Island Love

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes ... this island blows off what we're doing to it and regains it's magic.

It happened last night at the Jam.

Following the line of cars searching for the Beach, I turn down Tybrissa ... Tybee's main drag, formally known as "The Combat Zone" ... praying there's a parking spot close to Doc's Bar.

There is no parking on Tybee.

There used to be more but the Government took it away.

If you don't believe it just stroll down 12th Street and count the number of yellow curbs that exist for no apparent reason ... you will be astonished.

Directly in front of Bernie's ... directly across from Doc's ... I slam on breaks because a large family ... and I do mean they were all large ... are piling baby strollers, rafts and coolers into the back of a giant pick up truck.

Immediately the ten cars behind me slam on their breaks too.

With my blinker on ... I wait.

I'm astonished how long it takes the family to load everything up and crawl inside, start the engine, put the truck in reverse, and ... stop everything.

A door opens and a large lady runs as fast as she can to me.

Rolling my window down she hands me a ticket, saying in her deep Southern drawl ... "Hey Honey! It's still got 45 minutes on it! They rape ya to park her but it sure is gorgeous to be at the Beach."

Before I can say, "No, No No!, I have a sticker," her tiny feet carry her giant heart back to the truck and they're off.

I park.

Fifteen cars pass me ... each giving me the finger.

Inside Doc's we play damn good music, laugh a lot, drink and everyone encourages everyone else so that it borders on what Church should be these days but isn't.

Thomas Oliver tunes Charlalee's guitar for her ... newcomer Holly asks for help with chords ... Slo's Bass slings one liners ... Kris drags magic across her fiddle ... Faye sings a high soprano which I never knew she has ... Monty Parks is the epitome of gracefulness as he shares everything.

Tom Cooler shows up from the "other side of the Bridge" so we give up our seats and move outside.

Conga Dave, Monty and I share stories on a hot, muggy night, with salt hanging in the air ... God's little lanterns twinkling in the sky ... the Ocean roaring love to the Beach a few steps away ... while sweet music floats out the open door ... music made by people I've come to love.

When it's time to go home to kiss Sarah and feel my unborn baby in her belly, I stop and twirl around for a moment ... guitar case in hand to take it all in.

And for the millionth time in my life ... I fall in love with this island.