Boofa twisted out of his collar and attacked a six month old yellow lab, resulting in a trip to the vet.
I walked alone today and found the owner and told her I would pay the bill.
My vet gave me the name of a Department of Defense Patrol Dog Handler graduate. Boofa may have to go to Boot Camp.
Kudzu is blooming, hard to notice the beautiful puple blossoms. Confederate Jasmine blooms on fences. Kudzu was brought to the south from Japan to hold back erosion and it quickly took over.
Like clouds, children see animals and shapes in its luxuriant folliage which covers the ground, bushes, trees, everything in its path. Nancy Basket, a craftsman of Native American heritage has made baskets, paper, various food products, nearly anything you can imagine out of kudzu. There are Kudzu festivals where you can buy kudzu jellies and wear kudzu hats.
It is cool now. Fall is coming next week.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
September 13, 2012 Colleton County State Park
I drove up from Beaufort on the Tuskegee Airmen Memorial Highway ( I-95) and past Walterboro where there is a memorial to the Airmen at the Airport. Even though the World War II African American fighter pilot unit 332 originated in Tuskegee, Alabama at the Tuskegee Institute, they trained at the air base in Walterboro.
To get to the Colleton County State park, exit I-95 to Canadys. This is a small park on the North Edisto River which borders a cypress swamp. There is a very short Nature Trail (.33 miles) but it is uniquely well marked for plants and trees which include: live oaks, covered with resurrection fern and Spanish moss, huckleberries, river birch, loblolly pines, red buckeyes, wax myrtle, horse sugar, magnolia, cinnamon fern, royal ferns, red maple, tulip tree (yellow poplar), black gum.
The walk goes to the river though minions of cypress knees. Here the Red Bank Canal was built by slaves and was used by loggers to float timber out of the swamp and down river to the saw mills.
The beautiful sunlit black watered Edisto gets its color from the tanin (the same element that colors tea) which leaches from dead leaves along its banks.
This is a fantastic place for putting in a canoe or kayak and paddling, drifting down river. In the summer, the park holds a riverfest with a number of different guided canoe trips available. One summer, I took one. We were hauled upriver by a local outfitter in a rumbling old land rover with Beethovens Fifth blaring over the speaker system. This was certainly unexpected and very exciting.
We were given instructions and guided down the river in our canoes. At one point, we stopped and jumped into the water for a refreshing, cooling swim. I plan to do it again.
To get to the Colleton County State park, exit I-95 to Canadys. This is a small park on the North Edisto River which borders a cypress swamp. There is a very short Nature Trail (.33 miles) but it is uniquely well marked for plants and trees which include: live oaks, covered with resurrection fern and Spanish moss, huckleberries, river birch, loblolly pines, red buckeyes, wax myrtle, horse sugar, magnolia, cinnamon fern, royal ferns, red maple, tulip tree (yellow poplar), black gum.
The walk goes to the river though minions of cypress knees. Here the Red Bank Canal was built by slaves and was used by loggers to float timber out of the swamp and down river to the saw mills.
The beautiful sunlit black watered Edisto gets its color from the tanin (the same element that colors tea) which leaches from dead leaves along its banks.
This is a fantastic place for putting in a canoe or kayak and paddling, drifting down river. In the summer, the park holds a riverfest with a number of different guided canoe trips available. One summer, I took one. We were hauled upriver by a local outfitter in a rumbling old land rover with Beethovens Fifth blaring over the speaker system. This was certainly unexpected and very exciting.
We were given instructions and guided down the river in our canoes. At one point, we stopped and jumped into the water for a refreshing, cooling swim. I plan to do it again.
September 13, 2012 Woods Memorial Bridge, Beaufort, SC
Just a short walk over the draw ridge which spans the Beaufort River and connects Beaufort to Lady's Island and beyond to St. Helena, Hunting Island and Fripp. And the view is stunning.
To the north is the waterfront park and behind that the old buildings on Bay Street which are now filled with restaurants and shops, the steeples of two churches, the marina with small boats.
To the south is the bridge connector to Parris Island. Below are the oyster beds and the green spartina grass now turning golden. I breathe in the wonderful fishy smell of the pluff mud and am bathed in fragrant sea breezes.
Beaufort was the home of Robert Smalls, the African American slave who commandeered a ship out of the harbor in the Civil War and the childhood home of Pat Conroy, who wrote so eloquently of this corner of the south, of Dafuski Island, Charleston and the people who inhabit the low country.
It was also the home of J.E. McTeer, sheriff for 37 years in the decades between the 1920's and 60's.
His book, The High Sheriff of the Low Country is a classic of the period, recounting wild tales of rumrunners, murders and various crimes. He also has a unique understanding and connection to the cultural issues of voodoo and conjuring of the time.
