Distant Early Warning

There is nothing like a good storm by the sea. The smell of salt on the wind, the slash and clatter of palms as the wind comes ashore. The muffled thick thick think of the first drops spitting on the sand. The lightning flashing far out at sea is always visible long before you hear any hint of a rumble. It blinks like Christmas lights on the horizon.

The waves of wind begin to swing ashore, it’s then that you can sense the life in the storm, the personalities, the intentions. Storms are alive too. They have a path to follow just like us. Just because something only lasts a few days, does not mean it doesn’t have intentions. Just because you can’t decipher the intentions doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Tonight I sat by the fire feeling the barometer drop, feeling the stir of wind, watching the whirl of embers as the fire died down and the wind came up. I could feel it coming, I could sense its presence.

This storm comes from the southwest, a mix a southern and western personalities, a storm we all know in this part of the world. I never worry about a storm unless it comes from the north. Storms from the north aren’t more dangerous exactly, but they’re chaotic and unpredictable. You never know what a north wind will bring. Though around here the ones you really have to watch out for are the east and southeast winds. But we’re months from those.

This one we watched arrive. Storm clouds sweeping up from the southwest all day. One or two at first, floating lazily along. Then more, as if they were forming up around some kind of a plan. Whatever the plan was, it didn’t involve Edisto. Despite spitting rain a little during the night it was back to sunshine the next day.

I love a good storm, but not when I have to drive. That morning we headed down the coast a couple hours to Hunting Island State Park.The drive was sunny, fortunately. Uneventful. Beaufort proved to be a charming little coastal southern town. Or it looked that way anyway. By the time we drove through, the rest of the country was starting to lock down over the coronavirus. South Carolina remained in a state of blissful ignorance, but having watched the virus spread via stories of friends and family on the west coast, I wasn’t about to head out and wander the streets.

I’d just as soon strangers always keep a six foot distance from me. But South Carolina wasn’t about to make rules regarding that or anything else. South Carolina is the south’s “live free or die” state. There still aren’t helmet laws here, which I think is great actually. But a virus is not a motorcycle. A virus is not something you choose to do. A virus really has nothing to do with “rights”. A virus is a good reminder that rights are a thing conferred by communities of people to members of those communities. There are no “natural” rights.

It’s also important to dig too, because behind all the talk of rights, usually you find someone making money. As one of the camp hosts put to it when I asked if he thought the South Carolina State Parks would close, “These greedy bastards? Never.” And he was right. The parks down there remained essentially open through April 12.

So we missed Beaufort because the virus-exposure-to-fun ratio did not work out in its favor. We did get to spend a few days on Hunting Island though. By a stroke of pure luck we had the nicest campsite in the campground, which was good because otherwise it was packed in and crowded, as beach campgrounds tend to be. The best I can say for it was that the water was walking distance away.

The kids spent all day every day out on the sand. We even made in the water a couple times despite the cold. As you do.

The beach here was not nearly as forthcoming with treasures. There were shells, and a lot of jellyfish, but little of the fossils and other things we’d been finding in Edisto.

And then our options began to fade. North Carolina shut down its parks, which killed our next plan, which was head to the Outer Banks for a few months. Then Florida shut down its state parks and we were starting to feel the squeeze. Competition for what few camping spots remained became much more intense. We full timers may fly under the radar for most people, but there are far more of us than you know. Take away public camping and the options get thin quickly. We decided it was time to get out of South Carolina.

At the time most people were not taking the virus very seriously. Here’s the thing. Maybe you can get Covid-19 and be fine. But what if you can’t? Do you really want to find out right now when there’s no treatment and hospitals are crowded? When we don’t even really understand what the virus does, especially any long term effects? Just because you survive it does not mean you go back to normal. Ask anyone who lives with Lyme, RSV, chronic fatigue syndrome, or any of the other virus-borne diseases with long term consequences. Viruses are nothing new, sickness and death are nothing new, but that doesn’t mean we should run full speed toward them without a care.

We decided to take steps we felt would best help us avoid coming in contact with SARS-CoV-2. Unfortunately that meant changing our plans. But it’s hardly the first time we’ve had to change plans. These things happen. Traveling around in RV isn’t a right you know, it’s a privilege that we’ve enjoyed, but right now it isn’t possible. A big part of travel is waiting, so that’s what we’re doing right now, just like everyone else.