Bumper Crop

 

We’ve had a bumper crop of pecans this year.  Some years are lean, some years are a bust, but this year the nuts keep dropping.  It’s a wonderful thing.  We’ve been gathering them in since early November.   The first couple of baskets we toted back to Farmville and commenced to cracking using my dad’s tried and true nutcracker.  It’s one of those cylinder types that you adjust to the nut size and then pull the handle down to make the connection.  It works great.  That connection cracks the nut and sends shell fragments to all corners of the room.  Then the real work begins where each nut has to be separated (their two lobes are attached) and gently scraped of any shell debris.  This is serious work because  random shell pieces make for a  bitter bite.  It’s tedious, if not mindless work.  So you can imagine how delighted we were to discover the “Crackin’ Man.”   This fella over in Tyner has this thingamajig that cracks pecans.  It goes twenty-four-seven this time of year.   It’s a wonder to behold.  After weighing your nuts (he charges per lb. before hulling) he dumps the bucket into the hopper and the mechanized chain driven action begins.   Each nut is pulled through the press and just the right amount of pressure is applied.  They come out the bottom and drop into a paper bag all ready to go.  You still have to do the cleaning up and picking out, but that goes pretty fast.  We had our 10 pounds cleaned, roasted and packaged up for gift giving in no time.  It’s a pure wonder.   Let ‘um keep dropping.

Christmas Season

 

Christmases creep up on me and go in a flash.  I was just easing into the season a week or so ago when our local arts center, AOA, put on its annual “Christmas on Main.”  Our band, Go Figure? opened with a blast of Sweet Home Chicago, followed by our own Mike Goodman (city editor) ragging out Midnight Hour (and playing the drums at the same time) and straight into Jingle Bell Rock.  We played to a sold-out auditorium for two performances and a good time was had by all.  Local folks were out for a taste of Christmas and the dancing Santas filled the bill two-fold.  Who doesn’t feel the earth move with 30 identical Santas jingling their bells and tapping their beards off in perfect synchronization?  They were awesome.  There were elves and fairies and a gospel choir.  It was pure small town local talent and a pure delight from start to finish.  Even the mayor got into the fun playing the most important role of all…..Santa Claus.  I have to say it surely pumped me up and got me into the spirit of the holiday.  All that clapping, singing and Ho-Ho-Ho’s will do it every time.  It’s just all over too fast. 

Christmas Tree Time

It’s time to get our Christmas tree.   It’s a custom in the Jackson household to find our tree….not among the dozens that line the grocery store sidewalks or even among the beautiful trees available at the nursery. That’s not what I’m talking about.  That would be just too easy.  Almost like cheating. 

No, we Jacksons take this tree stuff serious.   George’s job is to scout one out.  This process takes the better part of the year.  He’ll have one or two that he’s “watching” and keeping them in mind for the year they are ready.

Mind you, we don’t own any Christmas tree farm.  We prefer to poach.  That’s kin to stealing.  I tell you, it’s something to behold.  Once the tree has been spotted….often by boat sliding up some remote creek, we fortify ourselves with boots, gloves and chainsaw.  This “sting” has to be fast and as nonchalant as one can possibly pull off.  Very inconspicuous.  It’s not that easy dragging an 8 foot cedar tree down a ditch embankment on the Camden Causeway.  Most everybody headed to town for the day rides by….some folks wave.  I swear.

And we’ve brought home some real winners.  One year the sap “let down” after the tree was trimmed and the presents were under the tree with care.  Oh my.  Talk about a sticky mess. Then there was the time that thousands of baby spiders hatched out during the night while we were “all snuggled in our beds,” and we came down stairs to find webs crisscrossing the living room.  

 Some trees are huge (they didn’t look that tall in nature) some are small, sparse and pitiful, but once they get hauled in and gusseted up….they’re all perfect. 

A disclaimer:  All of our trees have been on public easements or buried in a vast woodland and are in danger of some kind or another….clinging to a ditch bank, fledging under another massive tree or something like that.  George says that Aldo Leopold would say, “George left the site better than he found it.”  I’m just saying.

The Eyes Have It

Make no mistake; I am very grateful for my eyesight.  As bad as it is, I can’t fathom life without it.  Having said that....here goes. 

 It really all started several weeks ago…maybe months (some things are insidious and just creep up on you).  I realized I couldn’t see very well.  I’m a well-seasoned contact lens wearer.  Been wearing them since I was 12 or so…all kinds, hard, soft, semi-soft, 30 day, 90 day, daily, clear, duel lenses, navy blue (now they were something to behold) so I feel like I’m kinda of an expert on the subject.  All the while, I had glasses to switch to…single lens, sunglasses, driving glasses, swimming glasses, bifocals, and on and on.  In a nutshell, I have experience.

