And so, I have come to the final trail of my blog, the last SC State Park of the 47. It has been three and a half years since I started. It has been an adventure and there has always been a gift. Sometimes the gift has been an obstacle in disguise, such as getting lost and getting found again. It is not a real adventure without an ordeal.
Today in the light winds and rain from Tropical Storm, Bonnie. Eleanor, Mathew and Sergay have come with me, down from Litchfield where we have left Hannah and Liza recovering from the morning's sunburns. We take Hwy 17 over the Wacamaw River and the Pee Dee and Black Rivers, driving through Georgetown with its magnolias, crape myrtles and mimosas in bloom. We continue South on 17, over the North and then the South Santee Rivers. We are then in Charleston County. We turn right onto Rutledge Rd. for 2.5 miles.
There is a 2.5 mile hike through the green woods glowing with rain drops and sun filtering through the leaves. Raised information boards tell the story of the plantation where Carolina Gold Rice was grown by West African enslaved peoples and the original family, the Horry's, became very wealthy. Horry County, which includes Conway and Myrtle Beach has their name. There is an archaeological dig where there had been a slave cabin. We tramped around the perimeter of the old rice paddies until at a deep dip in the path, we are blocked by deep water 5 feet across. We turned back, occasionally stepping with a crunch on the many small crabs crawling the floor. Black and yellow butterflies floated around us.
We heard the calls of three pileated wood peckers flying from the trees. Soon we could see their red topped heads and white tipped wings. I found them on my Merlin Bird ID and played their calls. Immediately they answered back.
The guided tours of the plantation house were over for the day, but we were able to take a self guided tour and ask questions of the well informed Ranger on the porch. In front of the white house with high porch and columnated Georgian style facade was a massive oak. The plaque says that is it called the Washington Oak because when George Washington visited in 1781, Mrs. Harriott Horry told him that it was blocking the view of her husband, Daniel's horse track. President Washington told her to never cut it down and so it stayed. Mathew and Sergay joggled on a long joggling board on the porch.
We went around to the back of the house and found the Ranger rocking on its back porch. She explained that this side of the house was the original front of the house facing the Wambaw River, which runs into the Santee. This was the point of arrival at the plantation by boat. The house was built between 1739 and 1750. Sergay and Mathew asked many questions. Daniel Horry sided with the British in the Revolution, but was actually a spy for the patriots. He was of Huegonot descent and married Harriott Pickney. The family would traditionally go to Flat Rock, NC for the hot and muggy mosquito filled summer months, but Daniel stayed one year to oversee the work on the plantation. He contracted malaria and subsequently died. In the past years, the park has never sprayed for mosquitos as malaria has not been an issue. This year, they will spray because of the zyka virus.
We toured the house and saw a list of over a hundred names of enslaved people who had lived and worked there. Some were named: Harry, Daphne, Grace and Sojo without family names. Eleanor took a photo of the list. On the site, Sam Hill Cemetery continues today as a burial site for the descendents of the enslaved peoples who worked here.
Sergay asked if anyone had died in the home. The Ranger told us that the Horrys had a daughter who married a Rutledge. They were considered a very prominent and wealthy family. The Rutledge son, John Henry, fell in love with a "commoner" and the family forbid their marriage. John Henry became despondent. They threw a ball to cheer him up with eligible young women attending. During the ball, John Henry shot himself. He lingered for 3 days while his grieving mother told him that if they had known he would do this, they would have allowed the wedding. His grave is between the house and the Wambaw River. There is also a Rutledge cemetery farther away from his site.
The last Rutledge descendant to live in the house was Archibald Rutledge, poet laureate of the State of SC.
Mathew asked if we could go into the small house behind the big house. The Ranger said it was off limits now and used to be the kitchen. It had burned down twice in the past, but now it was home to about 70 of the endangered species of Rafinesque bats. She told us that nearby a church had been built and some the same bat species established a home there. The new church had had to be closed.
I am glad Hampton Plantation was the last park I visited and hiked. It took us back to the time when Europeans first came to this state, the tragedy of slavery and a place of the Native Americans who once fished and hunted this region of vast riches.
And so, I end with this old song by Dale Evans and Roy Rogers:
"Happy Trails"
Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.
Happy trails to you until we meet again.
Some trails are happy ones.
Others are blue.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts,
Here's a happy one for you.
Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.
Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Th
This is the beginning of your adventure. Happy Trails.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Sunday, May 22, 2016
May 21, 2016 Faun In the Rushes of the Cottonwood Trail
I has rained for days. The trail has deep puddles of water. The creek is the delicious color of caramel. Just a few feet off the boardwalk, a tiny faun is nestled in the reeds and rushes, a baby of such perfect beauty with large brown eyes and white speckled brown coat. It has a complete stillness. I have the impossible urge to touch it and speak to it in hushed tones, sing it a lullaby. I don't see it's mother, although I suspect she is there watching.
Native Americans, especially the Eastern Woodland and Plains Indians associate deer with fertility and love.
There is often a duality in the spirit of the Deer Woman of love and death, encouragement and punishment. She gives and she takes away.
Native peoples of the North West believed at the time of creation, that there were Gods who were Animal People. In a later age, the Great Changer arrived to turn some of them into rocks and mountains and bodies of water or trees and plants. There is a story of Deer trying to stop the Changer and for this, the Changer turned Deer into a shy creature, often the food of man.
Native peoples of the North West believed at the time of creation, that there were Gods who were Animal People. In a later age, the Great Changer arrived to turn some of them into rocks and mountains and bodies of water or trees and plants. There is a story of Deer trying to stop the Changer and for this, the Changer turned Deer into a shy creature, often the food of man.
Today the earth itself is giving. All around it is lush and green. Purple flowers bloom in the marsh. Red wild strawberries are along the paths. Blue birds zip through the sky.
I look for Great Blue and suddenly he is there, soaring over the full wetlands. It is a good day for fishing.
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
May 3, 2016 Grief is the Price for Love, the Columbia Canal and Riverwalk
The walk between the canal and the Congaree River reopened two weeks ago after the devastating floods of the fall.
