Amelia Island, 2024

COMING HOME TO A PLACE UNKNOWN

Amelia Island: America in manageable bites

If it weren't for the rhythmic thumps of the tires on the expansion joints of the concrete bridge crossing the Amelia River, I might have felt like an explorer heading into new territory. But soon enough, I realized that I was just following the cars in front of me and that the closest I'll ever come to being an explorer is the model of the SUV that I was driving. As I approached the ocean, I felt grateful that the rental company hadn't given me a Suburban.

I've never been grateful to a car rental company before, yet here I was.

It's on its islands that you see America at its best. They are the intimate version of a nation that acknowledges no boundaries. The vastness of the ocean that lies beyond their shores seems to effectively constrain the country's inbuilt pursuit of expansion. Amelia Island is America in manageable bites.

But littleness has its disadvantages as well. Between 1750 and 1850, the island changed hands among numerous colonial powers, each leaving its mark. It even flew a green cross flag for four months as the seat of the short-lived Republic of Florida. Even then, Americans never ran low on aspirations.

Nature is never far away on Amelia Island.

Lady Amelia is a home, not a house. On the corner of two white shell roads, opposite some moss-covered oaks it faces two small marinas and a tiny shipyard.

We connected with Amelia Island immediately. After all, we also call home a nation that has been subject to the rule of neighboring powers in Europe. We know a thing or two about wars, tyrants, and changing allegiances in Belgium. And we champion the idea of tiny nations dreaming big—here's to the absurd republican ambitions of Gregor MacGregor and his 55 musketeers!

We called him Stan. We were never formally introduced, but his demeanor during our brief morning exchanges, walking Mr. Watson in Old Fernandina, suggested nothing else. Stanley in full. With a spade in hand, Stan seemed to always be taking a break, watching the traffic on the Amelia River as he tended to the overgrowth in his garden. His belly and white beard seemed to be in a protrusion contest. The belly was winning.

Stan has been living in Old Town since he retired from the Navy over 20 years ago. It was the wrong part of town, then. The house across Fernandina Plaza Park—a lawn, really—was what he could afford at the time. The view, however, is priceless. Old Fernandina is pretty much the right part of town now. Neo-historical homes are being built by developers on plots of land that have been vacant since the town was platted by the Spanish. But with its 14 miniature blocks and shell roads, it is still every bit a village. Unique by its history and very much preserved by its inhabitants. Stan lives a happy life. His embonpoint testifies to it.

So did we at Lady Amelia. I'm sure my embonpoint would have ensued.

 Large terraces with an eclectic mixture of design, antique, and natural objects and furniture are an extension of the living areas, blurring the lines between inside and outside.

The house is on the corner of two white shell roads, opposite a stretch of grass with moss-covered oaks that leads to two small marinas and a tiny shipyard. It was built in the 1860s for a captain in New England saltbox style and renovated in the early 2000s. Trees and lush shrubs discreetly shield the spacious terraces from the street, blending privacy with panoramic views. Adorned with an eclectic mixture of design, antique, and natural objects and furniture, they are an extension of the living areas, blurring the lines between inside and outside. None of the renovations have altered the house. It is still very much a family home, with its layout kept very close to the original. The modifications make the house more liveable and enjoyable without compromising its character and authenticity.

Amelia Island is America in manageable bites

Lady Amelia is a home, not a house. It's where a family shared joy, sadness, difficulties, and successes. You can feel it in rooms that are dappled with photos, objects, and books that are not just beautiful but are also laden with cherished memories. A photo wall on the landing reminds you of the cast of a French film noir in the 1970s. Books suggest interests that have faded in this day and age. It's a living archive of aesthetic treasures that have been passed on over generations. But at the same time, its eclecticism is by no means old-fashioned but tastefully up-to-date.

Old Fernandina, with its 14 miniature blocks and shell roads, is still every bit a village.

Julia—its owner, an architect with a thriving business in Jacksonville—has incorporated modernity, light, and subtle, bleached-out color schemes that match the coastal setting of the property. A classic master bedroom with a mahogany four-poster bed contrasts with the modernist children's bedroom. A darker sitting room on the north side juxtaposes a bright white sitting room with a workspace on the south side—safari meets surfing; writing is paired with design. It's easy to work here. This house exudes inspiration and sparks creation.

Lady Amelia is still very much a historic family home. The modifications make the house more liveable and enjoyable without compromising its character or authenticity.

The screen door of the ground floor terrace slams shut behind us as we take Mr. Watson for another walk. He takes a left turn and struts confidently down the middle of the street towards Stan's house, as if Old Fernandina were his turf. He stops abruptly at a safe distance from a corn snake that was no match for the car that hit it. Its bright red and yellow colors contrast against the crushed white shells of the road. There can be beauty in decay.

As I turn around, I notice two vultures perched on the roof ridge of one of the dormers of the house, watching every one of our moves. The sight is oddly comforting. They seem to belong there, enhancing the inspiriting character of Lady Amelia.

Modernity, light, and subtle, bleached-out color schemes match the coastal setting of the home

A darker sitting room with an imposing writing desk has a colonial African feel to it. It's easy to work here. Lady Amelia exudes inspiration and sparks creation.

The next morning, Mr. Watson sniffs the spot where the red corn snake came to its end. There's nothing left of it. Stan—reminiscing, spade in hand—watches a Coast Guard patrol boat inspect a yacht on the river. A small freighter sails into the port. Nearby, a Carolina wren sings.

It's how life goes on in Old Fernandina, I consider, as I step into the Ford Explorer to go foraging at the local Harris Teeter store for an aperitif and dinner—another wild adventure.

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