Seabrook, Framed

Spring break with a few of my closest friends, which left us with exotic skin, salt-dried hair and a rebirth of youth, has come and gone, but is not lost. Three rolls of film freeze the weeklong stay on Seabrook Island off the South Carolina coast. Seventy-two frames reveal that sometimes having nothing to do means discovering everything.

Frame # 4 – A wood-slat path disappearing into a tunnel of trees. The walk seemed endless as the words to our favorite Ben Harper song flew on the breeze to the beach. The five of us faced the Atlantic with no one in sight for a mile each way and a red sun behind us. We bet on things to come and then laugh about the predictions on the way back to our first night in the house.

Frame # 11 – Three friends are silhouetted against the sun’s glaring reflection off the ocean. Windy, but sun-toasting warm, we lie on the beach all afternoon. Sipping cold drinks with eyes closed, everyone is silent so they can hear tiny rolling waves. “I don’t think I could ever leave,” Maggie says. The most anyone can manage is an affirmative grunt. The great thing was, we didn’t have to leave. Everyone had the time to go nowhere, and nowhere is where we went. Shannon giggled and a viral laugh spread across our towels as we thought of the night before. None of us have a career in professional karaoke.

Frame #15 – Window-filtered sunlight illuminates a wooden chess set inside a coffee shop. Java Java was our morning staple. Four black coffee-of-the-days and we were ready for our walk around the quaint “Circle” village center. Four girls, giddy with friendship, we spill our secrets, which had filled our lungs overnight. Stopping to pet an unleashed black poodle, Bridgette bumps into a table of elderly women who try to suppress smiles. “Have fun while it lasts,” the one with a white wide-brimmed hat says, but we already know.

Frame #27 – Steel stools with ice blue seats ring a soda fountain bar in the Circle. Mimicking a diner in the ‘50s, the soda shop’s checkered-tile floor is cold on my bare feet. “Shirts and Shoes Required,” the sign says. We sprint to the bar to hide our feet before anyone sees. Eating root beer floats Jordan and I imagine what we’d do with a million dollars. “Buy a house on this island,” I say. “Buy it from you,” he says. An ice cream headache forces my eyes shut, but soon I’m relaxed again – Jordan’s fingers are on either side of my temples.

Frame #32 – Huge live oaks dripping with Spanish moss and highlighted by the sun line a straight road to where, I have forgotten. I convinced Ali to join me in a beach-cruiser bike ride. Out of everyone here, I know her the least, but that will soon change. Our dresses fly behind us as we swerve down the silent road. We’ve never been down this one before, but Ali is confident. She begins to sing a song and we arrive on a bridge that overlooks what could be the African Savanna. A blanket of brown and green marshland stretches out in front of us to the Spanish-moss horizon. “Nature’s first green is gold,” Ali says. “The hardest hue for her to hold,” I complete the first line of Frost. Laughing, we head back to the house.

Frame #50 – A small, pink crab claw sits alone on a thick tree branch five feet off the ground. John and I walk straight into a clustered grove of entangled trunks, snaking horizontally across the ground. We begin to climb higher and higher – this is any child’s wildest dream. Never-ending branches provide footing as we finally come to rest at the highest point our bravery will allow us to go. Cradled in seats of bark we people-watch mothers and fathers stroll their babies, chase toddlers away from enticing inedibles, and couples hold hands. Talking about the future, we realize we are both scared. “No rush,” I say. As I climb down from the tree, John is still sitting.

Frame #72 – A reflection of the road dissolving behind us through my side-door mirror. The white fence posts get smaller in the distance as we begin our exit from Seabrook Island. A week as never gone by so fast.

We found that living mindfully every moment reminds you to appreciate the simple things. At 20 years old we discovered the organics of ourselves in the roots of friendship, preserved in 72 frames.