Blue Crabs, Buttcrack River, and a UFO

Returning to Our Hearts' Island Home

Hello Friends,

I have a special treat for you this week. Eric is back with a guest post. If you know your mid-century musicals, you’ll get the reference in the title below.

My Own Special Island

By Eric Hedin

Hunting Island, South Carolina is my Bali Hai, my own special island.

I first came here by chance

with Tina and four-year-old Kiki, steered by providence, not Yelp. I was knocked back by the raw beauty, the unspoiled beach, the screaming shore birds, low dunes and towering palmettos.

We soon established temporary settlement and set about claiming geographic sections by giving them names. There was Buttcrack River, a tidal river that ran from a lagoon to the ocean, and came up to one's butt crack. There were the Three Sisters, a trio of palms that rose regally out of the ocean at high tide. Saffron City was an area of beach covered with gnarled remains of weathered trees, bark smoothed by hurricanes that continually change the contours of the beach.

Kiki and I made many trips to both ends of the island: the northern point, where thousands of birds nest and refuel, and the busier south end where fishing boats and dolphins come and go through the channel.

We made up marching songs to add a musical score for our long treks on the beach. Or we rode bikes, using a tagalong attached to my bike. The sand here is hard enough that you can ride the whole length of the island. Kiki always insisted she was pedaling while actually goldbricking.

Tina and Kiki on the tagalong bike at our oceanfront campsite

Our first visit was for just a few days,

but the result was a permanent commitment to this place that became home in our hearts. When Kiki was five, we stayed for six weeks. That fall, we were in the midst of a three-year stretch of full-time travel, living in a vintage Airstream motorhome. During that visit, I took off my watch and learned to live by the rise and set of the sun and movement of the tides.

I taught myself how to throw a cast net, and we all learned how to use crab traps. Back then, there was no cell service on the island. There was a pay phone at the camp store but otherwise we were cut off from the real world. Hunting Island became our real world.

During that long visit,

the librarian at nearby Lady’s Island made an exception for Kiki and gave her a library card. Ostensibly for homeschooling, but at that time, living at the beach and being together was all the school she needed. Groceries and library visits were our only trips off the island, except for Halloween.

That year, Kiki wanted to be Hamtaro, a cartoon hamster. Since we weren’t traveling with a sewing machine, Tina hand stitched a Hamtaro costume. It took two days of sewing, but it didn’t matter because time didn’t matter. There was nothing more pressing to do.

Halloween evening,

we all went to historic downtown Beaufort and Kiki joined a throng of other kids trick-or-treating. At five, she could believe she really was Hamtaro, and that night life felt pretty perfect for all of us.

The ensuing biennial visits were a blur of joy, catching blue crabs off the pier and shrimp at the point. Squishing around in the mud by the lagoon and watching the fiddler crabs scatter like, well, fiddler crabs. We took turns sleeping in a hammock under the stars, lulled by waves and frogs and cicadas. We watched our dog, Honey, wear herself out chasing seagull shadows.

Eric and Keek in the hammock

Our last trip here with 18 year old Keek was as predictably special as every other visit with one additional event.

One evening we headed to the beach

to watch the moonrise. Cresting the dunes, we saw what we thought was a huge cruise ship on the horizon. As we watched, one end of the ship rose to 45 degrees and shot up into the sky. It was enormous, a black oblong shape against the dark sky, with round orange lights rotating around the perimeter. It paused for a second and then shot off and disappeared. We were momentarily frozen in disbelief, then heard people down the beach, talking excitedly. After comparing notes with the others, we agreed we’d all seen the same thing.

It was a great story to take home with us, and thankfully we’d seen it together because no one else could truly understand.

Kiki at the north end of the island

Of course we didn’t know then

it was the last time we would be at Hunting Island with Keek. A few years later, she came on her own trip, with a friend, and it made us happy to think she would carry our family traditions into her adult life.

After Kiki died, Hunting Island was the one place Tina and I wanted to be. We got here as soon as we could, in the Fall of last year. I believe that was when we coined the phrase “happy sad” – a phenomenon where one can be very happy and profoundly sad at the same time.

During that visit we applied to be camp hosts, but were unsure we’d get a spot, knowing many people apply. We camped for the maximum six weeks, then had to leave, sad but excited for travel adventures ahead.

A few months later,

we were riding our bikes along the Suwannee River in Northern Florida, when a South Carolina park ranger called my cell phone and offered us a camp host position for this year, September and October. So here we are, two weeks into our dream jobs. We live and work at Hunting Island. So far, “happy sad,” but more happy than sad.

PS: If you want to know more details about the UFO, or have your own UFO story, let me know.⁜

Tina on the maintenance cart, at work in the campground

Thank you for reading

or listening to Letters From Turkey Town. When I started this Substack, I thought I’d be writing for maybe ten or twenty subscribers, max. I am so grateful to all of you who have chosen to subscribe, and have joined Eric and I on our travels around the country and through the unknown lands of grief.

I have always said I have no interest in writing a book. Writing a book is hard and it takes a long time and I’m a slacker, or at least trying to be. But lately I’ve been feeling like it may be the obvious next step. In the coming months I’ll be sharing excerpts with you from the work in progress.

Just FYI,

since Substack subscriptions can be confusing:

Unlike many Substacks, I make ALL my posts available to read and listen for FREE.

Both Free and Paid subscribers have access to everything.

PAID subscribers are the generous souls who have chosen to provide financial compensation for my work. I am grateful for your support.

FREE subscribers are equally valued, thank you!

And your comments are the best, I hope you’ll leave one. I answer all comments but not always immediately. Like I said, I’m a slacker, with aspirations to be a layabout. So sometimes the days get away from me.

Love, Tina