Steep

By the time we arrived in Georgia the azaleas had bloomed. There were just enough flowers on them to remind us of the glory we missed. A tree of unknown type was shedding inch long caterpillar shaped variegated flowers rich with sap. They covered every available surface of the car and defied removal, disintegrating with the slightest touch. Long brown syrupy trails down the side of the car were their calling card. 

 

The house we rented for a week 0n St. Simons Island turned out to have three floors. A fact that went unnoticed in the thirty pictures we previewed on the Airbnb. On first seeing the steep staircase to the bedroom we both sighed. Though strenuous, it turned out to be a blessing. A perfect opportunity to get our winter weakened legs in shape for the summer cruise. 

 

Three flights up was a small cheery room with sliding doors on either end and a retractable shade, which I managed to coerce open after years of neglect. There was even a two inch long frog wintering in one of its support beams. It never moved either on opening or closing the shade. Cool NE then warm humid SE breezes filled the space with the added benefit of a partially obscured view of the Atlantic Ocean.

 

To live in such a house, especially with limited energy stores to draw upon, a certain logistics must be followed. Time and distance dictates which space is used and when. As much as we wanted to eat breakfast on the 3^rdfloor deck it was untenable. Our tea and toast would be cold or spilt by the time we got there. Thus, breakfast was in the cool dim first floor dining room. When retiring for the night we made a reconnaissance to determine that phones, computers, clothing, and reading materials accompanied us to the second floor. My shakuhachi and espresso machine resided on the third floor.

 

The townhouse was steps from the beach. And even at hightide the block wide and blocks long hard packed white sand beach provided a perfect walking surface. At low tide we could walk along it a mile into the village in search of an ice cream cone. Except for one time, breakfast, lunch and dinner were prepared at “home.” Foodstuffs skillfully packaged in Chicago were stored in the trunk of the Honda providing the basics for our simple Mediterranean diet.

 

If possible I bake bread soon after arriving at a destination: it’s my method of burning incense. It is curious how a foreign place with unfamiliar ambiance and awful beachy art begins to feel homey after a few days. Of course, this does not always occur. Some spaces are beyond repair and need a complete refit. We were lucky this year with our primary residence. The second venue . . . well let’s just ignore it. 

 

Between the steep stairs, the ocean views, and the beach walks I feel enlivened. Ready to take on whatever Maine and Carrie Rose throws at us this summer!