Edisto Beach State Park
I keep waking up earlier and earlier. Almost like I’m becoming a morning person, which I’ve never been. Today I was up at 7:30, and in Minnesota, that’s 6:30, so I feel like maybe I could split the difference and say I was up at 7.
I walked on the beach first thing after making coffee, about a mile up and back. Every morning there’s a few shell seekers—something in human nature loves a treasure hunt. I always thought a great way to live your life would be to go on some kind of quest for a physical object, something that was always drawing you forward into the unknown, but with a promise of a reward of untold value, whether that be a treasure chest or a grail or a maybe some kind of key that opens a door to an endless buffet of all your favorite foods. So much of culture relies on this idea: Lucky Charms cereal, for one. The movie Goonies, for another, plus a thousand other films and books and also lots of religions; though some might argue the latter is more of a spiritual quest, but when people conceive of an afterlife, it’s hard if not impossible to visualize such a thing without place (e.g., heaven, etc.). There are 17 churches in Edisto and only about 2,000 people.
I found another big chunk of pitted out iron today on my walk, and I wonder where it is coming from. Maybe a shipwreck, or a part of a meteor. It was probably 5 pounds and I thought, “Why can’t this be a chunk of gold?” But that is the thing with treasure hunting—I’ll just keep walking the beach in the morning and a big chunk of gold will probably wash up sooner or later.
On this walk, though, I found a completely intact conch, bigger than my hand, although the colors aren’t great. But still, a conch. I put it up to my ear and it was windy inside. I wonder where the mollusk who lived in it went. It was 40 degrees and sunny at 8 a.m. It felt like 70 to me. Then later when the sun was setting and it was 65 it felt like 40 to me.
This trip is getting a little expensive. I’ve driven 2,000 miles at 12 mpg with gas at $3+, in addition to relatively expensive campsites ($55+ a night) that altogether are more than my mortgage, which unfortunately I’m still paying for a couple more decades. Granted, my place back in Robbinsdale isn’t exactly oceanfront property. I’m not worried, though, because I’ll make up for it later with national forest camping, which is cheap to free. I also have an America the Beautiful pass ($80), which gets you into national parks and forests (and BLM land, Army Corps of Engineers land, wildlife refuges, etc.) for free, and usually with reduced camping costs. I saved $10 a night at Croatan for 6 nights, so it’s almost paid for itself already. If you’re over 62 it’s only $80 for life. I think I’m the only person under 62 at this campground (which is perfect). Maybe I will make the rounds and tell people about that park pass. I generally enjoy talking with elderly people more than any other demographic.
A guy was fishing on the beach this morning and he caught a whiting. He said they were good eating. He was using the same bait (Fish Bites) I was. I think I must need to try morning fishing. I found a little time before sunset again to fish though, and a guy stopped by to chat. Fishing is a great conversation starter, and it always starts the same: “Catching anything?” I was not. But we talked some, and I told him I just liked sitting in the sun, and maybe something bites and maybe it doesn’t, and he joked, “A man once said that there is a fine line between sitting around and fishing and sitting around and looking stupid.” I said I’m not afraid to look stupid all day long and spend most of my life doing just that.
I quit fishing early and went on a quick 10 mile bike ride through the town and picked up the local newspaper, Edisto Beach News. I always enjoy reading small local publications. The main story here was about the need to replenish the sand on the beaches. Apparently there are two sides to the issue. Pro-sand and against-sand. The paper’s position was that “a healthy beach is a wealthy beach.” Then I ate at a restaurant, and locking my bike up outside, a guy said to me, “There’s no crime in Edisto!” I locked it anyway since I had my lock with me. He might have said that so he could steal it.
Earlier in the day I had walked past the visitor center at the campground and it was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1937. The CCC employed millions of men who were out of work during the Great Depression by having them do mostly outdoor public works/infrastructure projects.
In Minneapolis along the Mississippi, there are well laid stone stairs leading down the steep embankments to the river in many areas, as well as the last two stone beehive fireplaces in America–all built by the CCC. Their works are all across the country, nearly 100 years later, and generations of Americans have enjoyed their labor.
To me, the CCC has always been one of the single greatest programs in American history. Building things that have meaning that millions of your fellow citizens will use and enjoy, and building them to last, while learning the skills of a true craftsman on the job. I’d love to see some updated version of that today (but with women and not segregated), but people would shout “socialism!” from sea to shining sea.
Issue: I have blisters from wearing flip-flops and the area between my big toe and other toe is rubbed raw from that little toe-between thing. I should have trained in advance by wearing them around the house for a week. Also, I still haven’t rewired that electrical switch.
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