I’ve been thinking for a while that I just couldn't see -  something wasn’t working anymore.  (lots of things fall into this category these day)  So I’m at the college gym trying to blend in.  That’s really difficult since no-one in there is over 22.  I’m lifting free weights facing the mirror, concentrating on my form.  (you get the picture)  That’s when I notice that my shirt’s on inside out.  Not only that, but also backwards…tag dead center under my neck. 

It just continues to unravel.  I resorted to wearing glasses for a few days.  That got old.  I finally went to see my eye doctor and took his advice.  Stop wearing the dual lenses.  Go back to the regular old distance kind...the kind that requires you to habitually have a pair of readers on your head. 

I did and I’m happy again.  I can see – most of the time.  Last night I tore a contact in half while trying to get it out.  Spent the entire night with part of it floating around in there somewhere. 

It’s a pure tribute to Farmville, that when I called a yellow pages number this morning at 8:30 to Dr. Charlie Wilson’s office, his receptionist told me to come right on over.  Took me straight away and got that stuck remnant out.  He did call for the forceps. (honest)  “Forceps,  good grief."

Glasses are looking better and better.

 

Suits Me Just Fine

Folks are always asking me how I spend my time in Farmville.  If they have ever visited Farmville, they are well aware of Greenfront and its massive footprint on Main Street.  And if you’ve never been to Farmville, its dot on the map and population of 5000 would prompt one to think….not much.   Once you’ve combed Greenfront’s aisles and checked out all the bargains at the Boneyard a few times….what’s next?  I’m here to witness – plenty!

There’s a brand spanking new pottery shop on Main Street that’s a splendid space for artists and novices alike to create and just play with clay.  I’ve signed up and I’m having a good time making everyone’s Christmas presents.  I’m sure my pieces will bring pure delight to my dear family and friends.  On Thursdays I knit with the “KnitWits”  ladies at the Methodist Church.  We’re charged to be making lap robes for veterans, but most of us are working on scarves, hats and sweaters.  I’ve never knitted anything in my life, but I’m getting the hang of it and I have one hell-of-a scarf coming along.  Another great Christmas gift! 

There are two great libraries in town, public and university and I have an official card for both.  I’ve been doing research for the book I’m working on.  It won’t be ready for Christmas…..this year.  I’ve been invited to join a Book Club and we have a meeting coming up this week.  I really look forward to getting to know these ladies and being a part of this group.  I plan on keeping my mouth shut this time….unfortunately I read the wrong book.  I hate it when that happens.  I just joined FAR – Friends of the Appomattox River.  We’re have a meeting and Christmas party in a couple of weeks.  The University has concerts, shows and openings.  Thursdays are $1.85 margarita night at El Patrons.  Wednesday night has local live music at Charley’s where “everybody knows your name”, and Friday afternoon finds half of the Business School faculty gathered at Charley’s for a beer. 

Whew! It’s a good thing I’m making all of my gifts this year.  I don’t have time to Christmas shop.

 

First Visitors

Our girls were here for the weekend.  Jenny’s new sidekick is a beagle named Dixie, who joyfully jumped in her car and took her first road trip.  Woody was awfully glad to see old friends and just plain giddy with delight to hook up with Dixie again.  They go way back.  

 The weather was splendid, couldn’t have cooperated any better, so we took full advantage of being outside.  We showed off Farmville and explored the neighborhoods up one sidewalk and down another letting the dogs lead the way.  Bright yellow and orange leaves crunched beneath our feet and Woody took pure delight in charging into every carefully raked pile.   A few antique shops, Greenfront (one must take it on) and dinner at Charley’s completed Saturday with more adventure promised for Sunday.   A lazy morning at home was followed by an afternoon touring Appomattox.  Of course everyone is aware of the historical significance of Appomattox, but I must say I find it simply charming.   An old train station serving as the tourist information   anchors the downtown with active rails humming right alongside.  Antique shops, restaurants and B&Bs fan out to make the 3 block historic district lively.  I’ve been three times and will certainly return.  On the return to Farmville, we drove through Pamplin City (current pop. 219) that was a sad reminder of more prosperous days.  Then on to Spring Creek Wine Cellar, a local vineyard and winery where we partook in a 12 sample wine tasting.  Now that’s a wine tasting!  We packed it in and headed back to High Street to check on our canine friends and the condition of 806.  All was well.  More walks, more food, more wine….some high quality TV viewing and we called it a night.   Jenny and Dixie left at the crack of dawn on Monday.  Two nights of camping on the daybed with two dogs has its tipping point.  It didn’t help any when George crept down the stairs in the semi-dark and tumbled into the dog gate we had fashioned at the bottom.  All hell broke loose….you can only imagine.

