My feet are swollen and sprinkled with red heat-rash polka dots. A trickle of sweat tickles my low back. I sit on a bench in the shade and watch industrious ants painstakingly collect every grain of sand they can find to construct a hill high enough to reach above the level of the herringbone of red bricks which define the pathway through the square. Which square, I'm not sure.
During the past five days, I've explored many of these green gems studding the historic district Savannah, Georgia. Some, like Ellis Square, the one closest to my hotel (appropriately named the Inn at Ellis Square), have a fountain as a focal point. The fountain at Forsyth Park is beautiful, an old-fashioned sculpture at home below the hanging Spanish moss.
My favorite fountain, though, is Ellis Square's. It consists of a dozen or more streams of water that squirt out of the cement, sometimes simultaneously rising twenty feet in the air before cascading down to Earth, other times just a few squirt waist high. It's not any random artistry of the water that I love, however. I love that it's a favorite play space for children on a hot day. Every day I've been jealous of the boys and girls running between the streams of water, not trying very hard to miss the force of the spray. Today, my last day in Savannah, I chastised myself for being too "grown up" to run through the fountain even once.
The day's not over yet....
I was lucky enough to be allowed to attend the 2014 International Oil Spill Conference in Savannah this week, although my attendance was contingent on presenting a paper while I was here. Thankfully, my schedule has been loose enough to allow me to engage in one of my favorite activities: wandering around a new city on foot. (Or, as my hubby calls it, marching all over Hell's half acre.)
In my wanderings around the historic district, I've found squares, public oases of green and peace, every few blocks. A glance at my tourist map shows me that they are laid out in a regular grid. Most encompass just a couple of blocks, others are several blocks large. Most seem to have some sort of monument to a Civil War general or Revolutionary war force or civil right's leader.
Savannah has also been a window shopper's paradise. I love cities where the shops aren't all confined to malls, and where individual storefronts have unique personalities. I've never seen so many specialty shops either. The Bee House sells only honey and honey-based products. The Salt Table has every kind of salt you can possibly imagine, as well as other seasonings. I couldn't begin to keep track of the number of art galleries I've seen, some carrying a variety of commercial art, others promoting local artists, and some with specialties such as Gullah art.
Yesterday I walked a bit further afield. I was done buying the few souvenirs and gifts I needed, and I wanted to get away from tourist-centered River Street and see the residential areas. Please don't burst my bubble by pointing out that there are undoubtedly cookie-cutter suburbs with big box stores somewhere in Savannah. I prefer to think the entire city consists of historic homes in a medly of styles - Greek revival, colonial, Victorian, and more - each adorned with a National Historic Society plaque announcing that it was built in 1812 or 1833 or 1858. I kept trying to take photos of the more amazing houses, but those pesky trees, all adorned with Spanish moss, kept getting in my way. I had to be satisfied with stopping to inhale the aromas of jasmine, rosemary, and thyme drifting from sun-baked hedges.
I've lived in Alaska my entire a life, an experience I wouldn't trade for the world, but I often wonder what it would be like to live somewhere, anywhere, else. Every time I visit a new place, or revisit an old favorite, I convince myself I would be happy living there. I find the perfect neighborhood, always withing walking distance of good restaurants and cultural centers. I figure out how I would continue my creative endeavors and whether there would be a commercial outlet for them. (No doubt it would have to be better than I have in Valdez.) I refuse to consider mundane issues like jobs; instead I imagine a life of freedom lived casually. I've been no different in Savannah. I'm sure there's a perfect 150-year-old house out there for me, not too far from one of the lovely squares. It'll have a deep front porch perfect for sipping sweet tea in the shade, and an enclosed courtyard in the back for private outdoor dining (or nude sunbathing - whatever).
Now hush! Just let me ignore the fact that even though it's in the 90s right now, the humidity is only 25-30%. I don't care to know that soon it will be a dripping, unbearable 90+%. This is my little fantasy, and right now I'm enjoying the breeze teasing the hair out 0f my ponytail as I sit in the shade. Soon, I'll be off to another unbelievable dinner at Elizabeth's on 37th followed by a final stroll through town before I have to pack and return to the real world.
Some day, I'll return. Rowan would love taking the little Savannah Belles Ferries across the Savannah River, and Thane might enjoy the local maritime museum. I didn't make it to Bonaventure Cemetery, and I'm sure Tybee Island is worth exploring.
Next time, I'll run through the Ellis Square fountain.
