because of a flood that marked the trees higher than three men stacked.  Two, it used to take days to repair a train car, today due to materials and labor it takes a decade.  Three, there's nothing more interesting that watching a steam engine on a turn key making a 360 degree maneuver.  "Stand back the cow catcher might catch a leg!"

A long trip begs entertainment and, of course, we used our cellphones.  Out came one-liners, memes, funny quotes, and laughable photos.  One photo was an island when viewed from a helicopter looked like an elephant on it's side, complete with spine as mountain ridge and extended trunk slurping water.  Spencer quoted the caption, "God has a sense of humor."

John quickly agreed, "Anybody that can make hair come out of my ears has a sense of humor!"  And, it's true.  He has one wild hair that in a good breeze could wave at you!

Driving through Georgia a sign said, "Dublin Exit 1 Mile".  Dublin, reminiscent of my trip in Ireland, made me think of the song "On the Road to Killarney" so I asked Spencer to find it on the internet.  At this point he's NOT driving.  This time I am, and he's in the backseat.

Even though I insisted he find a song version with words, he only found an instrumental version.  After the instrumental version played through, he said he was in the mood for Irish music, so ... what did I hear wafting my way?  CHRISTMAS IN KILLARNEY!

"Christmas in Killarney????"  I squeeked.  "Christmas in JUNE!"
"Christmas in June and on FATHERS DAY????"
How Spencer-typical!

He loves Christmas at all times of the year.  Every family member, every friend every where on Facebook knows this.  The day after December 25 we get a notice, "364 days until Christmas!"

I hear from the backseat a question I know exactly how to answer, "Does that mean you don't want to hear "Bells Over Belfast?"

Now, I know you agree with me.  The trip down to Tybee was a trip...with high jinks.

Spanky's Pirate Mermaid

Well, that title makes the mind whirl, doesn't it? Spanky's Pirate Mermaid?

Don't know if I can connect these three or not but I shall give it the old college try, as the saying goes.

Scene setting -- weather is warm, not hot; sky is mid-blue, calming; passer-bys are happily smiling, dressed in shorts and t-shirts of colors light yellow and whites and greens;  sounds of lapping water and splashes, muffled crunch of sand underfoot.

It's early morning, the stores are just opening.  These are gift shops with beach chairs, sandals of all sizes, sea shell collections and strings, beach umbrellas, and turquoise swimsuits, novelty gifts of rock bands made of rocks, and specialty coffee mugs and miniature tins filled with colored glass chips, and tweezers with pen lights.

Blackbeard!  Blackbeard came out as the shops opened their doors!  He was as black as the day was sunny in his broad-brimmed pirate hat!  And he was big!  Muscular!  Tall!  Imposing!  Had the dour look!  Then we laughed out loud...he was on wheels!

Just walk up, put your head in his arm pit and you have a souvenir photo.  "I was here."  So funny we laughed out loud.

Late that night, we knew the stores were closing, cause ol' Blackbeard was rolling home.   Pushed and pulled by young girls in summer wear,  he was.  Sure he was winking with the knowing look of a plundering black pirate's heart enjoying his spoils.

Wonder if Blackbeard ever saw mermaids?  They were everywhere -- swimming on men's shirts, sported on girls tops, adorning gift items, made into ornaments, even gracing doorways and engraved on signage.

John and Spencer were following me through one place after another at the Tybee Oaks Shops -- Shell Cut Etc, Swizzle And Shake, Latitude 32, and Island Gypseas.  The shops were built up two to four feet (in case of hurricanes) and lined up next to each other in salt washed colors of blues, greens, and soft orange.  I was going along the wooden planked walk looking into each one for ballerina trinkets.  Forget that.  You're better off looking for floatsy mermaid finds.

They went into a girly frilly dainty shop thinking I was in there, but the shopkeeper had a confused look on her face -- two men, no women in a mermaid shop?  "Obviously my wife is not in here!" John clarified.  He also said the place was full of sirens and mermaid figurines and beads and starfish and glitter.  One sign in there read  "Be your own mermaid".  Spencer was intrigued.  He misread it as "build you a mermaid"!

Spanky is a nickname lovingly given Spencer when he was a toddler.  Sometimes your birth name isn't enough, you get tagged with a nickname.  And some names just lend themselves to numerous nicknames, especially if you are of a certain character.   Spencer, in fun tender adoration, has been called Spencil, 'pencil, St'encil, Spen, Spence, and Spanky.

So when we were touring along the River Walk in Savannah, there was no question, we had to eat at Spanky's.  Spanky's River Street that claims "Original Chicken Finger, where the finger lickin' all began."

Spencer just had to wear a paper Spanky's hat sporting a large white chicken.  We insisted.  Photos followed.

Inside left, a red popcorn machine, straight ahead a ship bow shaped bar, to the right all kinds of happy eaters with fingers to lips.  There were cobble stone walls, wood beams, greenery filled hanging baskets and overhead a large elk head!  Why not a chicken?  I don't know, but the food was finger lickin' good.

Thinking of Spanky building himself a mermaid maybe ol' Blackbeard will upturn a cracked smiling lip.

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.