Another American Adventure: Fernandina Beach

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Fernandina Beach

Jon and Heather showed me around. Fernandina Beach is a wonderful beach town, feeling both Southern and beach-y. There is a "green area" that traverses the area for walkers/joggers/bikers as well as the beach. The downtown area is artsy, lively with hints of history and old south charm, surrounded by water and grassy savannas.

Mesa Mae:

How can my car be this dirty??!!

2 comments:

BarbaraJanuary 16, 2011 at 9:51 AM
It is road salt. Our cars look like that the entire winter! Get thee to a car wash if there is no rain in the forecast.

Looks like a lovely area. There was an article in the Montreal papers this weekend about the beaches in Maine during the winter, especially Ogunquit and Wells.
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beth cioffolettiJanuary 17, 2011 at 7:51 AM
See next post! Ocean beaches are always soothing to me, some more so than others, though.
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"In those first days, people said, a squirrel could run the long length of Pennsylvania without ever touching the ground. In those first days, the woods were white oak and chestnut, hickory, maple, sycamore, walnut, wild ash, wild plum, and white pine. The pine grew on the ridgetops where the mountains' lumpy spines stuck up and their skin was thinnest.

"The wilderness was uncanny, unknown. Benjamin Franklin had already invented his stove in Philadelphia by 1753, and Thomas Jefferson was a schoolboy in Virginia; French soldiers had been living in forts along Lake Erie for two generations. But west of the Alleghenies in western Pennsylvania, there was not even a settlement, not even a cabin. No Indians lived there, or even near there.

"Wild grapevines tangled the treetops and shut out the sun. Few songbirds lived in the deep woods. Bright Carolina parakeets - red, green, and yellow - nested in the dark forest. There were ravens then, too. Woodpeckers rattled the big trees' trunks, ruffed grouse whirred their tail feathers in the fall, and every long once in a while a nervous gang of empty-headed turkeys came hustling and kicking through the leaves - but no one heard any of this, no one at all."

Annie Dillard, An American Childhood.