St. Simons Island

Judy. As much as I love being in the mountains, my heart always longs for the beach. We've spent time at several beaches around the world, and a plan had been to spend three months in Malaga, Spain, but obviously that didn't happen, so Ted located a townhouse on St. Simons Island, which is part of Georgia's "Golden Isles," just off the Atlantic coast. We'd spent time there years ago, and weather looked good for October, so we went for it.

Sunrise

A container ship glides by the beach

It has been a joy. While I can spend hours reading on a beach, Ted is more interested in history and nature. St. Simons fit both of those categories. We usually walk on the beach in the morning, but a few times have wandered to historic spots like the Bloody Marsh monument. Our front windows look out on the marsh, where we can watch ibis, herons, marsh hens and kingfishers. Five minutes out the back door takes us through the sea oats to the wide beach, where the Tricolor Heron, a new bird for me, searches for food in the tide pools and pelicans, sandpipers, plovers, and seagulls patrol the ocean for their favorite morsels. Ships sail by periodically--mostly container ships--and on days when the ocean is fierce, dolphins patrol for food.

Savannah, Georgia, established in 1733, was the first settlement on the mainland, but Fort Frederica was built three years later on the north part of St Simons island to defend the area from the Spanish. An entire town grew up, populated by English debtors and their families as a way to avoid prison. After the Battle of Bloody Marsh, the town wasn't necessary any more, and by 1748, it was abandoned. 

Reconstructed Armory at Ft. Frederica

Meanwhile, John and Charles Wesley had arrived as Anglican priests, planning to convert the Indians. They held services in Fort Frederica and Savannah. Some years later, feeling he was a failure for his inability to convert the Indians, John returned to England and founded Methodism (even though he remained an Anglican priest). The Wesley garden located by Ft, Frederica, between Christ Church Frederica (Episcopalian) and Wesley United Methodist Church at Frederica, hosts a large Celtic Cross and a sweet, if wild, prayer garden.

Wesley garden

Everywhere are live oaks, dripping with Spanish moss. The entrance to Sea Island Golf Club hosts the Avenue of Oaks, once the entrance to a plantation. 

Avenue of Oaks

Leslie and Caed found a Tree Spirit!

Seven of the thousands of oaks are carved with "Tree Spirits," and searching for them is a great way to spend an afternoon.

The iconic lighthouse, built in 1872 to replace an earlier one, still flashes its light at night, warning ships coming through the sound.  

St. Simons lighthouse

Meanwhile, history is being made here, as a year ago, a cargo ship filled with cars wrecked off the sound between Jekyll Island and St. Simons, and has remained an eyesore while engineers determine how to get it out. This week, early one morning, a giant structure arrived with a massive saw to cut the wreck into pieces. A huge net will catch the cars as they tumble out. Sounds like science fiction, and the entire island seemed to be out lining the shore and the pier of the village to watch.

A giant crane is moved into place to cut up the shipwreck

Our townhouse has three floors and three bedrooms, so our daughter Leslie and her family came for a few days. Most of those days were spent on the beach, but Leslie, our grandson Caed, and I went on a scavenger hunt for the Tree Spirits. Her husband Daniel cooked up shrimp feasts for us, and one morning Ted took Caed to a "flotsam and jetsam tree" down the beach to hang a toy car we found buried in the sand. Other times, Daniel and Caed practically lived in the surf!

Adding to the flotsam and jetsam tree

In just a few days we'll be back in Athens for a three-month--or possibly more--stint. Urban walks will replace our Western hikes and Southern beach walks. That's just fine. Being close to family is as much a treat as travel. But we sure have had fun.

A foggy morning on the beach

The Bloody Marsh

Ted. Judy and I are enjoying our month on the Georgia coast. The condominium that we have rented in St Simons is very comfortable and just two blocks from the beach. Not only is the island peaceful and beautiful, it has a lot of history. 

In reading up on St Simons Island, I learned that there was an old battlefield about 10 blocks from our home called "the Bloody Marsh.” My first thought was that it was the site of an Indian fight or Revolutionary War skirmish since I didn’t think there had been a Civil War battle here. As it turns out, this battle was fought in 1742 when Georgia was invaded by the Spanish. 

