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This past week my son, Logan, popped up from Florida State University to see how his pop was faring after surgery. As anyone with kids knows, once they have left the nest, any time with them is precious (and usually expensive, but hey, the tradeoff is worth it).

We did just a little easy fishing, but we sure talked fishing a lot. One day we headed over to Hilton Head Island for some lagoon fishing, looking for a flounder dinner. But instead of flukes, we caught a dozen or so monster sea trout, all of which we released.

It was during this excursion that Logan looked at me and told me how much he missed the Lowcountry. He went on to tell me that unlike Florida, there was a lushness here that no other place he has ever been to possesses. He went on and on about not only the beauty but also how easy it is to live off the land here.

It was a bit of a wake-up call for me. I had been sitting around feeling sorry for myself because of my stupid back problems, and all I had to do was open my eyes and look around me. He was right -- there is no place on earth like the Lowcountry.

Around the third day of his visit I got up early and walked the half block to the river. I tried to block out the pain I was in and open my eyes and see what he was seeing. It worked!It was a revelation, of sorts, and it took someone who had lived here, left and returned again to make me see what's in front of me every day.

In that half-block stroll I saw a pair of pileated woodpeckers nesting in an old, dead pine tree within spitting distance of my front door. I also saw what I am sure are the same pair of Mississippi Kites, a type of raptor, that had returned for the second year in row to raise their young. And I caught a glimpse of the first ruby-throated hummingbird of the year, a bald eagle soaring amid a flock of common buzzards, and a host of other birds, including a spectacular painted bunting. I thought to myself "How on earth can it get any better than this? It can't."

Usually, Logan and I are going nonstop whenever he is here. Cobia fishing, crabbing, redfish on the flats, turkey hunting, we get into a little bit of everything. But this time it was different. Even though I wanted to do all those familiar activities, he stopped me. It was as if we had gone through some role reversal where he was looking out for me. He would look at me with a somewhat stern look in his eyes and say "Dad, just take it easy. Let your body heal and then we can go fishing and do all the things we love." Wow, my boy wasn't a boy anymore. On one hand it made me sad but on the other hand I couldn't have been more proud.

Every day that he was here I struggled with a sense of guilt that I was unable to physically do things with him that we had always done. Almost as if he was psychic, he would tune in on my mood and tell me what a great time he was having here, that just being with me was enough. Talk about a wake-up call; I was completely blown away by his ability to read me.

I had to find something that would pay him back for his understanding and help. I did foot the bill on car repairs, clothes and all the things expected of a parent but these things weren't enough. They were not personal enough.

And then it struck me.

A neighbor, Neil Lax, had brought over some fresh dolphin and that started the ball rolling in my head. I hopped in my car and went on a crab search -- blue crabs to be exact, Logan's favorite seafood. Along the way I picked up my nephew Byron Sewell, and when we got back to the house we were loaded down with a bushel of beautiful blue crabs. It was time for a feast, with Logan the guest of honor.

I pulled out my big steamer pot, hooked it up to a propane tank on the back deck and the feed was on. We spread out newspaper, steamed the crabs, grilled the dolphin, made a big salad and went at it using mostly our hands, Lowcountry style. It was heaven and Logan was definitely on cloud nine.

After dumping the empty shells in the river, Logan gave me a big hug, thanking me for the feast. But if there was any thanking to be done, it was the other way around. He had reminded me what a special life I live, bad back or not. In the words of an old friend of mine, "God bless the Lowcountry!"