To the north is the waterfront park and behind that the old buildings on Bay Street which are now filled with restaurants and shops, the steeples of two churches, the marina with small boats.
To the south is the bridge connector to Parris Island. Below are the oyster beds and the green spartina grass now turning golden. I breathe in the wonderful fishy smell of the pluff mud and am bathed in fragrant sea breezes.
Beaufort was the home of Robert Smalls, the African American slave who commandeered a ship out of the harbor in the Civil War and the childhood home of Pat Conroy, who wrote so eloquently of this corner of the south, of Dafuski Island, Charleston and the people who inhabit the low country.
It was also the home of J.E. McTeer, sheriff for 37 years in the decades between the 1920's and 60's.
His book, The High Sheriff of the Low Country is a classic of the period, recounting wild tales of rumrunners, murders and various crimes. He also has a unique understanding and connection to the cultural issues of voodoo and conjuring of the time.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
September 12, 2012 Hunting Island State Park
There are at least 10 trails at Hunting Island State Park. Today, I walked my favorite combination beginning at the north end of the lagoon, walking south in the direction of Fripp until coming to the lovely arched walking bridge over the lagoon.
Three Halloween's ago, we stayed at cabin 8 on the ocean side of the bridge. Cabin 8 had been on the second row and now the first row was gone as the ocean eroded the shore. The ocean was, in fact, just 20 feet from the cabin door and the cabin was no longer accessible from the old shore road.
The park gave us a big golf cart to ride from the pier, through the woods, over the lagoon bridge and to the cabin. On Halloween night, the kids put on their costumes and we rode the cart to the pier where the goblins and pirates and princess walked the pier to the delight of the fishermen. Patrick drove us back through the woods, frequently stopping in the dark to scare us.
Now all of the cabins are gone and the ocean rolls in where they once were. Only the lighthouse keeper's house remains.
Back to the walk, turning right onto the path which goes from the bridge to the pier, then taking another right onto what I think is called the maritime forrest trail (which is 2 miles if you take the entire trail back to a public beach beyond the end of the lagoon) until you come to the Marsh Boardwalk Crossover (.35 miles) and turn left. This takes you across highway 21. On the other side of the highway is the Marsh Boardwalk trail. There is a parking area here and then the boardwalk. Today the tide is in. The Spartina grass is green and gold and shifting in the full marsh.
First there is a small hummack with a shelter, a grassy area with bushes and trees, a sandy area to the right with more trees, birds alighting and what looks like a wood stork perched in the top of a crooked tree across the way. The boardwalk continues out to a dock with wooden seats where a family is setting up for crabbing.
Walking back through the hummack, a big raccoon runs on tiptoe acorss my path. When I look to the right, I see two adolescent raccoons trying to hide from me in the bushes. I am so happily stunned by this glimpse into their world.
As Liza once said on another trip: "It is the beautiful deer world...the beautiful bird world....the beautiful dolphin world."
It is the beautiful raccoon world.
Three Halloween's ago, we stayed at cabin 8 on the ocean side of the bridge. Cabin 8 had been on the second row and now the first row was gone as the ocean eroded the shore. The ocean was, in fact, just 20 feet from the cabin door and the cabin was no longer accessible from the old shore road.
The park gave us a big golf cart to ride from the pier, through the woods, over the lagoon bridge and to the cabin. On Halloween night, the kids put on their costumes and we rode the cart to the pier where the goblins and pirates and princess walked the pier to the delight of the fishermen. Patrick drove us back through the woods, frequently stopping in the dark to scare us.
Now all of the cabins are gone and the ocean rolls in where they once were. Only the lighthouse keeper's house remains.
Back to the walk, turning right onto the path which goes from the bridge to the pier, then taking another right onto what I think is called the maritime forrest trail (which is 2 miles if you take the entire trail back to a public beach beyond the end of the lagoon) until you come to the Marsh Boardwalk Crossover (.35 miles) and turn left. This takes you across highway 21. On the other side of the highway is the Marsh Boardwalk trail. There is a parking area here and then the boardwalk. Today the tide is in. The Spartina grass is green and gold and shifting in the full marsh.
First there is a small hummack with a shelter, a grassy area with bushes and trees, a sandy area to the right with more trees, birds alighting and what looks like a wood stork perched in the top of a crooked tree across the way. The boardwalk continues out to a dock with wooden seats where a family is setting up for crabbing.
Walking back through the hummack, a big raccoon runs on tiptoe acorss my path. When I look to the right, I see two adolescent raccoons trying to hide from me in the bushes. I am so happily stunned by this glimpse into their world.
As Liza once said on another trip: "It is the beautiful deer world...the beautiful bird world....the beautiful dolphin world."
It is the beautiful raccoon world.
