It's been two summers ago that Eva and I loaded an entire Suburban's worth of camping gear and groceries and all the stuff of modern glamping and headed south to intercept our friend Lucy. We had guessed correctly on the amount of luggage she was carrying (almost none) and I had a set of camp-gear for her already. I had spent most of the Spring scouting locations and campsites and came up with some genuinely wonderful places. The thing about all of it is that isn't so much the place itself as giving a mood or just being part of the vibe of the day. This particular location I had stumbled across one morning and had returned to several times. It seemed as if the bird-watching grandmothers from the RV camp didn't hurry their morning coffee and that there was some little window in which we would have the lighthouse and beach all to ourselves. And so it was.
In the moments AFTER the trip, loaded up with a short week of pictures, I didn't particularly notice this batch. But tonight I made one little change and BINGO it jumped off the page. I will tip my hat to the two drift boat fishermen who floated silently off the lighthouse for the 45 minutes or so that we were there. They were quite respectful. I do wonder how often they have returned since in hopes of a repeat performance.