When I was growing up, we often took family trips to the Florida Panhandle. The drive took about three hours from my hometown of Albany, Georgia. Our dogs, Moses and Missy, loved going along with us to the beach. My best friend, Allatia, usually joined us too.
Allatia’s mother would send us off with a large Tupperware full of delicious chocolate chip and coconut brownies called “Congo Bars.” While these treats were meant to last the week, we would devour most of them during the trip. I usually got car sick, but I never learned my lesson.
Of course, none of us wore seat belts. Kids and dogs climbed back and forth freely from the back seat to the front seat. By playing car games and singing, we survived what seemed like an eternity on the road as we eagerly anticipated diving into the emerald-green waters of the Gulf of Mexico.