For years, I’ve been experimenting with my career and just recently, decided to listen to where God was calling and return to my creative roots as an artist. So when the stars aligned with my hubby’s work trip to Orlando (where some of my family had recently moved to), a new nephew in Michigan (where I’m originally from), and Marshall (my hubs) embarking on a mission trip to South Asia the next month, I decided to plan a grand two month trip based on my love for family and adventure. Part of that adventure involved building a bed platform in my Mazda CX-5 and planning my first solo car-camping road trip.

The Plan (or Lack Thereof)

Ten days. Six stops on the road between Florida and Michigan, with Savannah as my first stop.

Sometimes the most enjoyable travel moments come from leaving the plan up to fate and NOT researching the hell out of it (something I’m too often guilty of), so I didn’t do much research before embarking on my road trip. I knew Savannah was beautiful but left the details of where my feet would take me for once I arrived.

The City

Aah Savannah… a beautiful city of history, ghost stories, and intrigue, holding many tales that fascinate and delight. Wandering through the moss-filled streets, I discovered that the city definitely lived up to its reputation.

Downtown Savannah was as lovely as I imagined it would be. As a photographer, I couldn’t help but notice the light – the way it filtered through Spanish moss and dappled the cobblestone streets. The geometry of wrought-iron balconies against brick. The saturated green… everywhere, relentless green! 

Live Oaks decorated with moss, grasses between the cracks in the sidewalks, ground cover between each step of staircases leading up to porches. Delightful! I wasn’t there to work, but my brain was cataloging color palettes and compositions anyway.

I roamed about the Colonial Park Cemetery and took in gravesites dating back to the American Revolution. I felt reverence as I read headstones with names of people who served our country, cared for others, worked and loved their families and friends so long ago. The moss-draped, time-worn atmosphere added to the enjoyment I already experience when I spend time in graveyards (if this makes me weird, then yes, I am weird). The honesty in cemeteries reminds me that what we create and who we love are the things that outlast us.

I stopped by the famous Forsyth Park and strolled down the tree-shaded promenade, peering curiously down at a fountain that was out of order. Apparently it’s an iconic 167 year old fountain that has been spotted in a number of films. I also witnessed some intense rounds of ultimate frisbee and perused a lovely rose garden, observing rain droplets scattered on delicate petals and beetles clinging to the watery flowers.

After hours of wandering, reading plaques in the countless squares, and enjoying the “Southern charm” of it all, I came to “historic stairs” that warned me to use with caution. Initially uncertain as to why I should be warned of said stairs, I soon understood why after starting my descent. They truly were historic and had plenty of large, uneven steps that required careful footing.

The steps took me down to the Savannah waterfront, which had a whole charm of its own. Different from its moss-covered streets above, I envisioned pirates and well-dressed women trading stories over rum as I walked along the waterfront’s cobblestone streets. 

Stores and restaurants line the road, which is where I found the River Street Market Place – a unique spot full of fun, whimsical vendors in an open air environment. I observed a cargo ship up close from the patio just outside the market and wondered about where it might be coming from. 

I spent the afternoon weaving in and out of shops along the cobblestones, smelling sweet treats from the many candy stores I passed. There’s no productivity in meandering through a city square with an ice cream cone in the warm sun, reading historical plaques for no reason other than curiosity. As someone who has spent years optimizing her life, the permission to be uselessly delighted felt radical. I had nowhere to be. No agenda. Just me, Savannah’s 22 squares, and all the time in the world.

The First Night

That night, I slept in my car for the first time on the bed platform I’d built myself (with a little help from hubby) in my CX-5, parked at the first HipCamp camping spot I’ve ever booked. The spot itself was magical, with fairy lights creating a warm glow and tall pine trees enveloping the area, but camping in my car… not so much.

That wasn’t the point though. I did it. Solo. And I was fine. Better than fine, actually. There’s something deeply satisfying about proving to yourself that you can be self-sufficient, that alternative living isn’t just Instagram fantasy – it’s entirely doable if you’re willing to figure it out.

My host’s kindness – the way he brought me a fan when he realized I might be warm during the night – reminded me why I’m doing this. Not just the road trip, but the whole pivot to the artist life. Connection. Generosity. Living at a human pace instead of a hustle pace. Following God’s creative call on my life, I’m learning that creative living isn’t just about making art. It’s about making space for moments like these.

Savannah was stop one of ten days that would challenge, delight, and reshape me. Next up: Charleston. But more on that soon.