My minivacation was as fantastic as it could get. Two days of perfection. That’s not to say there weren’t adventures. For example, we knew that the gates to the park close at 10pm and if we didn’t make it by then, we would have to sleep in the car. We planned on getting there by 8pm and leisurely setting up the tent in the twilight, but as is to be expected, we left Athens two hours late. And took a few wrong turns. And got pulled over by a very nice South Carolina police officer (Going 46 in a 30. We were in a small town, and I had to swerve around a car that pulled right in front of me. Doing so sped me up some, and the policeman passed me right as the limit changed from 30 to 45. I was very polite and explained what had happened. He asked if we were going to the beach, and I told him how excited I was to be visiting Hunting Island. I gave him my papers, but not before noticing that my insurance card had expired several months ago. Not the policy – just the card. I must have been mailed a replacement but overlooked it. I pointed that out to him so that he wouldn’t discover this for himself. He took the papers and went back to his car. When he returned, he told me it was a serious offense in South Carolina to be driving without proof of insurance. And reminded me I was speeding. And gave me a verbal warning on both counts and wished us a safe journey. Thank you, Mr. Officer!). As the milage between us and the park diminished, the clock ticked nearer to 10pm. We pulled into the campground at exactly (by my car clock) 10:00. We saw no gate, nor did we see anyone at the ranger station. After nosing around for a few minutes, we spotted a park truck driving up. “How’d you get in here?” the ranger inside asked. He’d just returned from locking the gate – we’d in fact passed him on the way in. He pointed us to our pre-paid campsite and sent us on our way.

The site was feet away from the beach. We could look out of the tent and see the surf and the expanse of water. My virst visit to the beach was only a couple of months ago (well, there was nighttime christmas quick stop at Galveston many years ago courtesy of Marjorie, but that was quick, and at night, and at Galveston) so I couldn’t have been more tickled. With the moon full, we swam together under the clear night sky. The water was warm and salty and fairly calm. The ocean’s a big place, but to me it felt like it was just me and her.

We spent a good part of the next day biking up and down the beach. On the sand, in the water. I found it great fun to bike in the breakers – the crashing water pushed me to and fro as the tires kicked it up even more and doused me. At some points both tires were completely underwater and it took all my strength to keep going. We biked out across shallow water to a sand bar and explored. We got stung by jellyfish and ate peaches and climbed to the top of the lighthouse and got squirted by a conch.

That evening, after a fabulous low-country boil (lobster, crabs, shrimp, oysters, corn, and potatoes), we did the moonlight kayak expedition. Oh my goodness. There were ten of us, and we were led by a ranger that knew (I’m pretty sure) everything. He showed us jellyfish that glow in the dark. He showed us plankton that glow in the dark (they’d light up as our paddles hit the water, leaving twinkling wakes behind us). After she and I were both savagely stung by something very, very, very painful, he showed us the wasp jellyfish – “The Terminator” – a jellyfish that has a complete jet propulsion system and eyes. It’s the only jelly fish that actively hunts it prey. A variety in Australia is deadly, but the Carolina variety just hurts an awful lot. He showed us an electric fish. Modified optic nerves on the top of its head shoot bolts of electricity. We paddled around the salt marsh, and a lagoon, and a salty river, and along the shore. Why hadn’t I ever done this before?

The next day (after swimming for several hours), we leisurely made our way back home. But not before stopping at a local seafood company and filling our cooler full of food. Whole live crabs for a dollar a piece! We got a dozen. And shrimp. And oysters. And fish. We filled the cooler for $20. I still can’t believe it.

It was only four hours away. Hunting Island was the best state park I’ve ever been in. It was kept immaculately. They have a large variety of programs. The staff was more than helpful. The beach was incredible. If you’re ever in southern South Carolina, go. You owe it to yourself.

On vacation until Thursday. Have a nice week. Look up and observe the Persieds meteors and the full moon while you’re out this week.

