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Enhydra lutris
The quick stop at Smitty’s is fun. Cute store the owner and his wife have decorated in the spirit of a Blackbeard-era ship, complete with gas for Ryan to refuel. When I see him buying a basketful of groceries—butter, onions, garlic, fresh peppers, a bottle of wine, nutcrackers to break open the crab legs, rice, trail mix and lunch makings, fresh bread and a package of cinnamon rolls baked by Smitty’s wife—I get excited. Nervous. Twitterpated, as my father would say.
Maybe we don’t have to go back today. Maybe we get to stay out here in our own little world.
I have exactly zero problems with that.
I’m scanning their surprisingly well-stocked book aisle, looking through guidebooks about local wildlife. “Pick one. You can bird-watch while we’re out today,” Ryan says int
