Jekyl Island, GA

The ocean and oak trees.

A sailboat heads to sea.

Sea turtle hospital.

Home to sick loggerheads...

...awaiting surgery to remove fish hooks and soda cans from their innards.

Darien, Georgia

Shrimping boats on the Darien River, coastal Georgia.



Darien is home to Fort King George, the southern-most British fort built in North America during the colonial era. Constructed in 1720, the fort's purpose was to keep Spain from encroaching north out of Florida. Note the Union Jack still flies above the cannons.

The fort was abandoned by the Brits in 1736, burned down during the Civil War, used as a logging camp during the early 1900's and finally restored to original condition in 1988. The only inhabitants now are the remains of sixty British soldiers who died during their tour of duty on this foreign land.


Located just outside the fort are the tabby blocks of an early Spanish mission built in the late 1500's. Little is known about the mission, other than the Gaule indians (a tribe that has long since disappeared into the vacuum of history), mounted a violent rebellion against the Jesuit priests stationed at Mission Santa Domingo de Asoa.

Sunlight passes through long beards of Spanish moss dangling from a live oak above the old mission.


Crumbling warehouse in Darien, once used to store tobacco, cotton, rice, and other goods destined for transport across the sea.
On the outskirts of Darien is the Cypress Lounge. The sign above the front door grabbed our attention- three sharp looking chaps enjoying frothy beverages as one vigorously raises his arm, a scene more akin to a Dartmouth debate than a Georgia fishing village tavern.

Inside, tattered Confederate flags hung from dark walls. Two leathered commercial fishermen wearing rubber boots sat at the bar nursing mid-day Natural Lights. "This yer first time here?" asked one of the grizzled boatmen. "Hot outside but the beer is cold." After discovering the Cypress Lounge was not a collegiate debate club, We opted for the door instead.

The absurdity of the moment was further compounded by this mannequin hog-tied to a telephone pole in the parking lot.

Savannah

If a tourist from another country were to ask RR what American cities are must-sees, Savannah would top our list. They would find a most unique mix of history, architecture, southern culture, a thriving art scene, and a town that knows how to have a good time.

It's also the first city we've visited that converted a crumbling cemetary into a park. From 1750 to 1853, the Colonial cemetary was the final resting place for hundreds of early residents. Many of the graves are encased in tombs made of brick and cement- a practice we assume was done to discourage robbers from obtaining the gold watches and gold teeth of the interred.

Crawdads and oysters on the deck at the Bayou Cafe- Savannah cuisine at it's finest.

Pull the handsome little critters apart, suck the spicy juices from the head, and eat the tail!

Countless unique features adorn many of the buildings, such as this iron dragon sign holder at the Bayou Cafe.

Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, one of America's oldest churches.

Long Beach, Washington

In the distance, the Columbia River empties into the Pacific Ocean.


Our rental. Yeah, the outside is a bit rough (salt air will do that), but inside, it was very nice.

Gandolf the wood carving.









Driftwood dude.








Marsh's Museum, a Long Beach attraction since the 1920's.

The walls are lined with hundreds of bizarro mounts... like this two headed piglet.

Old skulls hang from the ceiling. Something ain't right about that.

The family of this Amazonian called. They want his shrunken head back.

The most famous residence at this macabre museum is Jake the Alligator man. Acquired by the musuem for $750 in 1967, Jake is equal parts baby alligator/another unfortunate shrunken jungle head, evidently the creation of a mad Dr. Frankenstein taxidermist. Jake now has a cult following, including an annual blues fest named in his honor.

Florida Keys

We apologize for the lack of activity, but we've been in deep hibernation and simply haven't had any material to post. Until this week that is, spent in the balmy Forida keys.

The days passed too quickly, as they always do. Adventures and good times were plentiful, like the morning spent on a catamaran sailing trip from Key West.

Another day was spent renting a boat and exploring Indian Key. Once the Dade County seat and home to fifty residents called "wreckers" (they eked out a hard scrabble existence by salvaging the cargo from shipwrecks), the island was abandoned in 1841 following a Seminole Indian attack. Now, only the rain water cisterns and the rubble of fallen buildings remain.


Fishing the shallows for barricuda.


Pelican carcass is found... with a leg band.




Over at Mallory Square on Key West, Dr. Juice, also known as the Calypso Tumbler, jumps through small hoops and flips across the sqaure like a doodlebug. Now in his fifties, Dr. Juice is one of the many street performers who entertain the masses before the sun sets from the southernmost point in the lower 48.




Juggler Will Soto, a mainstay at Mallory Square since 1976, does his high-wire schtick before another crowd.

Only in Key West.

White Pine Down

When we first moved into the RR HQ complex several years ago, one feature we enjoyed the most about our Back 40 was the eight story white pine that towered majestically over the neighborhood. Unfortunately, ice storms during the last few winters broke off the lower branches, rendering this once-regal tree into a toothpick with a sail. Its days were clearly numbered- the tree was going to come down soon, either by chainsaw or by wind. And by wind would almost certainly crush our abode or our neighbors.

So we called the local tree service and initiated euthanasia. The owner looked up and purveyed the enormity of the situation: "This is too tall for my bucket truck" he said, "I'm going to have to call my monkey boy."

His monkey boy arrived and we asked how many trees of this height he's cut down. "Millions. Dude, I've been doing this for twelve years." Allrighty then! Fire up the Husquevarna!

The monkey boy scramb-led up the trunk quicker than a fox squirrel and began the surgical cutting of smaller branches to get to bigger branches. How these guys don't cut their safety lines or get tangled in rope systems or have a massive branch twist and slam into them is a credit to their skillset. We're continuously amazed at professionals with jobs that straddle the razor's edge between accomplishment and failure on a daily basis- heart surgeons, state troopers, airline pilots, and yes, monkey boys.

He loped off the top and descended from his high perch. One of his co-workers cut the pine at the base and it fell with a loud thud that shook the house. The trunk indented a deep groove into the wet ground that will have to be filled in with a load of dirt. The tree, which once produced both admiration and fear, had been felled. Summertime views of our world from the back porch will never be the same. Over the last several years, we've cut down three dead ash trees and a dying pear tree. Our yard, once a haven for birds and sheltered from neighbors we don't know, is now an open expanse.

The skidder came and lifted the cut pieces into a utility truck. After the stump grinder comes and pulverizes the only remaining sign that a 100 year old white pine (the state tree of Michigan!) once stood here, nothing will remain but a pile of mulch. We will miss our white pine- except when the strong winds sough across Portage Lake.