Down the I-85 pipeline between Charlotte and Atlanta, there is little traffic on this Sunday morning, except for the Highway Patrol searching cars on the side of the road.
I take the exit for Highway 81 South, the Heritage Corridor, through the upbeat small city of Anderson where there is a big AnMed Hospital, Colleges, restaurants, parks, gentle tree shaded neighborhoods.
In Star and in Iva, hulking against the white cool sky are the monoliths of the past-- the abandoned Owens Corning plant, huge, empty, like a great pyramid from the Egyptian desert and beside it, bizarrely appropriate, an acres wide cemetery open to the winds, bare of trees and shrubs, but tended with plastic flowers by those who have not fled.
In little Iva, the Lydia Mill lies in ruins and is said to be haunted. Comfortable old two story white houses of the Southern type with wrap around porches are scattered here and there.
I drive 30 miles to the Calhoun Falls State Park. "There are no falls" the ranger warns me. "There was a shoals before they built Lake Russell." Lake Russell lies along the great rip in the earth that makes the border between South Carolina and Georgia, the seaward path of the Savannah River with powerful dams and lovely lakes full of fish along the way.
Docked beyond the Ranger's office on the lake are a dozen house boats and pontoon boats. "They lease a space for a year and pay $100 a month" the Ranger says, "Only Dreher Island has a similar docking for lease on the lake." There are restrooms here and big stainless steel tubs with hoses to clean your fish.
The Nature Trail is in the Day Use Area across from the tennis courts. Into the woods, we go into a world of evergreen, cedar, pine, brown and orange. The 1.75 mile trail is fortunately well marked with blue blazes as the ground is well covered with leaves and pine needles. Sometimes you can glimpse silver shinning Lake
Russell, an optical illusion of a higher plateau. In the sky above, a brace of tiny birds folds together in the wind like a sail and is blown away out over the water.
The dog and I are alone here. The ground is covered with bright green moss and pale green lichen which reminds me of my grandmother's dish gardens, made with moss, a wild violet tucked in and sometimes a little statue of Chinese mud people bought from the Five and Ten. Once after the trail loops back to the same path we began on, I leave it onto a dirt road, but Boofa pulls me back in the right direction, a good tracker.
Leaving the park, we are immediately in the tiny town of Calhoun Falls where we turn left onto Highway 72. IF you go to the right, you cross the water into Elberton, Georgia.
The abandoned Westpointe Stevens Mill looms beside the road. This little town with the historic name feels abandoned as well. Only the inhabitants know where inside the lights are warm, the scents of cooking are comforting and life goes on. My brother, the fisherman, tells me that not long ago, there was a large plantation house here, a little motel where he and his buddies would spend the night, a restaurant where they would eat a big breakfast and in the evening enjoy steaks cooked on the grill, baked potatoes and salad.
On the car radio, there are constant reports of the 129 Parisians killed by Isis on Friday night, the Russian plane sent down in flight over the Siani Desert with 224 persons inside, again by Isis. France has closed its borders.
On 98.9 there is Christmas Music, the Trans Siberian Orchestra's Pacobel Canon, like a dirge.
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