What a coincidence: they woke up in another state capitol! Sightseeing was again limited to a drive-by of the capitol, the governor's mansion, and the campus of Florida State University. After refueling the vehicle with some of that $1.99/gallon gasoline that they sell in Florida, they drove across the peninsula to St. Augustine , purported to be the nation's oldest city.
Because time was running out, explorations of the Spanish architecture, Ponce de Leon's fountain of youth, and other fascinating sights were skipped and the lighthouse chasing project began. They began to identify the various lighthouses, not so much by name, as by the number of steps that one must climb to get to the top observation deck. St. Augustine's would then be called "219." The steps were open and narrow, prompting the question "Are we there yet?" repeatedly. They made it to the top, even the older one!
Pete Yaun and Harriet Govan, good friends and colleagues from MJ's graduate school days at Baylor, were expecting them for dinner in St. Simon's Island, GA. (That's where the G-8 summit meeting had been held a few weeks earlier, so they figured that it would be an acceptable venue for Missouri visitors.) Carol had never met them and MJ hadn't seen either for thirty-two years. MJ made a cell phone call to Pete as a final warning of the impending intrusion and to give an estimated time of arrival. But, "Yes" The offer was still open and Harriet was going to cook dinner for all.
The Sea Palms occupies a substantial amount of the total dry land area on St. Simon's Island. It is a golf course, a residential community, a visitors' resort, a conference center, and a club house complete with swimming pool, restaurants, and
other meeting facilities. Pete and Harriet own one of the residences and maintain membership in the club. As guests of Pete and Harriet, Carol and MJ were able to stay at the resort at a rate more nearly affordable for a retired professor and his school teacher wife. Having checked in at the Sea Palms resort, MJ and Carol then set out for the Yaun/Govan Mansion.
The map of the route to the mansion seemed ambiguous-at least to two weary travelers who were running late; therefore, they were only about 50% sure that they had found the correct residence. But on arrival, Pete came out of the front door, hand cupped above his furrowed brow, saying, in the manner of those with scientific, inquiring minds "MJ, 'zat you?" Hugs and introductions followed, so it must have been the right address. The rest of the evening was spent filling in some pieces of a thirty-two year information gap and eating Harriet's exquisitely prepared meal.
