“I’ve got my stuff all packed, how about you?” I said, as I zipped up my bag, “We have a long way to go.”

“Just about, only a few things to pack,” she said, “I’ll be done in a couple of minutes. Load up the car and check out. I want to go down to the beach for a little while before we leave.”

“OK, but don’t be too long,” I said. It was Dorothy’s routine, before departing a resort, to have a last, long look, and possibly take a picture or two. It always took too long. I checked out and followed her to the beach, in the hope of urging her on.

“I had to see my noisy friends before we leave,” she said, as she tossed a handful of bread morsels into the air. Some of the gulls in her gang of scavengers circled overhead and snatched bits of bread as they flew. Others of the gang scurried after crumbs that fell to the ground, fighting over the bonanza, while screaming and squawking in the fray. Dorothy was delighted by the show, which continued until her sack of bread was exhausted. Feeding the birds was possibly her favorite thing at the beach. She would play with the gulls while I swam in the ocean, being occasionally swamped by a breaker.

We had been at a beach resort for a week. Our villa overlooked the beach at Tybee Island, Georgia, a little east of Savannah. From our balcony we could watch the sun creep up out of the morning clouds that hovered over the horizon as if trying to prolong the night. But the sun found a crack in the clouds, and sent through them brilliant beams, declaring victory over darkness. Our balcony provided a good vantage point for watching ships approaching and departing the port of Savannah upriver. Night was an especially intriguing time to watch the lights of ships. Some skimmed the ocean and disappeared at sea, while others languished on the horizon aboard ships waiting to enter the channel. Wonder where they were going, or where they were from?

The main attraction, of course, was the beach itself, where we had spent most time. We walked its length, padding along over the sand, and sometimes in the surf in bare feet. We were attracted by the sandpipers and other little birds scampering ahead of us. Dorothy loved to wade in the surf, so long as the water was no more than ankle deep. One day as we walked along the beach, I spotted a dark object.

“Look,” I said, “the high tide washed up a big horseshoe crab and dumped him on the beach.”

“He’s on his back and can’t move,” Dorothy said, as we watched for any sign of life, “I wonder if he’s still alive.”

“Let’s watch and see,” I said and slipped my foot under his side, turning him upright.

“He’s headed in the wrong direction,” she said, as we watched his agonizingly slow progress.

“He’s beginning to circle around. He’s headed toward the water,” I said, as a gallery of beach walkers assembled.

“He’s got a way to go, but I think he’ll make it,” said someone in the gallery, and so he did. As we all watched he triumphantly disappeared beneath the surf.

As we strolled back to our abode we watched a line of pelicans fly low looking for fish, and we marveled at the strange variety of God’s creatures.

Having said farewell to her bird friends, Dorothy walked with me to the car, and we headed for Ohio. We said goodbye as we drove through Savannah and onto the beautiful bridge crossing the river. From the bridge we saw close-up a freighter heading upstream toward port. Old buildings of commerce were visible on our right and newer commercial buildings on our left. We were on route US 17, a rural highway following the Atlantic coast. Our drive took us through the low country of South Carolina featuring farmland and woodland. In about an hour we came to the interstate highway with its monotonous scenery, trees on both sides. After awhile, as we were cruising along, a big passenger van loaded with men crept alongside and slowly passed. Things were calm for a moment, but then what I saw ahead caused my to do a double take.

“Do you see what I see?” I exclaimed.

“What?”

“Look at what came out of the window of that van. It’s the ugliest ass I ever saw. It’s big, fat, hairy, and obscene.”

“He’s lucky his whole body didn’t come out the window. Look, there’s his hand patting it. Have you ever been mooned before?” she said.

“No. First time. I wonder to what I owe this honor”

“Beats me,” she said, “Looks like a bunch of guys headed for a football game.

“Football game,” I mused, and checked my rear view mirror. “That’s it!” In the corner of my rear window I saw the sticker; a montage of a wildcat with “University of Kentucky” emblazoned across it.