Wait, what?!?

Apparently, the border between Spanish Florida and British Georgia in the early 18th century was a little unclear so the parties involved decided to work out their differences by force of arms.

18th century Georgia soldier

18th century Florida soldier

In 1740, the British attacked the Castillo de San Marcos at St Augustine, Florida and got their butts kicked. Two years later, the Spanish responded in kind by landing an invasion force on St Simons Island which threatened Fort Frederica. This time the Georgians prevailed and the matter was resolved. 

A monument stands at "the Bloody Marsh" where the final action took place. It bears a quote from James Olgethorpe, founder of the colony of Georgia:

"We are resolved not to suffer defeat. We will rather die like Leonidas and his Spartans if we can but protect Georgia and Carolina and the rest of the Americans from desolation."

Fans of American football may be familiar with “The World’s Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party,” a nickname for the annual war that is waged between the Georgia Bulldogs and the Florida Gators. I guess one could argue that this struggle actually began 280 years ago. 

21st century Georgia "soldiers"

21st century Florida "soldiers"

By the way, the big game is always played 60 miles south of here in Jacksonville which lies just 30 miles south of the Georgia/Florida line that was settled in 1742… on the Bloody Marsh.

Only 1,700 miles to go

Ted. When Judy and I were admiring the statue of Dignity in Chamberlain, South Dakota, we were also taking a last long look at the Missouri River, which has been our constant companion throughout Montana and the Dakotas. 

The Missouri River at Chamberlain, SD

While the river still flowed another 700 miles to it’s destination; the Mississippi River, we had 1,700 miles yet to drive to our goal; St. Simons Island on the coast of Georgia.

Many of those hours on the road were spent in comfortable silence or listening to Agatha Christie audiobooks. We did have a couple more stops on our itinerary, though. The first one was a pilgrimage to the childhood home of a literary hero of mine, Samuel Clemens, who is much better known by his pen name, Mark Twain.

Mark Twain's childhood home complete with whitewashed fence

Hannibal, Missouri lies about 125 miles up the Mississippi from St Louis. It is still easy to visualize 19th Century “Life on the Mississippi” (the title of Twain’s memoir) as many of the buildings have been preserved. 

The Mississippi at Hannibal, MO

 We visited a lighthouse dedicated to Mark Twain and then toured the “Mark Twain Boyhood Home & Museum.” It was interesting to learn that the characters in his novels about Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn were based on himself (as Tom) and various townspeople. Being a typical small town, everyone immediately recognized their neighbors. For instance, it was well known that young Sammy’s first little girlfriend, Laura Hawkins was the basis for Tom Sawyer’s friend, Becky Thatcher. 

Tom & Huck - Troublemakers!

From Hannibal we proceeded south, crossing the Mississippi, and stopping on the north shore of the Ohio River. In 1972, the Illinois State Legislature passed a resolution declaring little Metropolis, Illinois to be the “Hometown of Superman.” It was time to see another hero from my youth. 

Masked, but not socially distanced

From there, we continued south stopping off briefly at our children’s homes before arriving safely at our residence for October. Over the past 10 weeks we had traveled 8,000 miles, exploring 16 different states but now it was time to rest. We’ll report soon on our adventures in Georgia’s “Golden Isles.”

Coffee Culture

 Judy.  There are a lot of things I miss about the West. Certainly the hiking, the views, the lack of humidity, the wonderful people. But there's another thing I'd give almost anything to have here in the South: coffee shacks.

Drive by any parking lot--I mean ANY parking lot--and there's a tiny house, usually with windows on either side, and one barista inside making all kinds of coffee drinks and smoothies. These (usually) women are invariably pleasant, greet with a smile and a, "What can I get you folks today?"  Sometimes you'll hear an "I'm gonna close this window to keep it cool, but I'll be right back," then she quickly and efficiently pops the window back open to deliver your order. Oh, my goodness, it makes getting a coffee easy! It definitely feeds my afternoon coffee addiction. No big box stores, although Florence Coffee seems to be the Starbucks of coffee shacks. 

