Have you ever felt at home in a place where you have never lived? Have you ever felt like a piece of your soul lives somewhere else? I have, and I was blessed to spend a recent weekend at one of those beloved locations.
Traveling To A Special Place
The drive north from my home in central Florida is pleasant. I avoid the raceway, I mean interstate, and instead, travel up the center, more rural part of the state. I travel through the Green Swamp and several tiny towns before I get to the rolling hills and horse farms of the Ocala area. I skirt along massive lakes and drive by acres and acres of pastureland. It’s evident that it’s springtime by the dozens of calves resting in the grass or following their mamas.
I have to hop back onto Interstate 95 an hour or so from my destination, but I’ve passed the big cities so it isn’t so bad. Anticipation builds as I cross the state line. In just a few minutes I see it and my spirit calms. The marshes.
I love this section of the trip north. I love to see the marsh grasses cut and divided by meandering streams that make their way to the Atlantic Ocean. In the distance, I see the tips of Amelia Island, Cumberland Island, and Jekyll Island. I recall earlier trips to these islands, reliving moments with my husband, my family, and my friends. I imagine the wild horses running around the ruins of Cumberland Island. Beautiful coastal Georgia.
Most of the time, I pass through on my way to or from North Carolina and imagine what my cousins are doing. But this day, I exit the interstate and head east toward the ocean. A huge bridge looms in the distance—the Sidney Lanier Bridge that leads to Brunswick. I hold my breath as I drive across, it feels like I may continue straight up into the sky. But I don’t. I make it over the hump and continue on, skirting the Marshes of Glynn. As I pass by my cousin’s house, my mind is filled with decades of memories. I glance to my right and spot the lighthouse on St. Simon’s Island. Almost there.
There are more bridges and a causeway to cross to get to the island. I feel my heart and my mind relax as I arrive on the island. I turn right and drive through a continuous canopy of live oak trees dripping with Spanish moss, some surely over a hundred years old. I pass by a long oak alley leading to the ghost of an eighteenth-century plantation. This island is rich in history and I’m thankful to be here. I think I could live here.
In a few minutes, I arrive at my destination, a quaint little inn at the edge of St. Simon’s Village. In a few minutes more, my daughter arrives from the north. We have been attempting to make this connection in this place for several years. Now the fun begins.
Coastal Memories
I realized I had traveled to this slice of paradise for over half a century.
My earliest recollection of visiting St. Simon’s Island was when I was ten years old. My grandfather’s youngest brother lived on the mainland, in Brunswick, in a home with a big picture window with a view of the marshes. I often traveled with my grandparents and remember visiting St. Simon’s Island all those years ago.
I’ve traveled to Brunswick and St. Simon’s Island for weddings, funerals, birthday celebrations, retirement celebrations, and at least a dozen oyster roasts. One of my favorite memories is when my father, who was a baker for Publix, delivered a wedding cake in our family’s station wagon for my cousin’s wedding.
By now, you can probably tell that this place is special, not simply because of its beauty and rich history but more so because of the people who live here.
A Place Is Just A Place Without The People
I have a cousin, a favorite cousin, who grew up here. My grandfather was her father’s older brother so while we are close in age, she and my mother were first cousins. We’re unsure if that makes us second cousins or first cousins, once removed, a never-ending discussion. Our children are close in age and good friends. There was a time, when they were all young, that we would get together several times a year. I loved those times. But children grow up, go to college, get married, take jobs, and have babies, which makes getting together a little more difficult.
We had such a fun time together, us moms and daughters. Cousin time. Blanton girls. We ate delicious food, shopped, played tourist on the trolley tour, and visited, simply enjoying one another’s company. We worshipped together at their island church before I had to head south and my daughter, north.
The ties that bind us run deep. We’re family but also friends. We share the bonds of faith—sisters in Christ. We have all experienced the pain of sorrow and loss which gives us a strong sense of empathy. I see you. I get it. I understand. While we struggle with the what-ifs and whys, we know we can turn to each other for comfort, solace, and understanding and put those harder emotions on the shelf for just a little while and enjoy a few days together.
It doesn’t hurt that we get to do all that in a beautiful corner of the country, on an island off the coast of Georgia.
Kim Wilbanks 