Pamplin City - a bygone era

Confounded

I figured out why I walked Woody in dark yesterday morning.  I was bemoaning in my post about losing daylight savings time and the sad fact that we are robbed of early morning sun.  I went on, showing more and more ignorance the deeper I got, ranting on  that it was dark at 7:15.  Honestly, I didn’t THINK that was right…surely I would have remembered that it was NOT dark at 7:15, but I rambled on.  It dawned on me this morning (no pun intended) that dawn is indeed at 6:15.  We wake up most mornings at 6:15.  The dark outside our window is giving way to gray when the alarm goes off.  This morning was a repeat of yesterday.  The alarm went off, George got up and rambled around while I burrowed deeper under the quilt.  After several minutes I heard him exclaim with some confused amazement “damn, it’s only 5:20.”  Not a hint of predawn gray.  It took us an entire day to figure out we truly added an extra hour yesterday.  Got up and got about our day never realizing we were an hour to the good.  Who says there aren’t enough hours in the day?  Not me, I wondered why I ate four meals instead of three.  Not a bad gig.

Fall in Farmville

Fall has arrived and this morning she was wearing a white blanket.   I on the other hand, wasn’t and it was c-o-l-d!  Despite turning back the clocks, it was still dark out at 7:15.  What’s with that?  I never like the trade-off of late sunsets to bright mornings, but I surely felt gypped this morning.  No bright sun to catch the sparkle off the frost covered grass. Woody and I high tailed it up to the park with few lingerings (well, two – both #2 to be truthful) and then made a quick bee-line for home.  By 9:00 the sun appeared and the day didn’t seem so unfriendly.  Fall has always been a melancholy time for me.  Maybe it is the dreaded “back-to-school” syndrome or the fact that my skin begins to shed like a rattler.  More profound is perhaps the absence of the new beginning that spring offers, followed by the sweetness of summer.  Whatever the reason, that reluctance to embrace the fall season has haunted me forever.  It’s time for a change.  I’m going for a new outlook.  There is opportunity at every turn in life to try something new.  So, with that in mind,  I’ll take fall square on. 

Halloween on High

Halloween on High

I have to admit I was leery about all the reports I had heard about Halloween and Trick-or-Treating in our new neighborhood.  In the days leading up to the 31^st, folks stopped me on the street and in my front yard to give me fair warning about what was to come.  I was downright terrified and almost bailed out of the entire All Hallows Eve event.  But I was curious, and my neighbors to the east go all out for the holiday, so I felt a wee bit obliged to give it a go.  I stocked up on the mega bags of candy (times 5), lit my pumpkin and stood watch.  George promised to be home by 5:00 to help assist with the goblins and fairies.  The steady trail of children began to arrive and it never slowed.  Both of us sat on the front steps with baskets of candy and dropped pieces into bags, plastic jack-o-lanterns and (I swear) backpacks.  Almost all the kids were in costume, but even those that weren’t were polite.   Next door they were lined up down the walkway to get an "up close and personal" look at the witch handing out candy.  Our neighbor Leigh played her role Broadway perfect and had ‘um shrieking and screaming and coming back for more.   We closed up shop when the candy ran out, blew out the pumpkin and headed to Charley’s to join friends for dinner.  What a night.  Halloween on High Street was something.  I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  I’ll buy more candy next year.    

Weather Wonders

Faye Leads the Way

What a difference a week makes!  Last Monday was a perfect Indian summer day and I was kayaking on the Appomattox – today I’m hunkered down, glued to the television, monitoring what the weather channel is calling “ the storm of a lifetime.”  What a crazy flip of nature.      My neighbor Faye invited me for an afternoon paddle…something I’ve been itching to do, so I accepted with enthusiasm.  Our route was to take us on three local bodies of water, starting at Wilck's Lake behind the public library, paddling down Buffalo Creek where it empties into the Appomattox and then following the Appomattox into downtown Farmville.  Faye indicated it was an easy paddle and would take about two hours.  Well, you may remember the cliche “two hour tour.”  It was more like four.  But, oh so fine.   Mind you, I have not done any kayaking in quite a while so I was a bit rusty.  This became apparent straight away when I tipped it at a precarious angle getting in.  I’m sure I saw alarm on my friend’s face.  I can only guess what she was thinking about the entire venture ahead of us.  I have to admit that within the first five minutes my arm muscles were talking to me and my flu shot was whining.  Now I’m thinking I’ve gotten myself into something I can’t even see the end of the tunnel…or the river as the case may be.   But it got better and better and I got the rhythm and my muscles relaxed.  We had to portage the kayaks up and over the High Bridge Trail, we navigated around fallen trees and pushed ourselves over sandbars all throughout the beautiful afternoon.  We laughed a lot.   We even startled a deer who was resting next to the river’s edge.                                  It was a perfect afternoon.

Wonderful Wedding

The Wedding was all I had hoped it would be.  Most importantly, the bride was happy and radiant. The groom showed up, looked debonair and positively beamed as Kate walked down the aisle with her father.  Did I say walked?  They almost sprinted.  But they arrived at the alter in good fashion, finding groom, best man, the priest and the rings.  All it takes to join in holy matrimony!  The wedding party sat in the choir pews, up close and personal, giving us an intimate connection to the ceremony.  It was all lovely.

