Walking in the Habersham Village neighborhood I notice something that seemed very familiar. I was standing on a mural painted on the sidewalk.
No, not the sidewalk but the storm drain. After taking a closer look at the mural, I could totally understand the reason why it was painted.
Then my mind began to search recent memories of why this way so familiar. I was because I saw other storm drains in the city being sectioned off to paint murals also.
Anything that is dumped or dropped on the ground or in the gutter contributes to stormwater pollution. Much of it is not biodegradable and is harmful to marine life and cleanliness of our water that we swim in and drink.
The storm drain is intended to route rainwater quickly off the streets during a heavy storm. Unfortunately, it takes all the runoff along with it. Chemicals, trash, debris from lawns, parking lots and streets, either intentionally or accidentally spilled, goes straight into our waterways.
Fells Point, Baltimore, Maryland. How we fell in love with this part of the city I grew up in. One day walking back to an Airbnb in the neighborhood we stumbled on an alley we had passed a half dozen times
These tiles were a gift from a local artist, Linda Klein, Small Art Wonders. We love collecting original art from around town and display them around our apartment.
Square tiles in a square photo.
Savannah is an art city. The original charter founded Savannah on two principles: Art and Commerce.
Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.
What a day! My first trip to historic Cumberland Island National Seashore.
Prep for the day’s jaunt was easy. Backpack (check!), insect repellent (check!), National Parks Passport (check!) tickets for ferry ride to the island (check!) lunch and water bottles (check that!) comfortable socks and hiking boots (double check!) shoes for strolling around St Mary’s afterwards (check check!)
We were ready and packed. The ride to Cumberland Island would take us one hour and forty-seven minutes from Savannah. Loaded up and fueled up we hit the road.
Previously to setting out on the excursion, Neal and I had watched a video on following a recommended 4 hour hiking trail, 4.3 miles, one obviously liked by many an outdoorsman before us, so we were game!
As expected, nothing could really prepare me for the raw beauty of this untamed natural treasure! Here I was, boots on the ground and eager to explore.
Shortly after leaving the base camp I spotted a sign. “Foot traffic only”. I could not resist the irony of the moment so I put my foot it.
(It was funny at that moment. Really!)
Breathtakingly huge old trees stretched their ancient limbs outward, and bushes of every type rustled as tiny birds flittered through them. Minutes turned into miles and trails into beach, boardwalks and 40 foot sand dunes. Lost in the glory of it all, hours had passed.
Those sandy slopes decided to claim their first victim on this day. My foot went in to the sand and half a boot came out, followed by a spray of pearly silky sand flung into the air by my partially hanging sole.
This cannot be happening! Such a rapturous day of freedom from cares and communion with nature, now my boot has a soul-splitting experience. I belted out wait, look what just happened”, as Neal was already half way up the sand dune. In my distress I exclaimed, “We must go back!”
My husband, not at all enthused by the prospect, assured me that he believed the blown boot could survive the final part of our 4 hour trek as we had traveled well beyond the halfway point. Rest and sanctuary would be just up the beach.
As the fates would have it, several meters up the beach I had a soul splitting experience. Yes the sole departed, actually, completely from my left boot leaving only the insole held by the cloth that wrapped around my foot. I heard of losing one self in nature but this was ridiculous!
Not believing this could happen to me or that now I was sure I could not make back to base camp, my mind searched frantically for how “The law of Attraction” must be at play. I mean really? Really?! Really!! The squish scrunch sound of me trudging on the beach sand actually took me out of my head as we neared the striped pole marking our return to the wooded trails.
To my surprise and amazement, we saw several other nature lovers had abandoned their troubled foot gear along this path.
Back at the base camp I thought, “I only have to get back on that ferry then to the car and my troubles will be over.” In the rush to be first naturists back on the ferry, I was now leading a group of weary daytrippers to the sound of scritch, scuff, scratch all the way up the ramp on the boat. Leaving sandy outlines of my former left boot. Neal quietly assured me no one noticed but I mentally disagreed!
So now as we tell our wonderful story of Cumberland Island, this whole story seems humorous. A friend asked me, “So what you are saying is you lost your sole (soul) on Cumberland Island?” Yes I heartedly laughed!
Driving down any Georgia State road and you will see them. Buildings cast off from civilization and left to decay. Left to tell a story of an earlier time…
Buildings from a not so distant past. Homes no longer lived in… Barns with no livestock and over grown with vines… Sheds collapsing on the side of the state highway.
Weathered barns and abandoned sheds. Old remnants of life that has been left behind as we moved to suburbs and condos. Now we are using garages and self-storage to lodge our possessions. These are the stories they tell.
For many falls and winters were the harvests gathered and fields plowed and those goods brought in through this door.
Generations upon generations lived here. The new mixed-use condos and luxury apartments sprang up and they move. Yet I remain. I ask the old structure… Where is your soul? Where are the tales of harsh winters and barren summers?
Left abandoned to suggest to those passing by in SUVs that the old way did not persist. Hey you! Stop here for just a moment to listen the wood creak and shutters that hang by a rusted hinge missing two screws.
I stop!
I… Listen!
I record with my camera the unspoken words written in decaying wood, broken glass and rusting metal.
Building here… did I not find a permanent place in time?
Driving down any Georgia State road and you will see them. Buildings cast off from civilization and left to decay. Left to tell a story of an earlier time…
Buildings from a not so distant past. Homes no longer lived in… Barns with no livestock and over grown with vines… Sheds collapsing on the side of the state highway.
Weathered barns and abandoned sheds. Old remnants of life that has been left behind as we moved to suburbs and condos. Now we are using garages and self-storage to lodge our possessions. These are the stories they tell.
For many falls and winters were the harvests gathered and fields plowed and those goods brought in through this door.
Generations upon generations lived here. The new mixed-use condos and luxury apartments sprang up and they move. Yet I remain. I ask the old structure… Where is your soul? Where are the tales of harsh winters and barren summers?
Left abandoned to suggest to those passing by in SUVs that the old way did not persist. Hey you! Stop here for just a moment to listen the wood creak and shutters that hang by a rusted hinge missing two screws.
I stop!
I… Listen!
I record with my camera the unspoken words written in decaying wood, broken glass and rusting metal.
Building here… did I not find a permanent place in time?
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My husband, not at all enthused by the prospect, assured me that he believed the blown boot could survive the final part of our 4 hour trek as we had traveled well beyond the halfway point. Rest and sanctuary would be just up the beach.