Yesterday I ate at a Mennonite resteraunt in Wren, Georgia. The Li’l Dutch House, it was named. It had your basic country cooking – fried chicken, beef stew, fish, several veggies, desserts. Apparently, Wrens has a sizable community of Mennonites, with their own neighboorhood and school. It got me to thinking that I don’t really know much about them, other than they look mighty similar to the Amish. Unlike the Amish, they don’t seem to shun modern convieniences like cars and electricity. This made me assume that the Mennonites were an Amish splinter group. But I was wrong – the Amish are the splitters. They split from the Anabaptists (what the Mennonites used to be called) back in 1693, but both groups came to live side by side in Pennsylvania, making up the bulk of the “Pennsylvania Dutch” (Actually, they were mostly Swiss, but they spoke German. In German, German is called “Deutche”, and the English settlers mistook that word for “Dutch”.). I grew up in Northern Indiana, and on the way to my grandparents farm we’d pass by several small communities of Amish. My grandma called them “Dunkards”, and I never knew why. Turns out that they aren’t Amish after all, but another splinter group fully known as The German Baptist Brethren, and they came to Pennsylvania in 1713. These groups share a great deal of history, and their differences are mainly in how they show their beliefs to the outside world. As this personal letter shows, the branches are tied together by family bloodlines.

The local cult is getting restless. The Ancient Egiptian Order (I’ve written about them before) wants to settle down here in Athens, and they’ve launched an all-out public relations campaign to get accepted. The campaign consists mainly of glossy 11x17 fourpage tracts. I really wish I could share them with you, as they are priceless. They alternate nice soothing language ("We are hoping for a warm welcoming as we stand with our arms open with brotherly love and peace. “) with angry rebuttals ("Again slander and defamation of character is illegal and and prejudice also morally wrong. You don’t take a long term lease on a property on Earth likeRev. York if you intend to fly away in a flying saucer. This statement is derogatory and insulting.” and nonsense jibber jabber ("Well, the fact of the matter is Jesus was never called a Christian during his life here on Earth. The word Christian was first used in Syria’s Antioch.Acts 11:26 So we as Egiptians or Ethiopians by descendancy respect the term “Christians” but prefer the term Nuwaupians or Egiptians.") Clearly, they did not utilize a public relations expert when putting these things together. The tracts are beautifully illustrated, a hallmark of, um, Egiptian literature. The best line out the the four pages is the last: We have only one Website listed above, all others are kooks.

Curious why they spell Egypt the way they do, I went to their website, which has a helpful FAQ:

_Question: Why we use an “I” in the word “egipt/ejipt” and “egiptian” instead of a “y”?

Answer: The letter “I” is the ninth letter of the English alphabet, and being most of your languages is being taught to you through this language, the ancient ones also put a protection over you. We call it “nine eye”, or the “a’iyn principle,” as the ninth letter is “I” for the first person singular, you, the ego. To distinguish our order from others who may use the standard spelling with a “y” we replaced it with the “i”._

And that cleared things right up for me.

Welcome back, Kim!

With the heavens for a canvas, from zenith to the southwest horizon, the greatest of Artists, Nature, had painted another glorious masterpiece, the motif being continuous areas of variable size and contour, in a soft medium tone of ultramarine or lapis lazuli blue, each framed in clouds of brilliant silver, copper and gold, while therestless waters of Beaufort Bay were mirrored in exquisite pastel shades. On a pale pearl azure background, Luna, the Queen of Night, appears in luminous splendor, wearing, in honor of the Harvest Month, a royal robe of turquoise blue beneath a shimmering gossamer veil of silvery grey. The radiant picture now in its entirety presents an entrancing ensemble of color and beauty, suggesting in its enchantment an approach to the celestial Gates of Paradise and adds another glory to the Carolina Coast.  -- Gilbert Augustus Selby, 1934

It’s time for another getaway. Two days here will do the trick, I think, especially since there’s moonlight kayaking involved, under the full moon. The coast’s most romantic community, indeed!

Derek Powazek was in a world of hurt. But then he found Casa Carmelita. This is just one of Derek’s San Francisco stories. Read them all.

Down here in the South, there’s enough nookie for everybody. Now there’s some news you can use!

The internet has driven some old companies out of business. Many new dot-coms haven’t been able to keep up the pace and have closed their doors. And then there’s the 200 year old G.H. Bent company. “Since this internet thing, it’s exploded,” says the company’s 71 year old retired former owner. Business has been booming as of late. The product? Hardtack. Beloved by soldiers for over 100 years, now re-enactors are rushing out to try the real thing. And by “beloved” I mean “despised”. But it’s all the rage now, I guess.

Send in the clowns! Hickory’s Clown Alley is your internet source for all things clown, including the ever helpful advice for dealing with scared children. It’s almost time for the virtual clown convention, your chance to find out how many clowns can squeeze into a PDA.