Back in Farmville, I am pouring over photos and reliving moment by moment.  Sadly, the inevitable will engulf me and the clarity of the wonderful weekend will begin to fade.  I'm writing it all down and pressing it to heart and mind.  It was just too marvelous to forget.

Gone Missing

Life can surely offer up some surprises.  Most of you know I lost my cell phone on Saturday.  It happens….folks misplace their phones all the time.  Having said that, I feel my current circumstances contributed to my heightened aggravation.  This is a pretty significant week for me with calls to make and bases to touch, and to top it all off I knew I was leaving Elizabeth City Monday morning at 6:00 headed back to Farmville – with or without my phone.   I did what everyone does; cuss, blame their husband and check under the car seats.  Having no luck, I then began to retrace my steps.  You can only imagine where those led me the Saturday before my daughter’s wedding.  In the attic, the garage, every room of the house, Page After Page, Overman & Stevenson, Sydney’s, the downtown market, Belks, Big Lots, Farm Fresh & Food Lion,  Lowes, Ace Hardware, Jenny’s house, Brenda and Terry’s house, Flora’s house, Muddy’s and CHKD’s….just to name a few.  I didn’t make it.  There weren’t enough hours in the day to do it all over again, and besides, I had concluded that it must be in the house…..somewhere.  Turns out it wasn’t.  Driving back up hwy 460 this morning, George’s phone rings and it’s his Longwood secretary.  Said she got a call from a lady (Faye) in Farmville who had called me this morning and left a message. Faye was surprised when the return call was from a thrift shop in Elizabeth City who was trying to figure out who the phone belonged to.  Faye said she knew and would make some phone calls on my behalf.  The l-o-n-g and short of it, she did.  Phyllis went and picked it up and has it in her glove compartment.  No wait, her office.  No, maybe she said it was in her pocketbook. 

Up and Running

Well, we're not running for heavens sake, but we are walking.  Farmville's a great place to walk the sidewalks and ponder life's wonders.  We've adjusted quite nicely and find the area to our liking.  I've stopped (almost) making comparisons to Charleston, but I can't help myself sometimes.  Our neighborhood park area where we walk Woody for daily rituals, is not totally unlike our walk to Colonial Lake....nicknamed the "cement pond" that we took our daily walks to while living in Charleston.  There's not as much meet and greet along the way, but it's a pretty stroll and we check out the comings and goings of mostly university students and faculty heading to and from class.  The park area is just a huge grassy playing field where the old high school once stood, and is now used by Longwood for rugby and soccer.  The other day George and I were there late in the day and, as often,  found the field empty and quiet.  Out of the blue a small black pup darted from somewhere, followed in hot pursuit by it's owner.  As it came to be, we all met, sniffed and checked one another out and were straight away invited over to meet spouse and have a glass of wine!  They are lovely folks everywhere.  I think we're gonna be just fine.

It's been a while.  Life's been busy...back from Charleston and on to Farmville.  Our Charleston stuff fit right into our new house in VA with room to spare.  I swear it was the easiest move ever. Loaded the 20' UHaul on Thursday, drove to Farmville on Friday and unloaded on Saturday morning. Two guys showed up at 8 AM and had everything off the truck and in place by 9 AM.  Good grief, why didn't we think of THAT sooner?  We did miss Margene.  This was her first absence from a Jackson move.  She would have marveled at the fellows in the orange shirts.  Two trips to Lowes, one trip to Roses,  one to Walmart (forgive us) and one stop at Goodwill and we were set up for sleeping, cooking and showers.  We're getting pretty proficient at this stuff.
Looking forward to a great year in the foothills...it's beautiful country.  Plan a road trip and come up for a visit.  We have three bedrooms this go around!

The Real Deal

What a delicious treat Mrs. Whaley’s garden is…..the book and the garden. 

I’ve seen plenty of Charleston gardens during my stay, some officially open for “The 65^th Annual Festival of Houses and Gardens” and others just a peak through the gate or fence, but I had not had the opportunity to visit Mrs. Whatley’s garden until recently.  Anna and Britt were in town for a mother-daughter getaway, and to specifically see the garden.  Some years ago while Anna was out of commission for a spell, she and Britt shared reading Mrs.Whaley and Her Charleston Garden”.  This charming tale chronicles the life of Emily Whaley who spins a lively story of her life in the early 20^th century deep south…her love of life and gardens. And so Anna and Britt came to Charleston to see and share Mrs. Whaley’s creation at 58 Church Street, and they invited me to come along.  How lovely.

Charlestonians take their gardens seriously and aren’t stingy with their time, talent and treasure.  They work ‘um.  Some are grand and formal, others are tiny, almost secret spaces tucked in tight behind walls.  All seem to be cherished places enjoyed by the families who created them.  The gardens are for pure enjoyment…they feed our senses and evoke gentle peacefulness…an elusive feeling we’ve lost touch with. 