September 11, 2012 Beaufort National Cemetery
The stillness here is nearly palpable. The original graves were of men who died in the Union hospitals during the occupation of Beaufort in the Civil War. Others were from Savannah, Charleston and Hilton Head. About 2, 800 remains were relocated from cemeteries in Millen and a prison cemetery at Lawton, Georgia. In 1989 19 Union soldiers, missing in action since 1863 and discovered on Folly's Island were reinterred here.
As I leave in the car,I can hear taps playing from a 9-11 ceremony in the White House Rose Garden.
And later, I hear the news that the American ambasador to Libya and three other Americans were killed in an attack on the consulate in Benghazi.
On 9-11-2001, I was driving to work when I heard on the car radio that a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. I stopped at the bank where the teller and I discussed our puzzlement over the
event. At work, I had to do a mental status exam on a 65 year old woman. Outside my office, workmen were on a ladder working on something above the ceiling. They had a small radio and at times I would open my door and they would tell us what happened next. They told us another plane had crashed into the second tower, then one into the pentagon and one into a field in Pennsylvania. We are stunned. The woman did poorly on her exam. I have often wondered if this was a valid exam or whether it was impacted by the events happening simultaneously.
That night, we were facilitating a therapy group for perpetrators of domestic violence where now the discussion rose to violence on a global level as well as in the hearts of human beings.
As I leave in the car,I can hear taps playing from a 9-11 ceremony in the White House Rose Garden.
And later, I hear the news that the American ambasador to Libya and three other Americans were killed in an attack on the consulate in Benghazi.
On 9-11-2001, I was driving to work when I heard on the car radio that a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. I stopped at the bank where the teller and I discussed our puzzlement over the
event. At work, I had to do a mental status exam on a 65 year old woman. Outside my office, workmen were on a ladder working on something above the ceiling. They had a small radio and at times I would open my door and they would tell us what happened next. They told us another plane had crashed into the second tower, then one into the pentagon and one into a field in Pennsylvania. We are stunned. The woman did poorly on her exam. I have often wondered if this was a valid exam or whether it was impacted by the events happening simultaneously.
That night, we were facilitating a therapy group for perpetrators of domestic violence where now the discussion rose to violence on a global level as well as in the hearts of human beings.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Sept. 7, 2012 Death in Paradise, Hunting Island
I arrived late in the day and began walking up the beach toward Fripp. There were very few people on the beach, but in the distance I could see small groups gathered, a red blinking light beyond the shore and some kind of boat or what looked to me like two parallel jet skis sailing rapidly in the ocean. Closer up, I could see the people were rescue and law enforcement personel, the red light belonged to an ambulance parked on the shore road, a fire truck, a covered stretcher.
I learned that a marine had drowned. Today he had graduated from his training program at Parris Island.
The water appeared to be particularly treacherous as the hurricane, Leslie, passing east of Bermuda, was kicking up high surf and there are rip tides here as well.
When Michael was only four years old, he nearly drowned in a pool while visiting a friend and while wearing a life preserver and being watched by two women poolside. He had taken off the life preserver and was floating under water when they noticed him and pulled him out, bumping his head on the side of the pool. They called EMS and did rescue breathing. I got the call at work and my supervisor drove me to the hospital. It seemed as if she were driving 10 miles per hour when she was actually breaking the speed limit. He was in Xray when I got there, very lethargic and an ashen color. His pediatrician was there already. He said, "He is going to be alright." I was enraged. But he was alright. After three days in the hospital, he came home. It was raining lightly that afternoon and I put him to bed. Shortly afterwards I looked out the window and saw him lying face up in the front yard in the rain. He was fine.
And Peter nearly drowned in the Bay of Bengal. A stranger rescued him. Long ago, now.
I learned that a marine had drowned. Today he had graduated from his training program at Parris Island.
The water appeared to be particularly treacherous as the hurricane, Leslie, passing east of Bermuda, was kicking up high surf and there are rip tides here as well.
When Michael was only four years old, he nearly drowned in a pool while visiting a friend and while wearing a life preserver and being watched by two women poolside. He had taken off the life preserver and was floating under water when they noticed him and pulled him out, bumping his head on the side of the pool. They called EMS and did rescue breathing. I got the call at work and my supervisor drove me to the hospital. It seemed as if she were driving 10 miles per hour when she was actually breaking the speed limit. He was in Xray when I got there, very lethargic and an ashen color. His pediatrician was there already. He said, "He is going to be alright." I was enraged. But he was alright. After three days in the hospital, he came home. It was raining lightly that afternoon and I put him to bed. Shortly afterwards I looked out the window and saw him lying face up in the front yard in the rain. He was fine.
And Peter nearly drowned in the Bay of Bengal. A stranger rescued him. Long ago, now.
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