It’s hard, real hard, to get “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can” unstuck from my brain. That stupid little sing-song phrase ranks right up…
Author: <span>Beth Hendrickson</span>
It happens somewhere between Beach Access 36 and 37. The Low Country magic. It’s a magic that has less to do with fairies, goblins, and changelings, and more to do…
Cloth diapering, in my experience, involved a rusty diaper pin that would never pass airline security these days, a stained (once white) rectangle most recently used as a dusting rag,…
Sit. Stay at home, mom. Stay. I chose to be a stay-at-home mom. I willingly gave up grading vocab quizzes, rousing snoozing students from drool-slicked desktops, signing crumpled hall passes,…
I’ve taken my last morning beach walk of the week. Today’s tally? Three baby horseshoe crab shells, two gaping fish heads, one spiny sea urchin, scads of tinkling cockle shells.…
Summer Vacation (still capitalizing those all-important words) included a few dark (and increasingly stifling) hours last night when a thunderstorm zapped the power on our island. Like a Fourth of…