Mrs. Whaley’s garden is such a place.  It beckons you to enter, wander deeper down the path and experience what is has to offer.  It’s not grand.  It’s certainly not Charleston’s finest.

 But it is the real deal.  It has symmetry and balance.  It uses backdrops to showcase its plantings.  Various plant heights and alternating flowering seasons are carefully adhered to, and the garden takes full advantage of borrowed landscape (the huge live oak in the neighboring yard branches out and embraces the entire back garden).  Mrs. Whaley’s use of seashells, statuary and a small reflecting pond all speak of those things she loved the most…”things” she held dear.  And so, she made them a part of the garden to be gentle  reminders of the goodness of life.

And it is the real deal.  That’s what I tag something with that I feel a kinship to.  Somehow I feel is obtainable…not totally out of my reach.  That I too could create something like Emily did. 

Who knows, one day I just might.

Invisible Shopper

Do you ever feel invisible?  Like, you don’t measure up to some elusive standard of a well heeled shopper.  Well it happens to me all the time.  What is it?  Try as I might I can’t figure it out.  Here’s the scene.

 I’m thinking I’m pretty savvy.  I know where I’m headed (after all, I am a local now) and I know the designer’s name (I have an invitation) albeit a postcard advertisement.  I bike down to a trendy shop on King Street and enter the store with demure graciousness.  It’s a tiny space and not crowded…there’s only one customer looking at the jewelry.  I begin to look as well, touching a few things, making a few ooos and ahhs, and I admit I did look at the price tags.  Perhaps that’s a signal to becoming invisible…strike one.

 I then introduced myself to the older lady (not quite my age) and suggesed she’s the clever designer.  Wrong.  Her daughter is the “oh-so-classy” young thing in crisp whites sporting the elegant necklaces.  That could have been strike two.  I do manage to redeem myself a bit by inquiring about commissioned pieces, and the “mother” measured my neck for size.  It was all rather quick-like.  The interest and entire focus was clearly on the other customer.

I have to say they were nice in a tight lipped kind of way.  I stood around a bit longer.  Wandered around the 300 sq. feet of store space (that didn’t take long) and slipped quietly, un-noticed out the door.

It was later when I was pondering and reflecting about the not-so-successful encounter that I took stock of myself.  I surely am not invisible.  I have my black exercise tights on coupled with a College of Charleston  sweatshirt, a CVS plastic bag, and a piece of dog-poo clinging to my pant leg.  How on earth was I invisible! 

Strike three.

Easter Weekend

Kate and Matt joined us for Easter weekend.  What a glorious time we had from start to finish.  Friday evening our young neighbor Dan who served in Afganistan,  threw a benefit party for a fallen comrade.  With all the heartfelt flourish he spread around that night, Dan raised almost $3K for a Citadel scholarship for the younger brother of the hero.  It was a terrific affair, attended by all the folks that live at 164 Wentworth, and an impressive guest list.  We topped off the night with a trip to Tommy Condon’s Irish Pub for a glass of Guinness and a plate of spuds.  Sat. was spent relaxed and casual as we biked our way around town meandering through neighborhoods.  They shopped and we napped later in the day.  It took all the urging I could muster to get everyone up and going again for sunset drinks on the Vendue rooftop…but all agreed it was worth it.  Dinner at Cru was…oh, so fine.  It was another culinary delight.  I don’t think we even finished our beers at The Blind Tiger, but we did make an appearance.  I’d been teased unmercifully about wanting to go there (really it was just to show Kate and Matt) but they wouldn’t let it go.  So, we went.

Easter Sunday was a highlight for all of us.  We decided to forgo church and celebrate the morning at the peak of the Cooper River Bridge.  I delighted in walking the almost 3 miles on that glorious Easter morning flanked by folks I love.  It was a memorable moment.

This is truly the good life and I am so grateful. 

The cuisine is exquisite in Charleston.  I mean, the food is good, real good.  My waistline is a tell-tale sign of living the high life, and I don’t intend to leave any restaurant untried.  I have my favorites and I surely don’t mind a repeat performance, but I’m game to try any establishment once. 

We held off as long as we could to make reservations at The Peninsula Grill, but Sunday night we experienced a gastric extravaganza.  From the first glass of wine, to the chocolate torte there was little conversation other than ummm and ahhh.  Larry and Katherine were with us for the evening and we had a fine time.  The dining room is beautiful, the wait staff is beautiful, and the presentation is beautiful….!  Our dinners were served with much fan-fair by 4 waiters who swooped gracefully through the dining room and placed our plates down at exactly the same time.  How often does that happen?  Fresh napkins appeared each time someone got up from the table, and crumbs were discretely brushed away from the crisp linens. 

We held our own, dressed well- healed and didn’t spill our wine. 

