Go north on Hwy 110 from the town of Cowpens. The land here is flat before the escarpment to the mountains. The green fields are turning tan and scattered with bales of hay. The park itself is of flat green fields and forrests. The monument stands beside the visitor center where you can buy a CD to listen to in your car as you drive the 3.4 miles along the route of the battle. On January 17, 1781, the patriot forces led by Brigader General Daniel Morgan and Andrew Pickens defeated the Britist forces led by Lt Colonel Banastre Tarleton. 110 British soldiers lost their lives and 712 were taken prisoner.
There is a picnic shelter on a loop of the route with a nature trail though the hardwood forrest. It is probably not more than 3 miles long, well maintained with study briges over the stream which winds through it.
It was a perfect sun dappled day with temperatures in the high 60's to 80's. Down below hurricane Isaac is battering Haiti, the Dominican Republic, Cuba and the Florida Keys.
There are two very beautiful ground covers along the trail, one is a tiny heart shaped leaf with bright red berries. The other is a four inch tall branching plant living in large colonies. It looks like a type of cedar.
We meet only a couple with two boxers and a grandmother and child with their chichauaus, Homer and Ciara dressed respectively in a blue T-shirt and a pink tutu.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
August 16, 2012 Cooler on the Rail Trail
"The force that drives the green fuse through the flower...", has driven. The dark green trees and bushes stand quietly with expectation, bearing nuts and berries. The end of summer can be sensed this morning.
I spot "Popcorn" (so named by Martin) flying up from the ground into a tree. He is perhaps a red tailed hawk, a red shouldered hawk, or a broad winged hawk. He or she lives here by the trail, has a speckled breast.
I can smell the bacon frying at Ricky's Drive In.
We pass two women with a Blue Tic Hound who gets very excited and hoots his low toned howl at Boofa. Papa Welsh raised hounds, cooked for them in big pots and always named his favorite one "Rip".. My mother told the story of Papa Welsh driving his car along the country road in the darkness of early dawn listening to the men and dogs on a hunt in the woods, when he fell asleep and was hit by another car coming up behind him. He was unhurt.
John Quigley (Katherine Quigley's father) was a veternarian in Roscommon County, Ireland whose wfie died in childbirth. He kept his sons and sent his two daughters, Jenny and Katherine to his sister in New Jersey. Katherine was twelve years old and Jenny fourteen. As punishment, their aunt would make them wear their dresses inside out to school. Soon Katherine was working as a nanny to a Jewish family in Philadelphia. When taking the children to the park, she met my grandfather who asked her employer for her hand in marriage. She was only fourteen. She loved dogs and always had a black scottie.
I spot "Popcorn" (so named by Martin) flying up from the ground into a tree. He is perhaps a red tailed hawk, a red shouldered hawk, or a broad winged hawk. He or she lives here by the trail, has a speckled breast.
I can smell the bacon frying at Ricky's Drive In.
We pass two women with a Blue Tic Hound who gets very excited and hoots his low toned howl at Boofa. Papa Welsh raised hounds, cooked for them in big pots and always named his favorite one "Rip".. My mother told the story of Papa Welsh driving his car along the country road in the darkness of early dawn listening to the men and dogs on a hunt in the woods, when he fell asleep and was hit by another car coming up behind him. He was unhurt.
John Quigley (Katherine Quigley's father) was a veternarian in Roscommon County, Ireland whose wfie died in childbirth. He kept his sons and sent his two daughters, Jenny and Katherine to his sister in New Jersey. Katherine was twelve years old and Jenny fourteen. As punishment, their aunt would make them wear their dresses inside out to school. Soon Katherine was working as a nanny to a Jewish family in Philadelphia. When taking the children to the park, she met my grandfather who asked her employer for her hand in marriage. She was only fourteen. She loved dogs and always had a black scottie.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
August 15, 2012 Poinsett State Park
Poinsett lies between Columbia and Sumter, SC, approached from hwy 378, then 261 through the small town of Wedgefield, about 40 minutes from Columbia and 20 from Sumter. This park is in the Wateree Swamp (Manchester Forrest) of the Cowasee Basin, before the Wateree and Congaree rivers flow into the Santee. Spanish moss drips from the pines and oaks and heat loving water lilies float in the water beyond the visitor center.
No one is here. At first glance it looks like a good place to hide out if you are running from the law. There are trails of 1.5 miles and one called the Coquina trail (Coquina is the geological mix of shells from what was once the floor here of an ancient ocean. The lower level of the cabins here is made of coquina.)
Deeply rutted dirt roads lead to the five rustic cabins (built by the CCC in the 40's) and picnic shelters. There are vehicles at two cabins but no signs of life.
Poinsett is named for the South Carolina statesman, physican and amateur botanist, Joel Poinsett, who is known for bringing the Euphorbia pulchirrina plant back from Mexico in 1825 and propagating it in his greenhouse. Of course this is the poinsettia, so named for him.
Boofa and I left the park and walked at the Columbia Canal in the hot noonday sun where there were sailboats made by local artists out of dried palmetto palms and bamboo. (Only mad dogs and Englishmen walk in the noonday sun.)
I phoned the park after 4:00 pm and spoke to the ranger who told me that during the week, there are few people who visit, partially due to the heat, but on the weekends they are "packed". He lives on the park, with his family and children and it is quite safe. During the fall and the cooler months they have many visitors. Three of the cabins were renovated 10 and 15 years ago. Two cabins are on schedule for renovation soon. They are awaiting the legislature to make a decision on repairing the roads.
The ranger tells me that Joel Poinsett is burried down 261 at the Church of the Holy Cross.
I will return in the fall.
No one is here. At first glance it looks like a good place to hide out if you are running from the law. There are trails of 1.5 miles and one called the Coquina trail (Coquina is the geological mix of shells from what was once the floor here of an ancient ocean. The lower level of the cabins here is made of coquina.)
