khassandraMore Edisto Musings
June 24th 2007 03:41
After a few more days in a beach house on Edisto Island, enjoying beachy views and sandy feet and salty hair, it's coming time to end my little vacation sojourn and head back to Augusta, Georgia (where the heat and humidity come without the ocean and breeze). And I start reflecting on what it means to go on a little vacation after all. Have I enjoyed it enough? Having come here every year for the past six, have I enjoyed it as much as I did last year? And the year before that?
Edisto Island has become pretty familiar to me over the past six years-- not like I have friends who live there, or like I know secret places to hang out or the secret password or handshake to get there, but just in the sense that my car can get there on it's own once I've crossed the Savannah River, I notice when old houses have been torn down or washed away or get a new coat of paint and when new ones spring up, and in our rental house I can find most of the dishes on the first try. I've been to the Pig so many times I no longer wander, and I can call the guys who work in the Bell Bouy seafood market by name (though I don't tend to). I've been out with Captain Ron, and then with Captain Jimmy, I've ridden my bike to every beach on the island looking for the best place to find a sand dollar, I've gotten up to see the sun rise and I've gotten up to go shelling with the sunrise, I've been crabbing morning, noon, and night, and I've caught a few and I've caught none. It's a small island, and there isn't a whole heck of a lot to do, but about the only thing I haven't done is attend a service at the Baptist church. So maybe I should. But I wonder if travelling to Edisto is, for me, about doing things at all.
Because above all, what I do at the beach is just be. I'm not saying I just sit around all day, because I don't-- I run and I swim and I boogie board and I bike-- but I live with my natural impulses like nowhere else. I wake up whenever I feel like waking up, but it's usually by seven. I go outside when I want some sun and salty air, and I come inside when I want some shade and cool. I drink water when I'm thirsty (or sooner, so I don't get dehydrated
) and I eat when I'm hungry. I play in the ocean when the waves are good and I read when I want to see one world on a page and another when I look up. I don't know what time it is and I don't have any goals or motivations other than impulse to act. It doesn't matter how many times I go to Edisto and how many things I've done, I'll always just be doing. Doing something-- something I've done before or something I haven't. And If what I feel like doing is something new, hopefully I'll be able to find that. There are some things you can experience new over and over again endlessly-- some movies you can watch and something new will always strike you, and some books you can read and you'll come out with a new favorite sentence every time. I haven't given geographic locations much chance with that, because the way I travel is ravenously-- always with somewhere new I'm itching to go and, no matter how much I love the places I've been and how many times I remind myself to return, always drawn just slightly more to the unseen and unknown.
There's this kid inside of me who loves to travel because she loves to stay somewhere new at night and sleep in someone else's bed, and then move on in a couple of days and do it all again, trading life for life for life until she gets back home to her own. Sometimes I wish we would go on a different trip-- or to a different beach. Or even just a different house...and discover something new, even if it's just which drawer the forks are in.
But I guess discovery can't always be so convenient.
Edisto Island has become pretty familiar to me over the past six years-- not like I have friends who live there, or like I know secret places to hang out or the secret password or handshake to get there, but just in the sense that my car can get there on it's own once I've crossed the Savannah River, I notice when old houses have been torn down or washed away or get a new coat of paint and when new ones spring up, and in our rental house I can find most of the dishes on the first try. I've been to the Pig so many times I no longer wander, and I can call the guys who work in the Bell Bouy seafood market by name (though I don't tend to). I've been out with Captain Ron, and then with Captain Jimmy, I've ridden my bike to every beach on the island looking for the best place to find a sand dollar, I've gotten up to see the sun rise and I've gotten up to go shelling with the sunrise, I've been crabbing morning, noon, and night, and I've caught a few and I've caught none. It's a small island, and there isn't a whole heck of a lot to do, but about the only thing I haven't done is attend a service at the Baptist church. So maybe I should. But I wonder if travelling to Edisto is, for me, about doing things at all.
Because above all, what I do at the beach is just be. I'm not saying I just sit around all day, because I don't-- I run and I swim and I boogie board and I bike-- but I live with my natural impulses like nowhere else. I wake up whenever I feel like waking up, but it's usually by seven. I go outside when I want some sun and salty air, and I come inside when I want some shade and cool. I drink water when I'm thirsty (or sooner, so I don't get dehydrated
) and I eat when I'm hungry. I play in the ocean when the waves are good and I read when I want to see one world on a page and another when I look up. I don't know what time it is and I don't have any goals or motivations other than impulse to act. It doesn't matter how many times I go to Edisto and how many things I've done, I'll always just be doing. Doing something-- something I've done before or something I haven't. And If what I feel like doing is something new, hopefully I'll be able to find that. There are some things you can experience new over and over again endlessly-- some movies you can watch and something new will always strike you, and some books you can read and you'll come out with a new favorite sentence every time. I haven't given geographic locations much chance with that, because the way I travel is ravenously-- always with somewhere new I'm itching to go and, no matter how much I love the places I've been and how many times I remind myself to return, always drawn just slightly more to the unseen and unknown.There's this kid inside of me who loves to travel because she loves to stay somewhere new at night and sleep in someone else's bed, and then move on in a couple of days and do it all again, trading life for life for life until she gets back home to her own. Sometimes I wish we would go on a different trip-- or to a different beach. Or even just a different house...and discover something new, even if it's just which drawer the forks are in.
But I guess discovery can't always be so convenient.
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