It was a class act.

Down On the Corner

One of Charleston’s most charming features is the corner grocery store.   Left over from a gentler, by-gone era, these landmarks stand as sentinels on many neighborhood street corners.   Amidst the grandeur of the majestic homes, these establishments offer a familiar comfort to those who are fortunate to enter.  Most have big plate glass windows that give a glimpse into the interior.  Ceiling fans turn lazily.  No-one’s in a rush.  Time moves in slow motion.

 The stores have names like Two Brothers and Bull Street Grocery, and serve as gathering places for morning news and beer runs for college kids.  Some serve up lunch and offer sidewalk tables.  Others still sell grocery items like milk and bread.  Burbages (North of Broad) still boasts the best meat counter in town.

I’m reminded of my childhood and my bike trips to Froggy’s, the neighborhood grocery on Flora Street.  What a flashback.  The candy counter held many of my dimes.   I’m sure they carried Foreman Dairies Ice Cream too.  Of course, I never had to buy that!

Well, I digress. 

 Oh, the corner groceries.  I will miss them.  We all will one day.   

Staying In the Moment

Walking Woody is becoming a bit frantic.  I’m trying to stay “in the moment” as my yoga instructor gently reminds me, but I’ve always been a watch watcher…..and it’s running out.  My days are busy and full and the punch list still gets longer and longer.   So as I inhale deeply and exhale with a audible “Haaa” ,  I’ll rehash what we’ve seen, done and covered this week.  Maybe I’ll just hit the highlights.

The Harlow visit was splendid…Swingin’ Soul at Charleston Music Hall was a blast.  The Jazz Orchestra did not disappoint with hits like Night Train, Shotgun and a medley of Stevie Wonder.  With a 10 to midnight performance, you know it had to be rockin’.  Sat. carriage ride took us on a beautiful route through the historic streets…a bit of a deviation from previous trips I’ve taken.  We found shutters for the Harlow’s front windows at a neat architectural salvage store and took a music lesson on Sat. afternoon (I did say took) at the Congregational Church.   You know George can find some off the wall stuff to do.  It’s called Shape Note Singing and was very interesting.  As the rain poured down outside we faed and soled and laed and mied away for two hours.  I mean, who would ever imagine!  What a genuine experience.  It was hard to top that, but biking around the neighborhoods and dinner at Gaulart & Maliclet (Fast and French as the locals call it) was all marvelous.  It all was.

Friends and places are all blending together in a wonderful mix of what I’ll call one day My Time in Charleston.  Thank goodness I’ve been writing a bit about these glorious days.   My memory needs all the massage available.

Family Visit

My brother Bill and his wife Cari have been with us for a couple of days.  What a great time we had.  It never gets old sharing this wonderful place.  We took a carriage ride through the streets lined with Live Oaks and past luscious gardens now blooming in full glory.  I’d had our guide on a previous outing and he proved as witty and personable as the first go-round.  “Surely you get tired of doing this,” someone asked…my response, “Are you kidding me!”  It’s always fresh and always a thrill.  I even discovered something new at the City Market.  Artist Scott Dixson Penegar wowed me with his painting of Frampton’s Flowers, the florist shop on Wentworth (a look down from our living room window) So, there’s always something waiting to unfold…a find.  We biked around, fooled around in Mount Pleasant antique shops and topped off the afternoon with drinks on the rooftop of Vendue Inn. 

They headed south this morning on the road to Beaufort, George walked to campus and I headed down to the library.

 Life is good.  Just keeps getting better and better.

The Harlows arrive tomorrow.

Erin Go Bragh

St. Patrick’s Day does not slip by un-noticed in Charleston.  Savannah may get the big publicity, but the Holy City put on a pretty good show yesterday.  Our friends, the Peels, were here for the weekend and the four of us did our part to celebrate the Irish saint in royal green style.  We got a good head start and warm up on Friday afternoon at Holy City Brewing Company followed by dinner at Hank’s and a rollicking good time Tommy Condons Irish Pub.  Nobody likes Irish music and dancing better than Carolyn, and no-one was disappointed.  Saturday’s parade was a big green explosion, complete with everything parades should have…..music, floats and dancers.  And, plenty of bagpipes and kilts.  Don’t you just love a man in a kilt?   We sat on the Library Society steps for a perfect vantage point.  The day just got better….milling around, taking in a few galleries and lunch at Fuel (super place in an old gas station).  We managed to slip in a beautiful drive out to a couple of antique shops in West Ashley were everyone found something they couldn’t live without.  A late afternoon wind-down on the porch at 124 Wentworth was a short reprieve, before heading out to follow the sounds of bagpipes from pub to pub.  We held our own with the best of them and raised our glasses for a final toast well before midnight.   

Woody enjoyed spending time with old friends and familiar faces.  An A+ weekend!

