An Oasis at Seventeen Mile Rocks

My eye had been malevolently and unblinkingly bent upon Seventeen Mile Rocks since I heard of it from the Bs, and last Georgia-day we wended our actually un-merry and sleep-deprived way there for a day of aquatic fun and frolics.

Lyra may or may not have assaulted Georgia in the back of the car in a conflict over a booster seat, but the latter part of our journey was accompanied by wails of angst from one side of the car and a perhaps slightly self-incriminating and possibly smug half-smile from the other.

The day was hot and sunny and though there was plenty of shade to be had, needless to say Lyra refused point-blank to wear her hat. Some battles just aren't worth fighting so I tried to stick to the shade, unsuccessfully, but sunscreen had been liberally slopped so there wasn't to much to worry about, other than sunstroke and scalp burns and perhaps a cheap non-salon highlights job.

Lots of fun was had in the water, with plenty of marching up and down and splishing and splashing and falling over and all those things you expect from a water park. The water flowed from one pool to another to another in a sinuous stream-linked interconnectedness of oases, shaded by multicoloured sunsails and raided by black crows. People of various shapes and sizes and ages and hues made their way, tentativeness inversely proportional to age, between the rocks, generally in pursuit of stick-wielding tearaways.

Lunchtime was followed by sleep-time, in my case encouraged by pram. Sleeps went on for a while then some playground action, during which it became apparent from infant moodiness that the best part of the day was done and that a retrieval operation and home delivery was in order.