Thursday, April 16, 2015

On the Road To Tybee

Old friends Jeff and Carol Sutor live on Tybee Island, along the Atlantic coast of southern Georgia.  Twelve miles to the west is Savannah, a place to experience if you've never been.  We returned to this historic and scenic area a couple weeks ago.  Like most times, getting off the beaten path will reveal hidden treasures you just can't appreciate or see from the Interstate. 

Off the beaten path we ended up on a road that was more sand and small rock than anything else.  Out in the middle was this turtle, in no hurry to get across, but certainly in harm's way.  As soon as I got up close it decided to go inside.  A little gentle lift to the side of the road hopefully saved this guy for future road crossings.

Not far from Cross Creek we came upon a cemetery by the name of Antioch.  Seems I'd seen during the home tour of Marjorie Kinnon Rawlings that that is where she was buried.  This wasn't where she wanted to be buried but the driver of the hearse made a mistake and went to the wrong place.  However, because of all the people in the funeral party they couldn't turn everyone around and go to the right one.   So, while here, we wanted to find her gravesite.  It wasn't tough - the yearling statues on the grave made it easy. 

Our destination out in the sticks was this vineyard, the Island Grove Wine Company.  The Sutors wine connoisseurs, as they make their own.  We make it a point to find various Florida wine and give it to them as a small token of our thanks.  This was a real-life vineyard  with acres and acres of grapes out in the middle of no where.  Technically I think the address is Hawthorne, but the winding road out here was great fun.   Now, me and wine.  I never acquired a taste for it, and likely, never gave it a chance.  And a bit like the cough medicine we had as kids:  oddly comforting taste but it wasn't something you really enjoyed.  I am to wine as a snail is to an astronaut.  But the interesting thing is: I always feel smarter drinking it, kind of like Frasier Crane at his wine-tasting club, without the arrogant pomposity.  You should have seen me talk to the wine person when she asked me what type of wine I required.  So much for me feeling smarter.  

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