Gardens Beckon

There's No Place Like Home

I know it’s a cliche, but I can’t help but whisper it, albeit a bit under my breath.  I don’t want to jinx what I’ve got going on down in Charleston.  We are home for an entire week as the college has closed down for Spring Break.  So just like all coeds, we flew the coop and hit the road.  As hoards headed south on I-95, we drove north to a week of catch up.  Carpentry projects, yard work, grading papers and visiting with friends take top billing in the days ahead.  Visiting with friends?  Heck, I don’t need to leave Charleston for that, since we’ve got the next six weeks booked with dear friends visiting. As wonderful as it is to be in a destination spot, and share all the neat things we’ve discovered, just as Dorothy said, “There’s no place like home.”

Wonder if they’ll all feel the same way about Farmville, Virginia.  Haven’t you heard? 

 Longwood University here we come.

An aside, Woody is pretty content being “off leash” for a change.  Life is so good.

                                                     

Remarkable Women

No, not the Book Club ladies this time.  Another era.

I have always believed that South Carolina ranked right up there with Georgia in cotton fields.  You know.....“When I was a little bitty baby my momma would rock me in the cradle in them ‘ole cotton fields back home.”   I just always pictured Charleston ….isn’t that what back home means?  No wonder I was stunned to learn that cotton certainly was not King here in the low country.  Why?  Well, cause it’s low country. Cotton needs higher ground.

 Rice was king.  These vast vistas of flat marshland, as far as one can see, used to be cultivated in rice.  There are few remnants left of the industry so long ago abandoned.  Running a close second was indigo.  I remember that from grade school history, but thought it sounded a bit too exotic to be real.  But real it was and helped establish the royal colonies as a force to reckon with.

I’ve been reading about (can you tell?) the strong, remarkable women who in their day (18^th and 19^th centuries)  had to work and manage and direct business behind the scenes, all-the-while sporting a 20 lb. dress that could span 6 feet.  Coupled with a demure graciousness, these colonial and anti-bellum ladies could pull their weight and smile doing it.  Their names aren’t memorialized on city streets or statues in the park, but I applaud them and say “well done.”

Eliza Lucas Pinckney was one such lady, who at age 16 was left by her father to manage 3 plantations solely by her own wits.  With gritty determination, she experimented for 3 years with seedlings before she found the plant that would flourish.  She is single-handedly responsible for introducing indigo cultivation in the colonies.  No small wonder why we won the revolution. 

 

Charleston Welcomes Elizabeth City Literary Guild

I'm sure I have mentioned that I volunteer at Charleston Library Society, a fine and quite venerable institution.  I'm not sure I'll be welcomed back.  Book Club arrived on Thursday night for a long weekend of sight seeing, shopping, food and a bit of tomfoolery. We ate and drank our way up Meeting and down King, but did the most damage on Queen Street.  Husk.....Charleston's #1 newest establishment did not disappoint and dining next door at 82 Queen was everyone's top pick.  The weather Friday was perfect for a morning carriage tour through the city, followed by shopping the city market and lunch at Cru...another winner.  Cocktails and supper at our apartment was fun (Anne and Will Barnes joined us) and then we were off to the Dock Street Theater for a show....."Avenue Q."  Fun, raunchy and hysterical.  George was in charge of late night entertainment and he came through with Tommy Condon's, an Irish Bar that hosts nightly singing and drinking. We bellied up to the bar and joined right in until almost midnight.  That didn't hold us back on Saturday one bit.  Up and going early, we enjoyed a 3 hour home and history tour with Elise....Charleston's own Doris Day.  She was delightful, well informed and charming.  The tour combined real people's lives with the rich history of the city.  We meandered through the historic streets as Elise talked and we soaked it all in.  Lunch was another delicious culinary delight at The Blind Tiger.  In between all of this, we popped into art galleries and  a few shoe shops. Saturday afternoon was spent in search of Mrs. Whaley's garden of famed book "Mrs. Whaley and Her Charleston Garden."  It's a long story. 

But, find it we did.  It is were it's always been - 58 Church Street.  The gardens are not visable from the street, but we know they are there just beyond the wall.  Just the same, we snapped a picute of the front door for good measure.  With an ounce of energy left, we walked to the Battery and then returned (on foot) to the hotel.  Some rested, others left to shop, and some went to an art show at the college.  A pair of red boots and a nude painting later, we gathered at Charleston Place for a toast to the weekend and friendship.  Our last meal was voted as the best... 32 Queen located at 32 Queen.....lovely setting, 

We savored the evening.  What friends we are. .  It was just perfect.

We even remembered to discuss the book....."South of Broad"...of course!

