We shutdown the camp bringing shame to the caravan… (GA)

Pulling into our campsite after the party, I ran into a PVC hose bib, creating a mini-geyser. Water began to build rapidly and flow toward the neighbors and out on the road.

The campground office was closed so I went to Jamie’s rig – he who thought he was rid of us just minutes previous.

I was in luck; Marcia’s thank-you gift of a watercolor (ironic) apparently extended a protective shield to me, and Susan and I went to find the campground host. She identified herself and hesitating just briefly said that I had a leaky hose big. The host said he’d come check so I thanked Susan and road back with the host in his campground golf cart.

There we saw water still spraying and a good-sized lake, extending from my site to the neighbors. The neighbor, his spouse, and their teenage daughters—the daughters probably very bored until this point—were standing around trying to decide how bad things were going to be. The host sped off in his cart as I made small-talk with my neighbor, reminiscing about my days with a tent-trailer as he too has one. The lake now extended under his trailer and was moving toward their fire pit, and he made the comment he couldn’t find matches anyway. He was such a good sport I went and found him matches.

Then out of the dark two golf carts converged on the now comparatively quiet hose-bib, and five strangers to me gathered in the headlights to figure out what to do. This is when I learned the campground was now totally without water, creating some urgency. The five were actually having a good time, nothing much apparently having happened this season. One said it was too bad only Jim knew where to turn the water off, and they should do something about that. The others offered advice to someone (Jim?) on how to deal with the broken pipe, still flowing readily because the break was at ground-level making it the drainage point for the 100+ site campground. The one person that knew what he was doing made some lighthearted comment and the next thing I knew the thing was fixed; some kind of 3-second PVC glue that works under water. At least that’s what one of the don't-know-what-to-do guys told me.

I said goodnight to my neighbors, who were now enjoying their campfire, picked up some things around our site so they could dry out, and adjourned to my trailer. There I found Marcia intently playing computer solitaire, pretending in her way that she was no part of what had happened.

The caravan disbands… (GA)

We all went to the Jekyll Island Club Hotel for cocktails, a beautiful sunset, and dinner – the last event of our 40 day caravan. Only Cathy (with a ‘c’) couldn’t make it – too uncomfortable with a dislocated shoulder and sprained ankle from her Vertigo attack.

This was an incredible 40 days, thanks to our great co-leaders Jamie and Susan, the excellent chemistry between the 48 participants, and the southern seaboard that we toured.

We will definitely do another caravan.

Jamie and Susan get an MHM signed original…(GA)

As our thank-you to our caravan leaders, Marcia painted this “follower” view of their rig, an early Airstream motorhome.   I delivered the painting, and we later learned from Jamie and Susan how pleased they were to receive it. Good job, Marcia.

Tabby, but not the cat... (GA)

These southern coastal areas have an abundance of oyster and clam shells. The early settlers learned quickly that the shells could be mixed with a little lime, sand, and water to form a concrete-like construction material called "tabby". This wall, at Fort Federica, dates from the early 18th century.

Even today communities will often use ground-up shells as a road base.

St Simons Island... (GA)

Today we drove with Kathy and Dave to St Simons Island, toured the waterfront, and Fort Federica

As a bonus a Coast Guard patrol boat—about 85 feet long—was having an open house.

Marcia and I found the boat tour interesting because we had just completed reading The Light Keeper’s Son, by Homer Hickman. The book is set at the breakout of WWII and is partly about a light keeper’s son (you guessed that much) that captained a Coast Guard patrol boat off the outer banks as German U-boats began to take their toll on shipping. The book was very interesting from an historical perspective, covering life on a small outer-bank island in less busy times, but became a bit hokey near the end. Fair warning, if you decide to read it. A fast read, good airplane fare.

Fort Federica was built starting in 1736 by the British under General Oglethorpe in an attempt to secure Georgia and perhaps parts of Florida from the Spanish; Spain had a fort less that a 100 miles south in St Augustine Florida, to secure Florida and claims on Georgia.  Both sides knew this was a situation that would end in fighting, and in 1740 Oglethorpe attacked St Augustine without success. The Spanish returned the favor in 1742 moving northward to attack Federica, but in the Battle of Bloody Marsh the Spanish were defeated and withdrew. Later Spain signed a treaty giving the English claim to all areas.

On our visit the Fort docent put the battle in perspective. A lot of archeology work has been done here and the adjacent town of 1000 inhabitants. A worthwhile visit.

A little off the top, please... (GA)

On long caravans, haircuts become necessary but you don't always have an official barber available.

Jekyll Island good stuff... (GA)

The picture to the left-bottom is of our campground entrance. The two building photos are different views of the Jekyll Island Club Hotel, built in 1882. The gargoyles are on the nondenominational church, which also had front and rear Tiffany windows.

Cotton was king on Jekyll Island, but the Civil War’s end sent it in a rapid decline. The island then progressed through several owners until purchased by a consortium of very rich people (Rockefeller, Pulitzer, Crane, Vail, Koehler, Morgan, Gould, etc.) who founded the Jekyll Island Club. They built large but not particularly ostentatious homes, a grand club now a hotel, and common facilities such as an infirmary, nondenominational church, and wharf. It was a place of relaxation and an opportunity to escape the winters back home, and spend quality time with their families and wealthy contemporaries.

Membership declined during the depression and the club shut down in 1942 as servants were drafted into the military. It never reopened and was eventually seized by the state of Georgia for nonpayment of property taxes.

Today it is a state park with a campground on one end, miles of beaches, 22 miles of bike trails, the historical area, the Sea Turtle Center, the original Jekyll Island Hotel, additional hotels, and about a thousand private residences that look about 1960s vintage – an attempt by the state to capture some more revenues.

I do not know how the state garners enough revenues to cover the costs of all this – the concept is somewhat like a large Asilomar but with many high maintenance buildings generating little or no revenue.

Our campground seems large and our rigs are well scattered, making socializing a little more difficult. But the grounds are nice, with many trees.

This morning we were taken on a trolley tour of the island, including the historical area. We had access to the Rockefeller vacation home, which has a large walk-in safe in the livingroom. No credit cards in those days, just bearer bonds for these guys.       SS  She got a far better bathtub.

In the afternoon Marcia and I bicycled with Ed and Susan maybe 12 miles of the island and had a very fine dinner at Latitude 31, a small seafood restaurant on the Club’s old wharf. In Club days the wharf was the only island access – now there is a bridge.