At the entrance I find a new bronze statue of a young woman holding the scales of justice. Below her is a garden for victims of crime. There is a circular walk surrounded by stella d'oro (stars of gold) lilies in full golden bloom and knockout rose bushes of blushing pink popsickle color. In the brick walk are the names of victims of crime and here and there a brick with messages of love and bible verses. One brick states "Grief is the Price of Love."
I walk again where I have come so many times before, under the crape myrtles dedicated to loved ones. I cross the bridge of the canal and breathe in the cool damp air. The sky is overcast and after I have gone a mile along the water, the clouds open with a deluge. I stand under an oak tree with a woman and her dog but soon she leaves to go back. I run for the railroad trestle and highway overpass, soaked and laughing where I meet a Saudi couple and their baby Tameen. The woman wears a long wet abeyya of pale lavender. Her eye makeup makes one long gray rivulet down her lovely face. The ranger comes in his truck and offers us all a ride, but no one is interested. We like the rain which has brought strangers together on this planet. I bid my new friends goodbye and continue on down the trail discovering that the second overpass has shiny new bowed girders reflecting themselves in the water below.
The old bridge abutments that for years stood useless in the water and looked like statues of Darth Vader are now gone. The rain is over. There are aquamarine breaks in the clouds. The geese are back paddling the river. Birds fly into the bushes and trees which are lush now with the nutrients washed over them by the flooding water.
After a long and beautiful walk, I stop in the rest room and try to dry my clothes in the forced air from the hand dryer.
I visit the Crime Victim Garden one more time and leave with tears and wet with rain.
At the entrance I find a new bronze statue of a young woman holding the scales of justice. Below her is a garden for victims of crime. There is a circular walk surrounded by stella d'oro (stars of gold) lilies in full golden bloom and knockout rose bushes of blushing pink popsickle color. In the brick walk are the names of victims of crime and here and there a brick with messages of love and bible verses. One brick states "Grief is the Price of Love."
I walk again where I have come so many times before, under the crape myrtles dedicated to loved ones. I cross the bridge of the canal and breathe in the cool damp air. The sky is overcast and after I have gone a mile along the water, the clouds open with a deluge. I stand under an oak tree with a woman and her dog but soon she leaves to go back. I run for the railroad trestle and highway overpass, soaked and laughing where I meet a Saudi couple and their baby Tameen. The woman wears a long wet abeyya of pale lavender. Her eye makeup makes one long gray rivulet down her lovely face. The ranger comes in his truck and offers us all a ride, but no one is interested. We like the rain which has brought strangers together on this planet. I bid my new friends goodbye and continue on down the trail discovering that the second overpass has shiny new bowed girders reflecting themselves in the water below.
The old bridge abutments that for years stood useless in the water and looked like statues of Darth Vader are now gone. The rain is over. There are aquamarine breaks in the clouds. The geese are back paddling the river. Birds fly into the bushes and trees which are lush now with the nutrients washed over them by the flooding water.
After a long and beautiful walk, I stop in the rest room and try to dry my clothes in the forced air from the hand dryer.
I visit the Crime Victim Garden one more time and leave with tears and wet with rain.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
April 26, 2016 The Drayton Mill Trail, Spartanburg
These are the days, the most beautiful of the year, temperatures from the 60's to 80's, without snow, tornados, blinding heat and rain. All is green and growing.
This trail is new to me although completed in the past year in agreement between the Milikin owners of the old defunct weaving and spinning cotton mill who have made the mill into luxury apartments. Behind the apartment building and it's swimming pool and up the street, I can see yellow tape out in the woods. tonight there is to be a Shindig with music and art from Converse students on the trail.
This is a black top trail which winds through the green forest for a mile and then connects with the trail at the Mary Black Hospital on Skylyn. There are plans to connect with the Cottonwood Trail and indeed they have already plowed the ground for it.
Along the way a few trees are marked: White Oak, Black Oak, Scarlet Oak, Sour Gum, Gum, Hickory, Mocknut Hickory. The first student sculpture is wooden frames hanging in the trees. Some have plastic water bottles. On the right there are two silver metal trees, then a rough hewn wooden bench surrounded by 20 small rock cairns. Down the hill from the trail is a stream with a dirt path beside it.
I take the trail until I can see through the woods, a place of torture on the road: my dentist's office, and then Mary Black Hospital.
Going back I meet a walker wearing a T shirt with the head of an eagle on the front. She is a native of the Drayton Community and tells me how her grandfather took her to walk at the drained pond beside the trail where one Canadian Goose floats with great dignity. She tells me there is a leak now in the dam which is why it is drained. She tells me that where the dirt path is, there are springs which at times, bubble up into mud holes.
The beautiful woods of the trail, may be developed into a neighborhood with homes. She has mixed feelings about her love of the community and the wealthy developers who have come to change it.
This trail is new to me although completed in the past year in agreement between the Milikin owners of the old defunct weaving and spinning cotton mill who have made the mill into luxury apartments. Behind the apartment building and it's swimming pool and up the street, I can see yellow tape out in the woods. tonight there is to be a Shindig with music and art from Converse students on the trail.
This is a black top trail which winds through the green forest for a mile and then connects with the trail at the Mary Black Hospital on Skylyn. There are plans to connect with the Cottonwood Trail and indeed they have already plowed the ground for it.
Along the way a few trees are marked: White Oak, Black Oak, Scarlet Oak, Sour Gum, Gum, Hickory, Mocknut Hickory. The first student sculpture is wooden frames hanging in the trees. Some have plastic water bottles. On the right there are two silver metal trees, then a rough hewn wooden bench surrounded by 20 small rock cairns. Down the hill from the trail is a stream with a dirt path beside it.
I take the trail until I can see through the woods, a place of torture on the road: my dentist's office, and then Mary Black Hospital.
Going back I meet a walker wearing a T shirt with the head of an eagle on the front. She is a native of the Drayton Community and tells me how her grandfather took her to walk at the drained pond beside the trail where one Canadian Goose floats with great dignity. She tells me there is a leak now in the dam which is why it is drained. She tells me that where the dirt path is, there are springs which at times, bubble up into mud holes.
