When I was about 8 years old, our family took a one day trip to Jekyll Island. We were excited about using the VW bus that my father had acquired in a trade, and we were thinking "beach". The drive from Adel, Georgia was typical for us. We sang campfire songs, we stopped for barbeque, and us kids got into little fights.
Jekyll Island was not what I expected. I remember asking "is this it?" with a nod from my parents, I accepted that this wasn't like the beaches we'd visited before. The sand was dark and packed. The water had created geometric ripples in the sand that were fascinating. Driftwood and odd creatures were scattered every where. The brush and trees even had a bizarre, twisted look. The wind carried a whiff of 'blackwater' (which we were familiar with) and the waves were gentle little movements along the shoreline.
It might have taken us a few minutes to adjust to the experience, but we quickly got the hang of it. This photo of Daddy digging in the sand with me is one of my favorites from my childhood. My father passed away years ago, and I find comfort in remembering him this way: taking us on a nature adventure.