Deeply rutted dirt roads lead to the five rustic cabins (built by the CCC in the 40's) and picnic shelters. There are vehicles at two cabins but no signs of life.
Poinsett is named for the South Carolina statesman, physican and amateur botanist, Joel Poinsett, who is known for bringing the Euphorbia pulchirrina plant back from Mexico in 1825 and propagating it in his greenhouse. Of course this is the poinsettia, so named for him.
Boofa and I left the park and walked at the Columbia Canal in the hot noonday sun where there were sailboats made by local artists out of dried palmetto palms and bamboo. (Only mad dogs and Englishmen walk in the noonday sun.)
I phoned the park after 4:00 pm and spoke to the ranger who told me that during the week, there are few people who visit, partially due to the heat, but on the weekends they are "packed". He lives on the park, with his family and children and it is quite safe. During the fall and the cooler months they have many visitors. Three of the cabins were renovated 10 and 15 years ago. Two cabins are on schedule for renovation soon. They are awaiting the legislature to make a decision on repairing the roads.
The ranger tells me that Joel Poinsett is burried down 261 at the Church of the Holy Cross.
I will return in the fall.
Monday, August 13, 2012
August 12, 2012 Pine St.
For a long way, we walk under deep rose colored crape myrtles, breathing in their fragrant sweetness and I am wondering why there is no candle scented with this fresh sweetness, no perfume, no bath salts. The path is littered with blossoms from the heavily laden trees. Bees buzz.
The crape myrtle (lagerstromemia) is native to India. It was a plant taken to Linnaeus, "the father of taxonomy" by a Swedesh merchant named Magnus von Lagerstrom and so the tree is named after him. In India, a silk worm eats the leaves.
In the American south, the tree is incredibly hardy. Even a cold winter or a draught can't kill it. I love this tree. I have three 40 ft tall pale pink, one white, one purple, one new watermelon pink ande several small soft pink ones, all of which I planted in my yard.
We went down to St. Charles, Louisanna about 15 years ago for Ryan's brother's wedding. We rented a van and also visited "The Myrtles", an old plantation (owned at that time by a friend of Ryan's mother's) which is famous for its ghost. The ghost is a servant who had posioned the family with oleander, another beautiful flowering southern plant. .
There was a small restaurant on the grounds where we had crawfish etoufee and delicious bread pudding. We did not see the ghost.
The crape myrtle (lagerstromemia) is native to India. It was a plant taken to Linnaeus, "the father of taxonomy" by a Swedesh merchant named Magnus von Lagerstrom and so the tree is named after him. In India, a silk worm eats the leaves.
In the American south, the tree is incredibly hardy. Even a cold winter or a draught can't kill it. I love this tree. I have three 40 ft tall pale pink, one white, one purple, one new watermelon pink ande several small soft pink ones, all of which I planted in my yard.
We went down to St. Charles, Louisanna about 15 years ago for Ryan's brother's wedding. We rented a van and also visited "The Myrtles", an old plantation (owned at that time by a friend of Ryan's mother's) which is famous for its ghost. The ghost is a servant who had posioned the family with oleander, another beautiful flowering southern plant. .
There was a small restaurant on the grounds where we had crawfish etoufee and delicious bread pudding. We did not see the ghost.
Monday, August 6, 2012
August 6, 2012 It's Deja Vu All Over Again
Early on this hot, clear mornng with huge cumulous clouds, there is a tall bearded man walking with an oxygen cannister. I spy something large gleaming in the woods and find a Schwinn boy's bike circa 1980's, somewhat rusted, with tires torn off and inner tubes wrapped around the spokes.
At the Great Escape, where I take it to get tires, they like the old bike.
I name it "Mail".
At the Great Escape, where I take it to get tires, they like the old bike.
I name it "Mail".
Thursday, August 2, 2012
August 1, 2012 Passion Flowers
It rained all day yesterday and this morning there is a fog with the morning sun trying to break through. This glowing mist makes parts of the Glendale Shoals look like English landscape paintings.
I took a footpath on the other side of the creek as far as I could go until the path was obscured by brush and then went back to the more traveled paths. Over the bridge I noticed ten or twelve bobbers handing from a high wire like Christmas decorations where fishermen had missed their cast.
A deer bounded across my way and then another with big ears flared, high tailing it into the woods.
Everywhere there are spider webs, some are writing spiders.
I find passion flowers (passiflora incarnata) growing on the edge of a field. It is said that the name "Passion" refers to the crucifixion, with ten petal like parts standing for ten of the 12 disciples (without Peter and Judas). The five stamins are the wounds on the cross. The knob like stigmas are the nails and the fringe is the crown of thorns.
Be that as it may, my mother and her sisters thought that these incredibly beautiful flowers which grew on their land, looked like little ballerinas with tutus. They played with them as if they were dolls until they wilted.
I took a footpath on the other side of the creek as far as I could go until the path was obscured by brush and then went back to the more traveled paths. Over the bridge I noticed ten or twelve bobbers handing from a high wire like Christmas decorations where fishermen had missed their cast.
A deer bounded across my way and then another with big ears flared, high tailing it into the woods.
Everywhere there are spider webs, some are writing spiders.
I find passion flowers (passiflora incarnata) growing on the edge of a field. It is said that the name "Passion" refers to the crucifixion, with ten petal like parts standing for ten of the 12 disciples (without Peter and Judas). The five stamins are the wounds on the cross. The knob like stigmas are the nails and the fringe is the crown of thorns.
Be that as it may, my mother and her sisters thought that these incredibly beautiful flowers which grew on their land, looked like little ballerinas with tutus. They played with them as if they were dolls until they wilted.
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