The beautiful woods of the trail, may be developed into a neighborhood with homes. She has mixed feelings about her love of the community and the wealthy developers who have come to change it.
Monday, April 11, 2016
April 4, 2016 Canoeing the Lake at Calloway Gardens
Calloway Gardens is about 80 miles north east of Atlanta and Decatur on the edge of the mountains. It is near the Roosevelt State Park and the hot springs where the president went to heal from his polio. It is 17 miles from LaGrange where the founding Calloway had his first department store at the age of 18 and made his fortune.
Eleanor, Mathew and I are driving through the little mountainesque town of Pine Mountain. Mathew, who is eleven, is doing "stand up comedy" in the back seat. On the side of the road a muscular middle aged man with a golden pony tail is marching back and forth from his baggage and water canteen strapped onto five packed wheeled carts to another space down the street just a block. One cart has a big white printed sign proclaiming "ON A MISSION FROM JESUS". The man is wearing an orange safety vest. a white T shirt, shorts and good hiking boots.
At Calloway Gardens and after a lot of discussion, the three of us embark in a canoe onto the lake. We paddle out from a covered stone boat dock and circle the lake, visiting ducks and blooming azaleas on the shore. After an hour, we paddle back into the dock.
We visit the Butterfly House, a beautiful glass green house where there are tropical plants blooming, water vapor misting and butterflies and moths in all the colors of the rainbow, flying and alighting on dark green leaves. A brilliant blue butterfly is spreading its wings on the back of a turtle and suddenly flops into the water below. There is a splash and in an instant, it is gone, eaten by a hungry fish.
Going home, we stop, for gas in Pine Mountain where the man on a mission has made almost no progress in moving his carts. One by one, he slowly wheels them a few more feet down the street.
We eat supper at the little Saigon restaurant near Eleanor's house. She gets Pho for Mathew in hopes the clear soup will help him recover from the pollen.
Eleanor, Mathew and I are driving through the little mountainesque town of Pine Mountain. Mathew, who is eleven, is doing "stand up comedy" in the back seat. On the side of the road a muscular middle aged man with a golden pony tail is marching back and forth from his baggage and water canteen strapped onto five packed wheeled carts to another space down the street just a block. One cart has a big white printed sign proclaiming "ON A MISSION FROM JESUS". The man is wearing an orange safety vest. a white T shirt, shorts and good hiking boots.
At Calloway Gardens and after a lot of discussion, the three of us embark in a canoe onto the lake. We paddle out from a covered stone boat dock and circle the lake, visiting ducks and blooming azaleas on the shore. After an hour, we paddle back into the dock.
We visit the Butterfly House, a beautiful glass green house where there are tropical plants blooming, water vapor misting and butterflies and moths in all the colors of the rainbow, flying and alighting on dark green leaves. A brilliant blue butterfly is spreading its wings on the back of a turtle and suddenly flops into the water below. There is a splash and in an instant, it is gone, eaten by a hungry fish.
Going home, we stop, for gas in Pine Mountain where the man on a mission has made almost no progress in moving his carts. One by one, he slowly wheels them a few more feet down the street.
We eat supper at the little Saigon restaurant near Eleanor's house. She gets Pho for Mathew in hopes the clear soup will help him recover from the pollen.
Sunday, April 10, 2016
April 3, 2016 Living Walls on the Atlanta Beltline
Eleanor, Mathew and I are driving on DeKalb Street, passing the Living Walls, the painted expression of a city speaking. Paint on an underpass states: Never Give Up. We park the car and merge ourselves into the mass of human beings walking, biking and skating the Beltline, a path which will one day encircle the whole of the city. The world is in bloom and the air is filled with pollen. Mathew is coughing and his nose is running.
My eyes are inflamed.
IT is Spring Break and those families who did not flee to the beaches of the Gulf or the sea islands of the Atlantic are all outside, joyously moving in the warm air.
Today is Hannah's birthday, born on a day when the earth itself is celebrating it's birth. At least here in the Northern hemisphere in South Carolina where it is an all out glorious Spring.
My eyes are inflamed.
IT is Spring Break and those families who did not flee to the beaches of the Gulf or the sea islands of the Atlantic are all outside, joyously moving in the warm air.
Today is Hannah's birthday, born on a day when the earth itself is celebrating it's birth. At least here in the Northern hemisphere in South Carolina where it is an all out glorious Spring.
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
March 7, 2016 Hunting Island: Goobye and Thanks For All the Books
The sun rises over the silver ocean. Where the jungle trail meets the sand split between the submerged dead trees and a shining dark pond, the ospreys have made a nest of sticks at the top of a tall dead tree. A birder from Charlotte is there with a long lensed camera waiting for them to arrive.
A pair of cormorants is floating and diving on the pond. We watch them until they fly up, circle and land on the branches of a dead oak out in the ocean.
A pair of cormorants is floating and diving on the pond. We watch them until they fly up, circle and land on the branches of a dead oak out in the ocean.
Other than the birder, the beach is empty. We have stayed in the light house cabin over night.
Yesterday, Pat Conroy, died in Beaufort Hospital. His home was just here on Fripp Island.
This week, his brother, a neighbor of my son, John, said, "I have to go to Beaufort, to put my brother back into the river."
This week, his brother, a neighbor of my son, John, said, "I have to go to Beaufort, to put my brother back into the river."
In the sand, I write: "Goodbye Pat, And Thanks For All the Books"
By now, the water has washed my message away.
Monday, March 7, 2016
March 3, 2016 Colonial Dorchester State Historic Site
People walking across the grounds of this historic site are not wearing clothing for a day's walk or picnic. Instead they are dressed formally in dresses, suits and ties. They gather at the obelisk, an ancient brick structure of two stories in height with arched passages through it. A wedding is taking place.
I am looking for the interpretive trail and ask a woman exiting her car with her brown and white English Spaniel, Bradley. She points to the tabby fort and tells me to walk into it and through it out the other side and I will find a trail along the Ashley River. The trail ends abruptly by the lovely green river. There is a cormorant perched on a rock or piece of masonry in the flow. Another dog walker (she has a Shitzu and a Yorkie) tells me in a New York accent, that the trail goes another way beyond the fort, but it goes into the woods and she was afraid to follow it. I try that one and it also ends abruptly by the river.
