Before I left Seattle, everyone asked how long I would be gone. Needing a stock answer, I made one up: Between 3 weeks and 3 months. (Not thinking, really, that I would actually be gone three months, though that’s what it’s turning out to be.)
As I headed East, everyone I met wanted to know my ultimate destination. Needing a stock answer, I made one up: Savannah, Georgia.
And when I got to Savannah, I was satisfied. I had done it. Travel many miles, met many people, had some pretty dang interesting experiences. I was not so much ready to go home as I was to be home. Beam me up, Scotty!
But Scotty apparently was not listening, and the continent that I so happily crossed now has to be… recrossed. I had known this all along, of course. But it really sunk in in Savannah and I felt a wee bit melancholy. Maybe that’s why the only photos I took there were of a cemetery in the middle of the historic district.
As cemeteries go, it’s an good one. Lots of soldiers from the revolutionary war buried there. Plenty of statesmen. Victims of the Great Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1820.
Not a lot of folks from the Civil War. (Or, as they call it here, the War Between the States.) I think it might have been full by then, with a city rapidly growing up around it. This is itself was a bit of a relief. I think I have seen enough civil war battlefields, statues, memorials, sites and epitaphs to last me for quite a while.