They are tremendously popular; sometimes the lines around the shack seems as long as any Chick-fil-A at noon, but if you're lucky, the line won't be so long, and even if it is, there's another shack a block down the street.  The coffee drinks are invariably good. The barista often asks how may shots I want in my latte (big mistake one afternoon when I went for her suggestion of three). The prices are better, too; maybe having a smaller "shop" makes that possible. 

Washington State seems to be the champion. Years ago I took photos of them everywhere we went. My favorite was "CAR WASH and ESPRESSO".

Still, Montana is no slacker. In these times of quarantine, it was a great way to pick up an afternoon coffee.  In fact, Ted and I wondered why they're not here in the South. Does no one want to work there? Is the real estate too high?

Who knows. But Midwesterners and Southerners, you have no idea what you're missing.

The legacy of Scotty Philip

Ted. While driving through South Dakota, Judy and I stopped for a picnic lunch in the town of Philip, population 779. Curious about the history of the place, I discovered that the town was named for James “Scotty” Philip. 

In 1874, 15 year-old James left Scotland to make his fortune in America. Hearing of gold in the Black Hills, he quickly made his way to the Dakota Territory. Alas, his fortune would be made in hay and cattle – not gold. Since his wife was half Cheyenne, he was allowed to ranch on Sioux land. 

James "Scotty" Philip, 1858 - 1911

In 1881, a neighbor, Pete Dupree had rescued 5 buffalo (technically American bison) calves from one of the West’s last buffalo hunts. While the species had virtually disappeared elsewhere, Pete’s calves grew up and thrived, numbering 74 at his death in 1899. By this time, Scotty Philip saw the wisdom in preserving this noble species and bought the herd from Pete’s estate. Scotty surrounded 1,000 acres of his ranch with a 7’ tall fence to create a preserve for his buffalo. He tried to convince the federal and state governments to purchase some of his animals to help expand their numbers but had little success. 

By 1911, when Scotty died, nearly 1,000 buffalo roamed his land. Three years after his death, the state of South Dakota finally purchased 36 of Scotty’s buffalo for their new state forest, which would eventually become Custer State Park. 

 Today, thousands of buffalo in South Dakota and throughout the West are descendants from that little herd that Scotty built. For his efforts to save the iconic symbol of the Western plains from extinction, Scotty was inducted into the Hall of Great Westerners at the Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City. 

 The students of tiny Philip High School (home of the “Scotties”) can learn an important lesson from their town’s namesake. Just because one can’t do everything, doesn’t mean that one shouldn’t do something. My guess is that Mother Lauren on nearby Rosebud Indian Reservation would agree.

Scotty's legacy in Roosevelt NP

Dignity

Judy.  In a rest stop off I-90 outside Chamberlain, South Dakota stands a 50-foot stainless steel  sculpture of a Native American woman. Sculpted by Dale Lamphere, she is representative of the Dakota and Lakota people , and she overlooks the Missouri River.  She carries a star quilt,  created by Lakota artist David Claymore, which in Native life represents admiration, honor, and strength. Coming down I-90, Dignity is impressive from either direction, with the blue stars of the quilt shining in the sun, but when you pull into the rest stop itself, her face and the movement of her body are almost overwhelming.

Dignity: of Earth and Sky

We visited Dignity: of Earth and Sky after a morning on Rosebud Reservation, home of Lakota Sioux. Years ago, our dear friend Nancee, an Episcopal seminarian, served a summer with Lauren, priest-in-charge on the reservation. From that summer came an idea of sending handmade and store-bought hats, mittens, and scarves to the children there.  Lauren and I had emailed over the years, but I'd never met her, so I didn't want to pass up this opportunity. 

"Mama L's" car

We met Lauren at the Subway in Mission, SD. She was wearing a t-shirt that read "I will use my breath to speak for those who can't breathe," and a mask with a red handprint over her mouth. This woman is about the business of speaking for the downtrodden. Her head is shaved, and she has an arm full of tattoos. She is beautiful.   

Lauren and Ted

After picking up lunch (and watching Lauren greet friends, checking up on family members), we followed her to the Bishop Hare Center and St. James church, the second oldest on the reservation. We sat outside at a picnic table and ate our lunch, while she told us about some of the work there. 

