After a crazy busy day of antiquing and partying, we traded in our shopping bags and strollers for the clear blue Southern skies, moss laden oaks and lush green grass of Forsyth Park. Located in Savannah’s historic district, the park was originally created in the 1840’s and is home to the city’s famous fountain, the Confederate Memorial, two playgrounds, a cafe, the Fragrant Garden for the Blind and loads of the unique personalities that call Savannah home.
We popped into Thrive, a local, organic carry out cafe, for a picnic lunch of their signature chicken salad and then ran through the Sonic drive through for gigantic Vanilla Cokes (you know, to offset all of the farm-to-table goodness of our meal.) Lounging on a quilt under the dappled shade of one of Savannah’s great Live Oak’s, we enjoyed our meal while the littles ran as far and as fast as their legs could carry them.
Later we strolled down the broad, tree lined path to the playgrounds where the littles continued to expend their abundant energy while the ladies gabbed, gossiped and gawked at the goings and doings of what must be some of Savannah’s most unique residents.
Finally, we parked ourselves in the shade on a bench in front of the Parisian styled iron fountain, dyed green for St. Patrick’s Day, that Savannah is so known for. The littles ran out the last of their steam and we enjoyed the soulful jazz of one of the city’s numerous roving musicians. Sitting there, I thought about the early spring afternoon, eleven years ago, that Honey and I took our engagement pictures on a nearby bench tucked under the dappled shade of the old oaks. I reminisced about taking my sweet sixteen pictures in front of the fountain in 1992 and then I marveled at how I found my way back to the very same spot for bridal portraits ten years later. Watching my own sweet littles frolic in this place that holds so many memories for me, I also couldn’t help but wonder about all of the others that have laid in the grass, strolled on the walkways and taken their most coveted photographs in front of the famous fountain over the last one hundred and seventy years.
As the day languished and our get-up-and-go waned, we made it home just in time to wash hands, feet and faces and throw on some clean clothes before heading out to my parent’s besties for spaghetti, whiskey sours and golf cart “deer hunting” rides. And that, my friends, finally did the littles in. They were out the minute their little heads hit their pillows.