It's wintertime, and I'm at the beach. I'm not in Panama City, south Flordia or the Caribbean. I'm actually located at an unexpected Georgia Beach....on an island simply dubbed Sea Island. Until recently, I never knew this place existed. It's a scenic, ritzy place, for sure. Some friends have been kind enough to include me on their family voyage to this exquisite place of historic cottages and southern charm.
This part of the state is brand new to me, but I'm so glad to finally witness this. I'm loving the Spanish moss hanging from the live oak trees. A recent bike ride along the neighborhood sidewalks revealed a smorgasbord of beautiful plants, renovated homes, and the occasional jogger.
A lovely patch of palm trees and beach grass is the only thing that separates our cottage from the cold, Atlantic waves. From my bedroom, I can hear the breakers angrily crashing upon the hard-packed shore. Today, I experienced the unusual sensation of stepping onto the beach in my flat leather boots. I mean, like most people I know, I'm a summer beach-bum, and I prefer the blazing hot sun and smell of sun-tan lotion. During this time of year, I rarely give the beach a second thought, but being here now is still beautiful, despite the 50-degree weather.
Our back porch rests a large a hot-tub.....my ultimate favorite! Yes, I've already taken a relaxing dip, and I plan on visiting it again after dinner. This week, I believe we'll be horseback riding, exploring the newly built Beach Club for meals, kayaking through the marshes or practicing some skills at shooting range. I'll keep you posted!
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