Tybee Island

I’m going backwards–before we headed west to Alabama, we stopped outside of Savannah, Georgia, at Tybee Island. It looked like an appealing off-season spot to get an inexpensive room with an ocean view to watch a couple of rainy days go by. 

It was. Under cloudy skies, we watched the MLK parade.

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It was a cheery 15-minute parade. Marchers gave us candy.

Tybee has an endearing and proud shabbiness, though there are many neat little cottages and modestly sized hotels and apartments.

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We had a full moon while we were there, and the clouds parted long enough for us to see it and have our moon kiss. (Sorry, it’s the sappy thing we do.)

I ate crab legs at the Stingray with lessons from the waitress who really put some body English into the instructions. It was inspirational, and I cleaned the hell out of the shells. Crack, wiggle, pick.

They are replenishing their beach with dredging. Opinions on beach dredging?

The gulls liked it, flocking all around the fountain of sandy water being dredged from the distant sea.

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