As prosaic as may be our sojourn here on Hilton Head Island by a more social orthodoxy, the elemental features of this barrier island on the North Atlantic Ocean are indescribably wonderful in any event. Furthermore it requires immodest disturbance of my plodding existence to upset me. Certainly, I argue, at 73 years of age the decision to do what I prefer howsoever uninspired is supreme logic. To pretend otherwise risks endless possibilities of both physical and psychological travesty. In the result the conjunction of ingrained beauty in our surroundings and deep-rooted incorrigibility on our part makes for a sustainable union. Even if the natural beauty were an accommodation I can live with that.

A travel brochure, like most advertisements, is an unreliable source of intelligence except for the most fundamental details. For anything else the stimulus comes from within the adherents. It is a reminder of that silly philosophical query about the sound of a falling tree.

The full quote from Dr. George Berkeley, an Anglican Bishop and philosopher in the 1600s, was this: “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” The answer, according to George, is that yes, it did make a sound, because God heard it.

A more explicit response might be as follows:

When wood bends, it tends to “creak” and “groan.” When it bends too much, it “snaps” and “cracks.” Depending on how large the tree was, how fast it was falling, and what the ground was covered with, when it finally hit the ground, it may have landed with a “thud,” a “bang,” a “crash,” a “boom.”

The importance of the two observations is that whatever transpires depends on who hears it and whether it makes a creak or a crash. There is seldom if ever a singular prescription of what one experiences.  Beside some of the most memorable moments derive from purely inconsequential features. It isn’t the paint or the wallpaper that makes the day. And if it is then one should consider opening a hardware store.

Years ago in the 1970s a fat friend introduced me to the Atkins Diet, basically protein instead of carbohydrates. Pointedly it was the inspiration of  American cardiologist Robert C. Atkins (1930–2003) whom I have yet fully to outlive – though to his credit I lost a lot of weight. I have as might be expected regained whatever weight I lost. That aside, this morning’s breakfast of sliced green apple included a plate of Tavern ham slices, American cheese and two fried eggs.  It was divine!

On the heels of that diet we set off on our bicycles towards Coligny Beach Park. It was a red letter day! At practically every intersection we breezed through without having to deal with oncoming motor vehicle traffic. We concluded that on the Monday of the President’s Day holiday many of the recent interlopers had already concluded an evaporation.

This holiday dates back to the 1880s and it used to always be held on February 22, which was George Washington’s birthday. But, in 1968, Congress passed the Uniform Monday Holiday Bill, which moved a number of federal holidays to Mondays and now it is held on the third Monday of every February.

The tranquillity is however likely but a temporary respite. The students taking their so-called “March Break” and the PGA golf enthusiasts in early April will soon flood the area.  Meanwhile we’re looking forward to getting wet.  Already today young people were swimming in the Ocean but our specific interest lies with the commencement of heating the Harbour Town pool on March 1st.

I confess the allure of the North Atlantic Ocean does not escape me. If I recall correctly it was in the month of March that I last swam in the Ocean here – though perhaps it was more toward the end of the month.  No doubt I shall subscribe to wearing my Speedo black shorts on an upcoming hot day to appease my appetite for salt water and crashing waves. The awakening of this ceremony is uplifting.

My photography hobby continues to entertain me.  With the advent of crowds of sunbathers and children frolicking on the beach there is an instant supply of material. I am tickled by the amusement which surfaces from the most mundane human activity. One is able to capture it almost by luck as though nothing is unimportant in the overall scheme of things.