Day Whatever.

I know I lost an hour but I'm pretty sure I did not breach the space time continuum. I left on a Thursday and it is now Wednesday. How that could equal 7 days I'm not sure. I can't honestly say that I even care. That is what Folly Beach, S.C. can do to a person. I'm a beach bum burnout.

Getting slapped around in the spin cycle of the Atlantic for a couple of days seems to have rounded off my sharp edges. My weariness from travel was gargled away by heaving rolls of sea sprite. I am a zen polished stone, shiny and new. And reluctant to leave. Sadly though, my time here is drawing to a close. Today I have to say goodbye to "The Edge of America". I feel like I got a true glimpse of the place though, and that makes me happy.

Knowing I had to hit the trail in the morning, I spent my last evening much as the other couple of evenings I was there. I walked around and smiled at strangers and told people where I was from and what kind of dog I had with me. Tonight I went to the pier where dozens of fishermen lined the edges manning multiple poles and running to and fro like madmen checking all the lines. I got the chance to see them catch no less than fifteen baby sharks and one huge sea turtle. Luckily they have to let them all go or they would get ticketed. I desperately wanted to touch a baby shark, but I was self-conscious about being the only adult hovering around with the dozens of elementary aged kids hoping for the same thing.

I saw some odd looking jellyfish too and started wondering how I'd managed to miss the fact that I was swimming with potentially lethal marine life every day. It made me wonder if anyone would have noticed if I'd gotten tangled with a jelly. Would anyone notice if I laid down on my towel and never got back up? Would they think I was sleeping? Who would save my life? Would Poe pee on me if I asked him to?

The next morning came too early. I begrudgingly packed up and I walked down to say goodbye to my beach. Yes, I'd gotten comfortable enough to consider it mine. Then, when the time came, SuperPuggle and I trekked over to Angel Oak.

Angel Oak boasted to be the oldest tree on the East Coast, so naturally I wanted to see it. About twenty minutes from Folly Beach, right on the edge of Charleston there is an unassuming dirt road at the back of a small neighborhood that leads to a tiny box of a gift shop. And the biggest damn tree I've ever tried to set both eyes on. It was like a cumbersome sea creature wallowing itself out of the earth. Some of its arms were so heavy they could no longer support themselves and had to be held aloft with posts and iron bars. Other branches sagged dangerously low and flowed even with the ground like a massive arm leaning over to escort you or pick you up. I bought more postcards than I needed in the storage shed gift shop and smashed all the dollar bills I had on me into the donation box. I'd hate to come back and that monstrous thing not be there anymore. Admission was free but I would have paid to see such a wonderful thing.