It’s not real unusual for me to runaway for a weekend. I need that time and space, on my own, enjoying the silence and the unexpected adventures. I come home with stories, unfolding new perspective in words. But this weekend’s story unfolds in pictures.

This is my hotel. Riverview Inn.

It was really old, and mostly delightful. Even the not-so-delightful parts were pretty funny. For example, my room didn’t have a chair. When I asked the desk clerk about it, hoping there was one that just needed to be returned, she almost scolded me explaining that the hotel is really old, the room is small, and there are TWO DOUBLE BEDS in there. I had to laugh, yes, I had noticed those things.

But the chair didn’t much matter, because I spent a lot of time out here instead.

Watching the river go by…

On Saturday, I took the ferry to Cumberland Island.

Cumberland Island belonged to Lucy Vanderbilt who built a mansion on it and lived there for a long time. There were wild horses on the island and she wouldn’t let anyone bother them or any of the other wild life there. The horses are still there, the mansion is now a bed and breakfast (the rooms are $500 a night.). There is no other commercial activity on the island.

Forest rangers are responsible for the upkeep – which is minimal. No garbage cans, it’s trash in, trash out. You can camp or go over for the day, which is what I did, but there are no cars, no restaurants, no vending machines. A few bathroom facilities, and some potable water stations. A few trails. That’s it, y’all.

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As you can see above, I walked to the beach. Here’s a short video of the path.

I walked on the beach for few minutes. Yes, I’m talking at the beginning of this, but I can’t hear a word I’m saying over the waves and wind.

Then I headed back to the dock, because they’re very clear that if you’re not on the boat, they will leave you there. Yikes. I was taking no chances.

While I was waiting for the boat, I watched a bird catching dinner. (Sorry, it is really shaky.)

I did see a couple of wild horses, who seemed to be grazing contentedly, from the boat as we were leaving.

Back in St. Mary’s, I ate at a Greek restaurant, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Seated next to me were three older men, apparently Greek, who conversed like older Italian men I remember from my youth. I was seated facing away from them, but the cadence of their language, the way they related to each other – picture a scene from an old Greek movie and you can imagine. I eavesdropped shamelessly, savoring my pasta with portobello mushrooms as I listened.

Sunday, I wandered the streets of St. Mary.

Had eggs Benedict for breakfast, visited an art gallery, and bought souvenir bookmarks for the family and some lovely notecards for myself. Unfortunately, the submarine museum was not open on Sunday.

Then back to the hotel, where I ate dinner and had tea on the porch til time for bed. On Monday, I got up way early and drove the couple of hours home. Hardly any words to this story, but lots of sights and sounds and feelings stored inside me.