Tales of the City

Part 1

The cast of characters that live, work and play at 164 Wentworth Street in Charleston, South Carolina are as delightfully different as the cars they drive and the dogs they own.  It was pure luck that we landed at this address and are sharing this busy corner with these folks, albeit for just a while.  The lead player is Priestly Cooper Coker (goes by PC) who is a very likable chap and runs, seemly with ease, a small empire.  Our mansion (literally) is one of several he owns and manages throughout the residential neighborhoods.  Supporting cast include PC's son Cooper, who we don't see too much of.  He shows up from time to time, but generally sends Willy over to cover maintenance issues.  Willy has lived here 'bouts all his life; he's friendly and likes conversation.  He didn't flinch a bit when George and I showed up on moving day with our UHaul.  Jumped right in to help carry load after load up these steps - 17of them to be exact.
This play bill gives a brief bio of the main players including a mention of dog pals.  On the ground floor is one apartment inhabited by the only undergrads, so one has to be lenient about the comings and goings down there.  I think there are suppose to be two guys, but who knows.  I have not met either of them - I only hear them.   Their worst offense is door slamming, often and loud.  All in all, they play a minor role in the dynamics of the house.  No dog pals on the ground  floor.
We live on the first floor up (remember 17 steps) in A2.  We have Woody of course, and are the oldest (and wisest).   Warren and Chris and Jules live next to us in A1.  Warren and Chris (female) got married two weeks ago and they have dog pal Sailor and ailing dog Slim.  Slim's deaf and mostly blind and wears diapers.  Everyone is most tolerant here.  Jules is a friend of Warren and Chris.  They all seem to make it work.  Warren is a law student, Chris sells pharmaceuticals.  Not sure what Jules does. 
Directly over us on the second floor is Christina.  She's a grad student at the Citadel and believe it or not, doesn't have a dog....yet.  Next door to her on second is my new best friend, Megan and her roommate Dan.  Megan is a delight and so is Dido her boxer.  Dan is delightful too.  He's hyper, very.  He is a ex marine, student at the Citadel and student at the College of Charleston and works for Charleston Place as the head concierge.  He runs marathons, swims the Ashley and Cooper Rivers and bikes relentlessly.  He's adorable and has several girl friends.  Megan and Dan are just sharing space and Dido.
Way up on third, lives Donna and dog pal Paco.  Donna is recently divorced and has a decorating business.
 She moved in a couple of weeks after us and Willy just got the last of her boxes out to the recylce.  It's epic how much and how big the furniture is that moved up the steps to her apartment.  She's trying to get her name out there and jump-start her business in Charleston.  Donna is closest in age to us...but who can tell.  I still look 40, right?  Okay, 45.  Beca lives next door to Donna with Bruce...her dog pal.  She works for the Charleston Aquarium and is an artist.  She's on the backside of a breakup and is making up for lost time with a stream of guys coming and going.  Bruce is the funniest looking dog I have ever seen.  George keeps waiting for him to speak.
There are others in the out-lying areas....off the driveway and in the carriage house.  They mainly keep to themselves and don't contribute to the dynamics of 164. 
The dogs romp up and down the stairs and rumble on the porch.  We all meet coming in or going out or hanging around.  Everyone is friendly and helpful, watching each others dogs and collecting the mail.  I was invited upstairs to Megan's last night to watch The Batchelor with four twenty-somethings!  Life is good.

164 Wentworth Street

Day Tripping

As glorious as this city is, the prospects for discovery and adventure lured us away the last two Saturdays.  Our day trip south took us to Beaufort, and our sojourn north landed us in Georgetown.  Historical sites and ruins, majestic marshlands and quirky road side junk markets were all about the trip.  We attempted to follow a guide book (my idea) that directed us point by point (of interest) from the moment we left the Ashley River Bridge to the moment we arrived at the Beaufort city limits sign.  We (George) forgot to press the odometer at the precise moment to align our car with the "book" and so it all went downhill from that point.  Not literally...it's pretty flat countryside out here.  A sampling - "At 10.3 miles on the right is the William Washington Historical Marker. (William, a cousin of the first president, fought the British under Tarleton at Rantowles Bridge and is buried nearby)"  Our view from the car window just didn't match up...not once.  Somehow we were a day late and a dollar short the entire time. But no matter, when we reached our destination, Beafort more than made up for any snaffoos along the way.  Charming all the way.  The homes, trees, shops, galleries and lunch were as good as it gets.  I give Beaufort an A+.
Our trip yesterday took us north up highway 17 all the way to Pawley's Island.  We pushed the odometer this time, but boldly ignored much of what was suggested.  We did, upon advice from the author leave the highway for a mile or so and found a gem of a village.  By far our favorite find of the day, McClellanville is a quiet Santee River community almost forgotten by time.  You can tell they like it that way and so did we.  The tiny Episcopal chuch is one of the prettiest I've ever seen.  I loved that the door was unlocked.

Georgetown was uneventful except for lunch at Big Tuna where they claim they serve up fresh Yankees every day.  And, the brand new Maritime Museum was a nice surprise and enjoyed.  The director, believe it or not, was born in Elizabeth City!



St. James Santee Episcopal Church