Georgia Isles On My MindRobert Barker
My wife's oldest friend, a Manhattan native and cosmopolite who has lived in Atlanta these past dozen years, once warned me about travels in Georgia. "Prepare to be disappointed," she said. Her words were on my mind recently as we turned off Interstate 95 at Route 17 and headed east toward Jekyll Island, a path that leads first past Ga. Pig Barbecue, over Fancy Bluff Creek, and across the Marshes of Glynn, a soggy tract that was celebrated by the 19th century poet Sidney Lanier but today lies next to smelly pulp mills.
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