Here, without trails, there is the old tabby fort, built in the 17th century, an architectural dig of the old town, picnic tables and a restroom, the brick obelisk, beautiful trees and the green flowing river.
I leave to find my way South towards Beaufort and in the outskirts of the town of Summerville, now clogged with traffic, there is a sign, advertising " GATOR RABBIT AND BUFFALO BURGERS. There is no restaurant to be seen. I take 165 for about 15 miles to the hamlet of Ravenel. Along the way, pink and purple azaleas are in full bloom.
On Hwy 17, a small car passes, proclaiming on its back window: "I Kayak, Therefore I Am".
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
March 1, 2016 Musgrove Mill State Park: A Birding Hotspot
A false spring, a haze and a temperature of 70 degrees. Daffodils are blooming. There is hope in the light air. There are new bird houses in the trees at Musgrove Mill State Historic Site.
There is a new Park Manager named Dawn Weaver who lets me in the locked office. She is about to go to the bank, but instead she takes me to the back porch and shows me the new bird feeding station where on one recent day, birders counted 200 birds. Circling high in the air and screaming their screeching calls, are two hawks. She tells me they may be about to mate. They are, indeed, checking out the trees near the office for a place to build their home. There are also a pair of eagles who live on the park grounds.
Dawn Weaver came a few months ago from Huntington Beach State Park, a coastal birding hotspot. She tells me of how she saw her first Roseate Spoonbill on her second day at the park. Some birders put her to the test to identify it. A few days later, a nine year old girl told her sadly that she was having to leave to go home without seeing a Roseate Spoonbill. Dawn took her to the place where she saw one before and could not find one. Suddenly two of these beautiful pink birds flew by them and landed on the pond.
Before I go to walk the trail down by the Enoree, Dawn shows me the eBird website from Cornell Ornithology Labs. Their maps now indicate Musgrove Mill as birding hotspot. People who watch birds can sign up at eBird.org and add their own lists of birds.
Before I hit the trail, she tells me that there is an area where the wild boars dug up the trail, but they have cleaned it up. She says they only come out at night.
I am not afraid of the wild pigs. I have met them before at Congaree National Park and found they had no interest in me whatsoever.
Don't go out in the woods tonight
You're sure of a big surprise
If you go out in the woods tonight
You'd better go in disguise
If you go out in the woods tonight
You better not go alone
Don't go out in the woods tonight
It's safer to stay at home
For tonight is the night the wild boars have their picnic!
Plagerized from the song by Amarin Rose "The Teddy Bear's Picnic"
There is a new Park Manager named Dawn Weaver who lets me in the locked office. She is about to go to the bank, but instead she takes me to the back porch and shows me the new bird feeding station where on one recent day, birders counted 200 birds. Circling high in the air and screaming their screeching calls, are two hawks. She tells me they may be about to mate. They are, indeed, checking out the trees near the office for a place to build their home. There are also a pair of eagles who live on the park grounds.
Dawn Weaver came a few months ago from Huntington Beach State Park, a coastal birding hotspot. She tells me of how she saw her first Roseate Spoonbill on her second day at the park. Some birders put her to the test to identify it. A few days later, a nine year old girl told her sadly that she was having to leave to go home without seeing a Roseate Spoonbill. Dawn took her to the place where she saw one before and could not find one. Suddenly two of these beautiful pink birds flew by them and landed on the pond.
Before I go to walk the trail down by the Enoree, Dawn shows me the eBird website from Cornell Ornithology Labs. Their maps now indicate Musgrove Mill as birding hotspot. People who watch birds can sign up at eBird.org and add their own lists of birds.
Before I hit the trail, she tells me that there is an area where the wild boars dug up the trail, but they have cleaned it up. She says they only come out at night.
I am not afraid of the wild pigs. I have met them before at Congaree National Park and found they had no interest in me whatsoever.
Don't go out in the woods tonight
You're sure of a big surprise
If you go out in the woods tonight
You'd better go in disguise
If you go out in the woods tonight
You better not go alone
Don't go out in the woods tonight
It's safer to stay at home
For tonight is the night the wild boars have their picnic!
Plagerized from the song by Amarin Rose "The Teddy Bear's Picnic"
Monday, February 22, 2016
February 21, 2016 Cottonwood Trail: A Sanctuary
I can see the color orange across the wetlands. A man is using binoculars to look at something high in the trees on the edge of the forest.
When I approach, he tells me that he has seen both a flicker and a pileated woodpecker high up in the same tree.
He is a former Bosnian, who fled the wars in 1994.
Around his neck, he wears Swaroski binoculars.
"I thought I needed them." he says. "They cost three thousand dollars. You don't need any like this."
"I like to come here to be alone.
I think of many things."
He smiles broadly and raises his arms like a runner crossing the finish line.
"Or I can think of nothing."
When I approach, he tells me that he has seen both a flicker and a pileated woodpecker high up in the same tree.
He is a former Bosnian, who fled the wars in 1994.
Around his neck, he wears Swaroski binoculars.
"I thought I needed them." he says. "They cost three thousand dollars. You don't need any like this."
"I like to come here to be alone.
I think of many things."
He smiles broadly and raises his arms like a runner crossing the finish line.
"Or I can think of nothing."
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 Hamilton Branch: Jasmine and Scat
Mitsubishi, mitsubishi, mitsubishi
he did it, he did it
sweet bird, sweet bird
The birds are singing, the frogs are singing back up.
Flocks of hundreds of starlings cross the sky.
Robins dot lawns.
There is a cloud cover.
It is going to be 60 degrees in the afternoon.
Under the passenger car seat, I find my glasses which vanished into thin air two days before Christmas.
At Hamilton Branch, the waters have receded and the trails are open again.
I am on my way in the early dawn.
The hardwoods are gray and quiet, the evergreens dark and fragrant. Starlings sit in the leafless crowns of trees in droves.
