I am a friend to the sand, to the swath of washed up coquina shells, to my long shadow that stretches down the beach towards the ocean. I am a friend to my notebook pages that flap in the sea breeze, to the bright orange swim shirt my son wears, to the jagged choppy waves. I … Continue reading Friend to the grains of sand
Boating life revolves around weather, and here on the coast of Georgia, it also revolves around tides. We spent all day yesterday waiting for 2pm to come so we could catch the sandbar — our ultimate destination for the day — at a time where the tide was high enough to get the boat out of the … Continue reading The Sandbar
Last night on the back deck1 was cool and breezy. Wind blew wisps of hair from behind my ears, and it brought the briny scent of salt marsh and air blown across the Atlantic ocean. This morning when I stepped out of my parents’ front door — the front door of my childhood home — the world … Continue reading Morning run in Georgia
This is a longform post in response to the Discover: Memory challenge. I spent my girlhood riding in the bow of a motorboat, through labyrinths of spartina grass, pulling wet hair from my eyes, licking salt from my lips, gathering sunlight on my freckled skin. My playgrounds were the brown rivers, the salt marshes, the barrier … Continue reading Tidal Playground
My grandfather had a great round belly, and he wore dentures. He and my grandmother lived on a hundred acres of hilly land in dairy country, in Eatonton, Georgia. When we visited, I knocked the spider webs out of Nannie’s rubber boots each morning, and I walked through the dewy grass with Grandaddy to the … Continue reading Dentures
I am a fan of contrast: of rough against smooth, of blur against sharp, of dark against light. When I saw that this week’s Daily Post photo challenge is to share a shot that captures a contrast, I knew I would want to participate, and I knew I would want to share photos from our … Continue reading On the marsh
Butterfly Mind 