Atlantic to the Gulf Coast

We got up early to drive all day to the Gulf Coast.  Our route took us down through the Georgia lumber belt, and we mostly took country roads, so we met a lot of B-trains heading to the mills we saw along the coast.

We swung west and then south around the Okefanokee Swamp, the eighth wonder of Georgia, but I could not persuade Himself to spend the night there. He has the 'gator fear.  Too many episodes of Swamp Critter.

Soon we were south enough that we had left the pines behind mostly. I loved their girth and the faint smell in the air everywhere. The little towns we passed through were text book small town America - obviously struggling to keep up with the rest of the world. The houses were either pleasant brick bungalows with deep porches and shady oaks, or very ramshackle trailers by the side of the road. There didn't seem to be an in-between option for the upwardly mobile. The smaller the town, the more grandiose its civic buildings appeared to be. Courthouse, Sheriff's department, the odd library or post office. The schools all look like prisons, really grim affairs with no windows.

I only counted seven Confederate flags while in Georgia. I gave up counting pawn shops after 65. There were at least two in every community. As we drew south, PAWN was replaced by GUNS/ PAWN and there were shooting ranges everywhere.

And churches. Big, small, grandiose, simple, modern, pioneer style, under trees, on hill tops, in strip malls, set back in gardens. Churches everywhere. Exhorting the tardy Christian to get to know the Lord. Not one of them looked in need of a lick of paint either.

Funny that.

The Lord provides I guess.

We quit Georgia shortly after stopping in Quitman for cheap gas and a fried dinner at J and J's Chicken. The carpark was full to bursting with farm trucks and the little shack was crowded with hungry farm workers eating chicken and shooting the breeze with each other in a totally incomprehensible Southern drawl.

After that, we passed through their rich farmland, interspersed with swamps steaming after a recent rain storm. Huge green pastures rolled into the distance. Big beef cattle stood under magnificent oak trees. If it wasn't for the Spanish moss I could have been in Tipperary. A Tipperary on steroids though.

We hit the Gulf close to nightfall and found the Ho Hum RV park, located on the beach. Dog friendly. No kids allowed. My kinda place.