Again I travel hwy 221 beside the Georgia Pacific railroad tracks, through Woodruff and then Enoree, across the Enoree River where logs are jammed under the railroad trestle. Over Warrior Creek and beside a jade pond.
The community of Ora has a county park and on the left, Lighthouse Baptist Church with a 10 ft replica of a lighthouse and a small academy. On the right is a sign for PAIA Lower Eastern Cherokee Nation (go right on Metric Rd.).
I pass under 385, then on the left a gigantic white Walmart distribution Center surrounded by trucks. On the left is Muchoo's BBQ, now closed, Cree Ole Seafood also closed , the suburb of Wattville and I am in Laurens with Zaxby's, Long John Silver and Kentucky Fried Chicken. Across a hill on the left is an ancient cemetery. Crape Myrtles, not yet leafed out line S. Hampton Rd through town. The historic town square and county house is to the right. Large old southern houses, some restored to their original beauty and some with peeling paint line the road. On the edge of town is the Used Tire store painted orange with a purple Clemson tiger paw on the side wall.
I go through the community of Maddens, on the left Addy Farms with a truck departing with two horses in a trailer. At Cold Point, an active Flea Market. In Waterloo, there is a public golf course on the left and the large Aurel Hill Church on the right. The country side is beautiful here, even in winter. In Greenwood County; I cross Cornaca Creek, drive through Greenwood and then the town of Bradley and this time, I note that the lovely Eden Hall has a brick home behind it and a working farm with white buildings and white fences around the well kept fields
I cross Rocky Creek and then Plum Branch and Parksville, Catfish Bay and on the right Hamilton Branch State Park.
The staff in the office do not seem well versed in the trails and they are out of trail maps. They do have a map of the 150 campsites with minimal dotted trail markers. I took the Hamilton Branch Connector just beyond the office on the paved road. They tell me it will take me to Hwys 221 and 28 and I should cross it at the sign for Modoc Speedway and connect to the FATS trail (Forks Area Trail System in Edgefield Cty). and Stevens Creek Trail. I cross the road and can't find the trail. I even trespass into someone's yard.
I have to return but along the connector, I find jasmine vines with yellow buds about to open (the state flower of South Carolina) and several piles of scat composed only of tubular white fur and then one that looks like the undigested remains of a snake. The coyotes live here.
Again, I cannot find the trail that staff tells me has a sign and begins at the dump. When I return to the office, they suggest taking a trail that begins behind the office and ends at the dump. I cannot even find that as behind the office land moving equipment has scraped the woods to build a roadway connector. Finally someone comes out and shows me two 5 inch white squares with black arrows on two trees across the muddy connector. I come to a fork and take the left. I would guess it is about two miles through piney woods. I come upon two gray deer with white tails. One is so curious about me, she stops in her tracks and stares at me while I approach gingerly. At about 10 feet, she leaps away. Soon I find myself looped back to the office. There is a Pepsi machine with no price on it.
I drive through the campsites and find the perfect one where I would like to camp when it is warmer. Site 77 is at the very end of the peninsula where there is water on three sides. No one is there today. Fishermen are on the lake. Ducks float on a quiet bend
I begin the long drive back.
In Parksville, a sign implores: "Y-all Come Back".
I discover in McCormick, just 16 miles away,that yesterday, Feb 19, 2016 was the 100 centennial of the town and a celebration was held on that day. Now it is 23 miles to Greenwood where near the Lake there is a wedding going on at Lakeside Pentacostal Church. The wedding party including the tiny bride in white is on the deck of the church.
I stop for a late lunch at my favorite Subway on the shore of Lake Greenwood and watch a big man in black overalls have a huge 12 inch sub made. It starts with ground beef and cheese toasted under the broiler. Then he has every vegetable available put on top: tomatoes, lettuce, onions, pickles, olives, peppers, then mustard, chipotle sauce and sirocha sauces.
"Food don't taste good unless it's messy," he turns and says to me.
"Exactly", I agree. "A masterpiece", I add.
He and is nephew tell me to have a safe trip.
It is raining now and I am home before dark.
NOTE: This may get you to the Stevens Creek trail by connector.
Take the Hamilton Branch Connector through the woods.
Cross the highway 221 and 28 combined at the Modoc Speedway Sign.
Turn rt on Washington School Rd (which might be McCormick Cty S3393) toward the Speedway.
Walk past the Speedway.
There might be a big green gate.
After the paving ends, turn left at the first left which is Forest Service Rd. 632. 632 ends at the Stevens Creek Trail.
For correct information: Sumter National Forest, Long Cane Ranger District, Long Cane Rd 810 Buncombe St. Edgefireld phone 803-637-5396. Also for the FATS trail (Forks Area Trail System in Edgefield Cty)
he did it, he did it
sweet bird, sweet bird
The birds are singing, the frogs are singing back up.
Flocks of hundreds of starlings cross the sky.
Robins dot lawns.
There is a cloud cover.
It is going to be 60 degrees in the afternoon.
Under the passenger car seat, I find my glasses which vanished into thin air two days before Christmas.
At Hamilton Branch, the waters have receded and the trails are open again.
I am on my way in the early dawn.
The hardwoods are gray and quiet, the evergreens dark and fragrant. Starlings sit in the leafless crowns of trees in droves.
Again I travel hwy 221 beside the Georgia Pacific railroad tracks, through Woodruff and then Enoree, across the Enoree River where logs are jammed under the railroad trestle. Over Warrior Creek and beside a jade pond.
The community of Ora has a county park and on the left, Lighthouse Baptist Church with a 10 ft replica of a lighthouse and a small academy. On the right is a sign for PAIA Lower Eastern Cherokee Nation (go right on Metric Rd.).
I pass under 385, then on the left a gigantic white Walmart distribution Center surrounded by trucks. On the left is Muchoo's BBQ, now closed, Cree Ole Seafood also closed , the suburb of Wattville and I am in Laurens with Zaxby's, Long John Silver and Kentucky Fried Chicken. Across a hill on the left is an ancient cemetery. Crape Myrtles, not yet leafed out line S. Hampton Rd through town. The historic town square and county house is to the right. Large old southern houses, some restored to their original beauty and some with peeling paint line the road. On the edge of town is the Used Tire store painted orange with a purple Clemson tiger paw on the side wall.
