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Life-everlasting: Nature and Culture on Sapelo Island

Life-everlasting: Nature and Culture on Sapelo Island essay ...................... Life-everlasting Nature and Culture on Sapelo Island by Mary Hussmann "Though it was early morning, the day was already hot. I could smell the salty earth smell of the sea marsh that stretched out in front of us, cut by a tidal channel." Photograph courtesy of Mary Hussmann. hough it was early morning, the day was already hot. I could smell the salty earth smell of the sea marsh that stretched out in front of us, cut by a tidal channel. The ferry, Anne Marie, sat at the end of the pier, where men busily loaded boxes and construction materials onto the open deck. Some in our party frantically dialed cell phones and made last minute calls, unsure whether they'd find service on the island. The rest of us milled around waiting to load the backpacks, suitcases, and boxes of food piled on the dock. After we had hauled our things onto the boat, I walked up to the highest deck as we churned away from shore. A few puffy clouds cast their reflections on the glassy water, and gulls wheeled in our wake. Though the trip to the island took a half hour through the http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Southern Cultures University of North Carolina Press

Life-everlasting: Nature and Culture on Sapelo Island

Southern Cultures , Volume 12 (1) – Jun 3, 2006

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2006 Center for the Study of the American South.
ISSN
1534-1488
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

essay ...................... Life-everlasting Nature and Culture on Sapelo Island by Mary Hussmann "Though it was early morning, the day was already hot. I could smell the salty earth smell of the sea marsh that stretched out in front of us, cut by a tidal channel." Photograph courtesy of Mary Hussmann. hough it was early morning, the day was already hot. I could smell the salty earth smell of the sea marsh that stretched out in front of us, cut by a tidal channel. The ferry, Anne Marie, sat at the end of the pier, where men busily loaded boxes and construction materials onto the open deck. Some in our party frantically dialed cell phones and made last minute calls, unsure whether they'd find service on the island. The rest of us milled around waiting to load the backpacks, suitcases, and boxes of food piled on the dock. After we had hauled our things onto the boat, I walked up to the highest deck as we churned away from shore. A few puffy clouds cast their reflections on the glassy water, and gulls wheeled in our wake. Though the trip to the island took a half hour through the

Journal

Southern CulturesUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jun 3, 2006

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