My mother and I just returned from a trip to Savannah, GA. We arrived in town on Saturday along with the rain, which dampened any hope we had of doing much outdoors. Determined, we set out on a two-and-one-half hour self-guided tour of Savannah's northern squares. Ninety-six degrees and one hundred per cent humidity later, we might as well have gone to a sauna.

Shortly thereafter, an argument broke out about where to eat. Mom wanted cheap, and I wanted no crowd. We both lost. On the upside, we discovered that Uncle Bubba's Oyster House has some fantastic cornbread. Highly recommended.

The next day, we set out for the beach at nearby Tybee Island. I was hoping for this:

Instead, I got this:

But even those crowds weren't enough to detour us. The heat was, though, and Mom had us retreat to the car earlier than I would have liked. She did get a bit of a burn on her delicate Southern features, so I have to concede that maybe mothers do know best.

Before returning home, we dropped by Forsyth Park in Savannah. I'm pretty sure when Yankees think of the South, they pictures rednecks and scenes like this.

The park's beauty is unparalleled, but it's not really what I wanted to see. I had been promised a trip to some cemeteries in Savannah. While the Park's Memorial to the Confederate Dead is impressive, it's not what I had in mind.

It's been 20 years since I was last in Savannah, and the cemeteries were there then. I sure hope they'll wait around another two decades when I schedule my return trip. Don't get impatient, dead people. I'll be back.

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