I go through the community of Maddens, on the left Addy Farms with a truck departing with two horses in a trailer. At Cold Point, an active Flea Market. In Waterloo, there is a public golf course on the left and the large Aurel Hill Church on the right. The country side is beautiful here, even in winter. In Greenwood County; I cross Cornaca Creek, drive through Greenwood and then the town of Bradley and this time, I note that the lovely Eden Hall has a brick home behind it and a working farm with white buildings and white fences around the well kept fields
I cross Rocky Creek and then Plum Branch and Parksville, Catfish Bay and on the right Hamilton Branch State Park.
The staff in the office do not seem well versed in the trails and they are out of trail maps. They do have a map of the 150 campsites with minimal dotted trail markers. I took the Hamilton Branch Connector just beyond the office on the paved road. They tell me it will take me to Hwys 221 and 28 and I should cross it at the sign for Modoc Speedway and connect to the FATS trail (Forks Area Trail System in Edgefield Cty). and Stevens Creek Trail. I cross the road and can't find the trail. I even trespass into someone's yard.
I have to return but along the connector, I find jasmine vines with yellow buds about to open (the state flower of South Carolina) and several piles of scat composed only of tubular white fur and then one that looks like the undigested remains of a snake. The coyotes live here.
Again, I cannot find the trail that staff tells me has a sign and begins at the dump. When I return to the office, they suggest taking a trail that begins behind the office and ends at the dump. I cannot even find that as behind the office land moving equipment has scraped the woods to build a roadway connector. Finally someone comes out and shows me two 5 inch white squares with black arrows on two trees across the muddy connector. I come to a fork and take the left. I would guess it is about two miles through piney woods. I come upon two gray deer with white tails. One is so curious about me, she stops in her tracks and stares at me while I approach gingerly. At about 10 feet, she leaps away. Soon I find myself looped back to the office. There is a Pepsi machine with no price on it.
I drive through the campsites and find the perfect one where I would like to camp when it is warmer. Site 77 is at the very end of the peninsula where there is water on three sides. No one is there today. Fishermen are on the lake. Ducks float on a quiet bend
I begin the long drive back.
In Parksville, a sign implores: "Y-all Come Back".
I discover in McCormick, just 16 miles away,that yesterday, Feb 19, 2016 was the 100 centennial of the town and a celebration was held on that day. Now it is 23 miles to Greenwood where near the Lake there is a wedding going on at Lakeside Pentacostal Church. The wedding party including the tiny bride in white is on the deck of the church.
I stop for a late lunch at my favorite Subway on the shore of Lake Greenwood and watch a big man in black overalls have a huge 12 inch sub made. It starts with ground beef and cheese toasted under the broiler. Then he has every vegetable available put on top: tomatoes, lettuce, onions, pickles, olives, peppers, then mustard, chipotle sauce and sirocha sauces.
"Food don't taste good unless it's messy," he turns and says to me.
"Exactly", I agree. "A masterpiece", I add.
He and is nephew tell me to have a safe trip.
It is raining now and I am home before dark.
NOTE: This may get you to the Stevens Creek trail by connector.
Take the Hamilton Branch Connector through the woods.
Cross the highway 221 and 28 combined at the Modoc Speedway Sign.
Turn rt on Washington School Rd (which might be McCormick Cty S3393) toward the Speedway.
Walk past the Speedway.
There might be a big green gate.
After the paving ends, turn left at the first left which is Forest Service Rd. 632. 632 ends at the Stevens Creek Trail.
For correct information: Sumter National Forest, Long Cane Ranger District, Long Cane Rd 810 Buncombe St. Edgefireld phone 803-637-5396. Also for the FATS trail (Forks Area Trail System in Edgefield Cty)
Monday, February 8, 2016
January 29, 2016 The Road to Beech Mountain
Highway 221 stretches all the way across South Carolina from the lakes of the Savannah River into the mountains of North Carolina. Eleanor is driving. I am in the shotgun seat and Mathew is in the backseat covered in sleeping bags and quilts against the cold. It is 25 degrees in Beech Mountain today. Last weekend the snow fell for three days. Highway 221 goes through my town, then Chesnee, SC, Rutherforton, NC, Marion, Linville and then we take 105 briefly and then 184 left at the stoplight in Banner Elk. The mountain towns converge here.
Grandfather Mountain and only 17 miles to Boone.
We see the quilt squares painted on barns along the route. Rhododenron is braced against the ice, but the road is good. Christmas Tree farms are all along the way, perfect little green cones dotting the mountain sides. In a field is a life size tin sculpture of a soldier mounted on a tin horse. A red Confederate Flag is draped across his chest. We call him "the Confederate Zombie".
After Eleanor negotiates the winding roads with frightening drop offs (which terrify us), we find Beech Mountain Parkway and make a right. We stop at Fred's on the left for a rest room and supplies. Downstairs there is a cafe and grill thronged with skiers and tubers. After Fred's we go 2 miles down and a right on Pine Ridge, left on Teaberry and the 2nd left on Rhododendron, a final left on Poplar Drive. It is the second house on the left.
The cousins are sledding down the driveway. The uncles are watching them. They are dressed in thick snow clothes and boots, warm knit hats and gloves.
Eleanor and I take a hike around the neighborhood at twilight, up and down the winding roads. Houses glow in the dark with warm lighted yellow windows. This is a mountain paradise. Michael and Asha took the children on one of the two hiking trails recommended on a map, but the snow was knee deep and they had to turn back.
In the yard of our house, deer are eating corn at a feeding station built just for them.
Asha and Michael have made vegetarian chili with rice and sides of cheese, yogurt, and cucumbers.
Tomorrow will be snow tubing and ice skating.
All is well.
Always a Bridesmaid Chili
Original recipe with which I won 2nd place in a Texas Pete contest. Asha and Michael modified it and won first place in an elementary school cookoff. It can be vegetarian."
