Out of the Swamp, Into the Light

It’s three AM. This isn’t working. I’m not happy here. My stomach is in knots. My little show of false bravado to family and friends is as sheer as the curtains lining Junebug’s windows. What am I trying to prove? That I can stick it out? Okay. Done. Check this one off the list. Four nights camping in a 99-degree swamp should qualify. After working at the Clinch County Library in Homerville (no joke) an hour away from my site in the Okefenokee Swamp, I decide: I’m going to leave. I browse the Campendium app for places on the Georgia Coast and decide upon one in Blythe Island which has the most spectacular RV review entitled “BUNNIES! BUNNIES!” Which of course seals the deal for me, and I drive to the park office to announce I’m leaving in the morning.

Next morning, packing up Junebug takes only a few moments, and I successfully dodge the angry horde of massive bugs (who eye me with anger and distrust; they seem to know I’m leaving), pack the kitties in their car travel crate, dump Junebug’s tanks at the dump station, and I’m off like a prom dress. East/Northeast we go!

My trek takes me out of the barren logging roads, past the decimated fields of pines that once were, and into a new type of flora: lush fields with fat, happy horses, old steel bridges crossing wide, still rivers, and one of my favorite sights of all time: as far as the eye can see–expansive, bright green- and purple-hued marshlands banking wide blue tributaries. Coastal Georgia. The rich colors of the marshes are almost more than my heart can take after four days of almost-complete swamp isolation, and I feel flutters of happiness tickle my belly.

Two hours later, I arrive at Blythe Island Regional Park, pay the three-night fee, and park in a pull-through spot — my FIRST! In fact, I drive by it the first time and have to circle the entire campground before finding it the second time around; I’m so used to back-in spots. I realize with glee that there is not only electric and water, but SEWER! And CABLE! This is beyond. This might even be more exciting than the wild[-ish] bunnies I’ve heard about!

There are people here, too. Not too many; just enough to keep me from that “last person on earth” feeling I’ve been enduring for the last four days. I drive to the nearby boat launch — no gators! I can paddleboard! — and take some pictures that make my heart go still. And then, out of the trimmed green grassy lawn near the boat house: a black bunny. He hops out to say hello, inquires about a treat (I have none on me), we converse briefly, and I stroll back to my car.

I plan a little solo dinner in downtown historic Brunswick tonight. I’m so happy to be around civilization that I want to swim in the camaraderie of it all — just briefly. But the main bridge connecting Blythe Island to Brunswick is blocked, and I decide to save this venture for another night. A quick detour by the park office to extend my stay for two more weeks, and I’m back at Junebug, my waiting kitties, and my first grilled meal of this journey. Which, by the way, ranks right up there with the top ten meals of my life.