She does a daily Compline service online, and on Sundays, members of her eight churches can worship via Facebook. One of the congregations holds outside services every Sunday. In addition, there are the funerals, four of which have been for Covid victims. She herself had the virus last spring, and is now a long-hauler, dealing with a low white blood count. She had, when we spoke, finally gotten a vacation to rest and recover.

Well, sort of. Behind us was a building being refurbished as a quarantine barracks for those with Covid. (There were, of course, no mission teams or seminarians this summer, due to the virus.) The church building remains shuttered, but she answered the phone a couple of times to deal with  issues for her parishioners.   

Wood barn & The Beast

And then the Beast arrived. The Beast is an old, beat-up pickup. Three Guys sat in the cab; the back was filled with wood. We followed it around the corner to the wood barn, built of old telephone poles, pallets, and tin. (No one else could figure out how to build one, but she and her Guys did!) Inside, an Army veteran used a splitter to split firewood for the tribe. Outside, Danny, Mato, and Bruce, the aforementioned three Guys, tossed the cut wood onto the ground, ready to be split.

The Beast and The Guys

                   

Splitting the wood

Most Tribal members heat their homes with wood stoves, so a firewood ministry was started. When she and another pastor passed a fallen tree, some years ago, he joked that she should start giving out firewood. She took him up on it. Last year 80+ full cords were delivered to homes. This year it'll be 120+. The Tribal Council has firewood to give out, but people have to come get it. This firewood is delivered. The IRS doesn't allow the Guys to get paid, so daily they get minimal cash for gas, all the cigarettes they want, and Gatorade--or Red Bull.

A new Beast is needed, but the government grants don't consider the need for a truck to deliver firewood to people staying home to avoid Covid as an actual Covid need. So donations are welcome.

It was time to go. Lauren had more work to do, and we had miles to drive to our next hotel. She gave us the best directions to get to the statue of Dignity, and waved us off. We listened to music from Indigenous people all the way to the interstate.

With the real Dignity in front of St. James church

We saw the magnificent statue, and were touched by it. But I had already seen Dignity. She serves on Rosebud Reservation.

The Dakotas' National Parks

Ted. On leaving Montana, we decided to visit two of the three National Parks found in the two Dakotas, skipping Wind Cave in South Dakota. 

Our first stop was Theodore Roosevelt NP in and around Medora, North Dakota. The only national park named for an individual, this one focuses on a part of the Dakota badlands that was a home to one of my favorite presidents for a significant amount of time. First we visited the cabin that TR built for himself.

We then wandered the beautiful buttes, cliffs and ravines, enjoying the splashes of orange and yellow that fall foliage provided. 

To get away from the crowds that frankly were not very large, we took a hike along a trail where, we saw, from a safe distance, a couple of old bull buffalo.

At one point, we saw an animal that we have never seen before; a wild horse. The park rangers refer to them as feral horses but I find that adjective offensive unless it is applied to cats or hogs. 

The next day, we headed down to Badlands NP, near Wall, South Dakota. The primary attraction here is miles and miles of bizarre formations carved from rock and dirt. 

While it is spectacular, I found it more alien than the badlands in TRNP, chiefly due to a lack of vegetation. There is not as much wildlife here, though we did see more buffalo and bighorn sheep. Also, there is not the history of a legendary figure. 

We typically prefer national forests and state parks since they have fewer visitors but every now and again, it is good to see some of “America’s Crown Jewels.”

So long, Montana

Ted. About 40 miles east of Glendive, Montana we crossed the border into North Dakota.  I have to admit to touch of sadness even though I was excited about visiting Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Over the past two summers we have learned to love the Treasure State and don't frankly know when we will return. Ideally we will be allowed to leave the US next summer and will put a return to Montana on the back burner.

While wintering back in Georgia I will be consoled by wading through my birthday present from Judy; a massive anthology of Montana stories titled The Last Best Place. And on occasion, I may even watch this YouTube video of "Wild Montana Skies" by John Denver with the lovely harmonizing of Emmylou Harris: