Howling Winds

We are nomadic. Perhaps I am a bit more nomadic than my traveling companions. Momo is very content to sit in the sun or curl on the end of the bed inside the TinCan. WFS is just happy wherever we land. He is easy that way. Me, I have the "bear goes over the mountain to see what he can see" syndrome. There are places that truly lure me, call me back again and again. My home in the hills of KY, Paris, the Pacific Ocean and this little jewel on the Atlantic, Hunting Island. Nestled about 16 miles from Beaufort, South Carolina in Gullah low country hidden splendor; Hunting Island isn't exactly undiscovered but certainly wild and secluded enough to perk all my senses. The boneyard of tress lashed by the wind and waves is mystical and otherworldly. At low

tide, blackened tree skeletons stand sentinel along the shore. At high tide, a scant finger of blackened limb reaches toward the sky. Truly inspiring and eerie at the same time. I am mesmerized. The beach was particularly beautiful on this moonless night. Not even a sliver dared peek through the clouds. Perhaps the howling wind and the crashing waves were enough for our senses tonight. There is something extremely comforting about sleeping by the sea, wind and waves just outside our door. Sleeping with the promise of bright skies and the tree boneyard to greet the morrow is all this girl could ask for.

Luxury

We are camping right by the sea. That in itself is a luxury. When early morning pounding surf is the wake-up call, it doesn't get much better. Add the aforementioned latte and it seems like my idea of paradise! The sun was brilliant this morning. Our long beach walk with Momo was exceedingly nice. Hardly anyone was out this morning except a few shellers and small shore birds. Yesterday we spent the day in Charleston, today was my read and relax day. The best laid plans, oft go astray. After our morning beach walk, WFS said, "wonder if there are good biking trails nearby." Oops, there goes my lazy day. A bit of research brough up Botany Bay Plantation. We got our gear and headed out. This beautifully undisturbed old plantation is more walkable and drivable than biking. So, that is how we spent our day. I

t is a highly protected area for wildlife and very few people were exploring. We were gifted with long, quiet moments of exquisite solitude. Only the bird trills and soft breezes, ALL afternoon. We sat silently on a plantation dike, hushing our minds to think, very somberly, about the souls that occupied this land so many years ago. Quietness and sorrow. We drove back along the dirt trail, dotted with azaleas, live oaks and loblolly pines. I always thank the good earth for giving me such grace.

Adventures in Asheville

Last night a gentle rain pelted the roof of the TinCan. The mountain air mixed with rain made for a blissful night. Morning brought bright, clear skies and an abundance of bird calls. A thrilling way to awaken. If I have neglected to report this detail of my morning routine, I shall remedy that now. Each morning starts with the best latte known to mankind, delivered to me wherever I decide to start my day. I must confess, sometimes that is my cozy bed! A luxury I rarely, if ever, indulge. Some years ago we decided to purchase yearly passes to the Biltmore Estate. We don't tour the estate house very often but each time we camp in the Blue Ridge Mountains, we journey into town, to stroll through the amazing gardens and take a long walk along the French Broad River. A labyrinth of trails zigzag through the forest and along rippling creek beds. I suppose if the Vanderbilts should bequeath me the estate, I would gladly accept.... Not for that huge inhospitable house but so I could forever wander where no one seems to go. Okay, I could hear the snickering from afar, we all know it is highly unlikely that I shall be at the helm of The Biltmore Estate

.... but a girl can dream. Speaking of dreams, tomorrow we shall sleep by the sea. Our next destination: Edisto Beach.