Didnt See The Ghost Of Drunken Jack Island Last Night, But I Did Indeed Visit The Fateful Island. Sunset

Didn’t see the ghost of Drunken Jack Island last night, but I did indeed visit the fateful island. Sunset at Huntington Beach State Park. @shipwreckedwithcaptainmarrow Maybe I’ll catch ole Jack next time.

I often have a hard time picking favorites, especially when it comes to nature… but, the Balsam Trail at Mt. Mitchell is absolutely my favorite I’ve hiked in the Appalachians. It’s the most unique trail - completely different from anything you’d ever see in this region of the world. Stepping from the peak of the tallest mountain in the Appalachians, and into the threshold of the Balsam Trail - it teleports you. The fog you see in the background is no fog, we’re in a cloud 6,684 ft in the sky. Pisgah National Forest has a huge piece of my heart.

This NEVER EVER gets old. Anytime I go for a walk on the beach and I see a group of people huddled at the dunes, I know what’s about to happen. Oftentimes after a sea turtle hatchling boil happens. There’s a straggler or two left in the hole that can’t get out. When the local sea turtle organization goes to the nest to take inventory, they help the little hatchling out and we get to cheer it on as it goes out to sea!

A southern coastal setting is often the background to many love stories I’ve watched on screen. I think about the introduction to The Notebook, the birds flying above the Black River. Forest and Jenny. The list goes on and on. Take the people out of the plot, and there’s such a natural romanticism about the Lowcountry coast. It is a ripe setting for love. For me, that love starts and ends here. To feel so deeply connected to an area, and to love it so much. It’s hard to replicate. I fall in love with it over and over again.

When I decided to leave it two years ago, a piece of me was missing and I didn’t feel whole again until I was back. The fear of familiarity and the mundane consumed me. I’ve spent many of these summer days lamenting the cool air of the mountains, missing the summer days spent in the Appalachian creeks. An exciting deviation from the normal. I love it too. The way you love the excitement of an adventure, the rush, the constant of newness. Feeding into an adventurous rush. It’s hard to miss it. But…

I was empty there. I laughed and regularly lived in the awe of seeing places I’d never seen. I lost the familiar love of my life. The beauty in pointing my camera at yet another Egret. Watching the spartina grass finally hit its peak green in August. To then watch it fade to beige again. Seeing yet another lettered olive or little whelk along the beach. I will always pick them up. Watch the sun move over the horizon throughout the seasons.

I sat in my Greenville apartment all alone and decide to watch The Notebook movie because I had nothing better to do. The second those white birds flew over the Black River, a river I’ve spent so much time on, I would cry because I missed my birds. I missed seeing the things I regularly love. I felt like I was missing out on my own life.

Watching the coastal birds fly over to roost at the state park, watching the tide roll in and out. In and out. Who knew I would feel like I was missing out on something that seemingly never ended and something I saw every single day. I ultimately couldn’t take it. I gave up the promise of new sights and adventures to spent my days capturing yet another picture of some birds. To me, yes a waterfall is more magnificent than watching something I am use to. But that’s love. I look out at the cattails and brackish water. I listen to the Blue Herons abrasively honk. Who knows how many times I’ve been out in some marsh to watch it. It truly never gets old.

This area is romantic. At least for me. But not because of memories of lovers. No. This area is full of love for what it is. Something many people here deeply understand. When you see it through that lens, and you love it so much…. You can’t depart from it. It becomes the love of your life. Something I know I will grow old with.

If I make it to 80 or 90 years old, as long as I have strength to walk, you can find me out here among the wetlands. Over and over and over again. I love it more and more every time.

Felt like my last picture didn’t grasp the size of this one. This pallet knife painting is one of my favorites I’ve ever done. I’m super proud of this one, and I usually don’t feel immediately happy with any of my work. A celebration of the Lowcountry Coast.

Hey Virginia 👋🏻