Descriptive Essay: Jekyll Island's Driftwood Beach in November

Wanting to avoid crowds, we planned our vacation to Jekyll Island in the first and second weeks in November, and we rented a small condo within walking distance of Driftwood Beach. We'd chosen Jekyll Island for our vacation because of its plethora of historical landmarks, not realizing that the quality of endurance is also a prominent natural phenomenon on Jekyll Island. 

Driftwood Beach faces the Atlantic Ocean on the northeastern shore of Jekyll Island, Georgia. Although the trees on Driftwood Beach look like driftwood, according to the Golden Isles Convention and Visitor's Bureau Web site, the name is actually a misnomer: The beach is named for the remnants of decaying trees that were once part of the island's maritime forest ("Driftwood Beach"). That forest, and its trees, have gradually succumbed to erosion and the effects of the Atlantic's salt water. What remains are the stripped skeletons of trees, bent and twisted, reaching through the sand and sea toward the sky.  The trees that were once a living part of an oceanside forest continue to appear, adding to the energy of mysterious endurance that such a place exudes.   

Our first walk to Driftwood Beach was serene, and its most noticeable feature was, of course, the trees for which it's named. We were completely alone on the beach but for the trees, and we made a temporary sacred space for ourselves against the sandy base of a large, bare tree. Instead of fighting with the sensory overload of everyday life, we were able to focus on the moment, point out large waves or diving pelicans, watch the shrimp boats, and enjoy the sound of the wind through the grass and the feeling of sun on our faces. We felt small, like part of the beach, part of the make-up of the place. We were able to experience an idyllic moment resting against a tree that embodied the mystery of its own continued existence.

Our second walk to Driftwood Beach followed a violent thunderstorm that only those who've experienced the difference between an inland storm and an island storm can appreciate. That storm also held mystery, but it was a mysterious violence, powerful beyond imagining, and it was awe-inspiring: Floors vibrated, windows whistled and rattled, the roof shook, and rain blew in every direction. That storm also made us feel small, but instead of feeling like part of the beach, we felt isolated, cowering in our bed, in our blankets. 

Post storm, the beach was littered with horseshoe crabs and seaweed, fishing nets and plastics. The waves were larger and louder, the birds were fewer, the grass was flattened, the sun was behind the clouds, yet the trees were still holding where they had been before the storm. Some were buried deeper in the sand, others were more exposed, but all of them were where they had been the day before. Those trees put our cowering into perspective. They demonstrated an unimaginable permanence, a mysterious endurance, an awe-inspiring strength and resilience - even against the ferocity of a fearful storm. The trees were bare, a natural rebellion against the cold wind that followed the storm, while we piled on layers of clothing just to make a short walk. 

Driftwood Beach continues to erode. The weather continues to change, and the sand continues to shift as storms come and go, bringing debris in and out with the waves, erasing marks left in the sand by inconsequential people. The trees, though smaller branches come and go, seem to remain the same. The trees, unlike the people, mysteriously endure just as surely as the other historical landmarks on Jekyll Island. 

Write Outside

Want to read more about writing descriptive essays, including the writing prompt that inspired this post? Read my complete text, Write Outside: Outdoor Activities and Writing Prompts for English Composition (affiliate link).

Works Cited

“Driftwood Beach.” Golden Isles Georgia, Golden Isles Convention and Visitors Bureau, 2021, www.goldenisles.com/things-to-do/beaches/driftwood-beach

Copyright Amy Lynn Hess. Please contact the author for permission to republish.