In a large iron pot, saute 2 lbs fresh ground chuck or ground turkey (meat optional)
1 large onion, chopped
4 to 5 cloves crushed garlic
1 grated carrot
1 grated yellow crooked neck squash or 1 grated zucchini
1 medium green pepper, chopped
1 or 2 chopped jalapeno peppers (also optional)
1 tsp cumin
3 tsp chili powder
1 tsp salt
1 tsp black pepper
stir until meat is browned,
add 2 Tbsp sugar
To this mixture add:
2 cans black beans drained
2 cans pinto beans, drained (cook beans yourself is better)
2 large cans crushed tomatoes
1 can tomato diced or pieces
Simmer for at least an hour
Add generous chopped cilantro
Serve with homemade salsa and sour cream
and grated Monterey Jack cheese.
Cornbread is the best accompaniment.
Grandfather Mountain and only 17 miles to Boone.
We see the quilt squares painted on barns along the route. Rhododenron is braced against the ice, but the road is good. Christmas Tree farms are all along the way, perfect little green cones dotting the mountain sides. In a field is a life size tin sculpture of a soldier mounted on a tin horse. A red Confederate Flag is draped across his chest. We call him "the Confederate Zombie".
After Eleanor negotiates the winding roads with frightening drop offs (which terrify us), we find Beech Mountain Parkway and make a right. We stop at Fred's on the left for a rest room and supplies. Downstairs there is a cafe and grill thronged with skiers and tubers. After Fred's we go 2 miles down and a right on Pine Ridge, left on Teaberry and the 2nd left on Rhododendron, a final left on Poplar Drive. It is the second house on the left.
The cousins are sledding down the driveway. The uncles are watching them. They are dressed in thick snow clothes and boots, warm knit hats and gloves.
Eleanor and I take a hike around the neighborhood at twilight, up and down the winding roads. Houses glow in the dark with warm lighted yellow windows. This is a mountain paradise. Michael and Asha took the children on one of the two hiking trails recommended on a map, but the snow was knee deep and they had to turn back.
In the yard of our house, deer are eating corn at a feeding station built just for them.
Asha and Michael have made vegetarian chili with rice and sides of cheese, yogurt, and cucumbers.
Tomorrow will be snow tubing and ice skating.
All is well.
Always a Bridesmaid Chili
Original recipe with which I won 2nd place in a Texas Pete contest. Asha and Michael modified it and won first place in an elementary school cookoff. It can be vegetarian."
In a large iron pot, saute 2 lbs fresh ground chuck or ground turkey (meat optional)
1 large onion, chopped
4 to 5 cloves crushed garlic
1 grated carrot
1 grated yellow crooked neck squash or 1 grated zucchini
1 medium green pepper, chopped
1 or 2 chopped jalapeno peppers (also optional)
1 tsp cumin
3 tsp chili powder
1 tsp salt
1 tsp black pepper
stir until meat is browned,
add 2 Tbsp sugar
To this mixture add:
2 cans black beans drained
2 cans pinto beans, drained (cook beans yourself is better)
2 large cans crushed tomatoes
1 can tomato diced or pieces
Simmer for at least an hour
Add generous chopped cilantro
Serve with homemade salsa and sour cream
and grated Monterey Jack cheese.
Cornbread is the best accompaniment.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
January 26, 2016 On the Gervais Street Bridge
Snow, rain and ice for the last three days in the Upstate. Escaping down I-26, a dark green Chevrolet van, close to the ground and covered with the detritus of sludge, salt and dirt from frozen Wisconsin sails past me on its way to the coast.
The Saluda and the Broad converge at the fall line in Columbia to make the wide Congaree. The Columbia Canal Walk and the River Walk through Cayce have been closed since the flooding in the fall.
It is 10:30 am and I am standing on the Gervais Street Bridge watching gulls careening over the rocks and three Canadian Geese dipping and diving in a quiet pool near the banks of the wide Congaree.
A voice beside me says, "Isn't it beautiful?"
A young man, bright blue eyes, white T-shirt and jeans asks me the name of the river. He wants to know if you can kayak there. He tells me his father saved the life of a girl who fell into a river from a kayak once.
He is from Syracuse, NY, but was born in Columbia.
As he walks away, he says, "The Holy Spirit will lead you."
The sky is a powder blue with milky soft clouds spun through it. The sun is shining again.
You Are My Sunshine
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know dear,
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away.
The other night, dear,
When I was sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
When I awoke, dear,
I was mistaken
So I hung my head and I cried.
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away.
* sung by the blogger at gatherings all around Rajasthan, India, a long time ago.
The Saluda and the Broad converge at the fall line in Columbia to make the wide Congaree. The Columbia Canal Walk and the River Walk through Cayce have been closed since the flooding in the fall.
It is 10:30 am and I am standing on the Gervais Street Bridge watching gulls careening over the rocks and three Canadian Geese dipping and diving in a quiet pool near the banks of the wide Congaree.
A voice beside me says, "Isn't it beautiful?"
A young man, bright blue eyes, white T-shirt and jeans asks me the name of the river. He wants to know if you can kayak there. He tells me his father saved the life of a girl who fell into a river from a kayak once.
He is from Syracuse, NY, but was born in Columbia.
As he walks away, he says, "The Holy Spirit will lead you."
The sky is a powder blue with milky soft clouds spun through it. The sun is shining again.
You Are My Sunshine
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know dear,
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away.
The other night, dear,
When I was sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
When I awoke, dear,
I was mistaken
So I hung my head and I cried.
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away.
* sung by the blogger at gatherings all around Rajasthan, India, a long time ago.
Monday, January 11, 2016
January 10, 2016 Belted Kingfisher Over the Wetlands
The Cottonwood Trail has mud puddles and big pot holes all along the way from the heavy rains that have pelted the region. Finally, the sky overhead is blue. Clouds drift slowly, puffy and white.
A Belted Kingfisher soars high over the boardwalk, screaming its rattling cry and alights on a limb of a bare tree. I can see its powder blue underside, its white neck band, its big head with shaggy crest and long thick bill.
I hear the chorus of frogs singing. This can't be. It is far too early. But it is.
They are singing the AIR by J.S. Bach from Orchestral Suite No. 3 as performed by Yoyo Ma and Bobby McFerrin.
HUSH Yoyo Ma and Bobby McFerrin recorded at Dreamland Recording Studios, Woodstock NY on August 22-25, 1991
A Belted Kingfisher soars high over the boardwalk, screaming its rattling cry and alights on a limb of a bare tree. I can see its powder blue underside, its white neck band, its big head with shaggy crest and long thick bill.
I hear the chorus of frogs singing. This can't be. It is far too early. But it is.
They are singing the AIR by J.S. Bach from Orchestral Suite No. 3 as performed by Yoyo Ma and Bobby McFerrin.
HUSH Yoyo Ma and Bobby McFerrin recorded at Dreamland Recording Studios, Woodstock NY on August 22-25, 1991
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
January 4, 2016 Hamilton Branch: A Washout and a Road Trip
Nine a.m. and driving down Hwy 56 with black cows in green fields, red horses lined up in a pasture, dark ancient cedars lining the country roads, flamingo colored flowering quince already in bloom. It is cold and we are expecting our first freeze tonight.
Past Belfast Plantation, a church sign reads:
"Tell someone you love them
While you have time"
I pass Persimmon Hill Golf Club with a sparkling pond and across from it in a field, a beautiful palomino, tossing its mane like a movie star.
I am in Edgefield County, the birthplace of Strom Thurmond, the embodiment of the southern contradictions of his time. There is Strom Thurmond High School, the Strom Thurmond Tech Center, surrounded by acres and acres of peach orchards.
In Edgefield, there is a pink and purple Japanese Magnolia with thousands of blossoms preening against the sky. The town square is shining with Christmas decorations on the lamp posts, a tall bejeweled Christmas tree in front of the county courthouse. A statue of Strom Thurmond reaches out toward it and behind him is the Confederate Memorial obelisk. On the sidewalk, a colorfully painted four foot tall turkey.
I stay on Hwy 23, bear right at the Westwide Volunteer Fire Deptment towards Modoc, into the Sumter Forest and over Stevens Creek. Suddenly Hwy 23 ends and in front of me is the Modoc Thrift Store, a place of all manner of dusty objects. The sleepy proprietor dressed in hunting attire tells me to turn right on Hwy 221 and Hamilton Branch State Park is two miles on the left.
So it is. The gate is locked. There is no way to get in but walk around it. I walk to the Ranger's house and he tells me that the park is closed indefinitely because it is flooded. The Army Corps of Engineers say that the Upcountry lakes of Hartwell, Jocasse and others are brim full and have yet to release more water downstream. I beg him to let me walk the trail, but he says it is ankle deep in water.
Returning on Hwy 221, I can see Lake Thurmond (of course) is overflowing its banks. The park is on a peninsula. I pass Catfish Creek Peninsula and Dorman Creek Ramp and come to the town of Plum Branch. It has a yacht club. I have never passed this way before. It is an adventure, no hike, but an adventure still.
I am astonished to discover Eden Hall Plantation on my left, facing Long Cane Road, a two and a half story soaring brilliantly white house established in 1854. Nearby is Tranquil Church and later Hwy 10 shoots off to the left and it is called Promised Land.
How the early settlers dreamed of their new paradise.
The sky is cold, clear and blue. The year is full of promise. I am listening to Joe Diffie on the car radio:
"Prop me up beside the jukebox when I die
Lord, I want to go to heaven
but I don't want to go tonight.
Fill my boots with sand
Put a stiff drink in my hand
Prop me up beside the jukebox when I die
Just let my headstone be a neon sign
Just let it burn in memory of all my good times......
Prop me up beside the jukebox when I die..."
Past Belfast Plantation, a church sign reads:
"Tell someone you love them
While you have time"
I pass Persimmon Hill Golf Club with a sparkling pond and across from it in a field, a beautiful palomino, tossing its mane like a movie star.
I am in Edgefield County, the birthplace of Strom Thurmond, the embodiment of the southern contradictions of his time. There is Strom Thurmond High School, the Strom Thurmond Tech Center, surrounded by acres and acres of peach orchards.
In Edgefield, there is a pink and purple Japanese Magnolia with thousands of blossoms preening against the sky. The town square is shining with Christmas decorations on the lamp posts, a tall bejeweled Christmas tree in front of the county courthouse. A statue of Strom Thurmond reaches out toward it and behind him is the Confederate Memorial obelisk. On the sidewalk, a colorfully painted four foot tall turkey.
I stay on Hwy 23, bear right at the Westwide Volunteer Fire Deptment towards Modoc, into the Sumter Forest and over Stevens Creek. Suddenly Hwy 23 ends and in front of me is the Modoc Thrift Store, a place of all manner of dusty objects. The sleepy proprietor dressed in hunting attire tells me to turn right on Hwy 221 and Hamilton Branch State Park is two miles on the left.
So it is. The gate is locked. There is no way to get in but walk around it. I walk to the Ranger's house and he tells me that the park is closed indefinitely because it is flooded. The Army Corps of Engineers say that the Upcountry lakes of Hartwell, Jocasse and others are brim full and have yet to release more water downstream. I beg him to let me walk the trail, but he says it is ankle deep in water.
Returning on Hwy 221, I can see Lake Thurmond (of course) is overflowing its banks. The park is on a peninsula. I pass Catfish Creek Peninsula and Dorman Creek Ramp and come to the town of Plum Branch. It has a yacht club. I have never passed this way before. It is an adventure, no hike, but an adventure still.
I am astonished to discover Eden Hall Plantation on my left, facing Long Cane Road, a two and a half story soaring brilliantly white house established in 1854. Nearby is Tranquil Church and later Hwy 10 shoots off to the left and it is called Promised Land.
How the early settlers dreamed of their new paradise.
The sky is cold, clear and blue. The year is full of promise. I am listening to Joe Diffie on the car radio:
"Prop me up beside the jukebox when I die
Lord, I want to go to heaven
but I don't want to go tonight.
Fill my boots with sand
Put a stiff drink in my hand
Prop me up beside the jukebox when I die
Just let my headstone be a neon sign
Just let it burn in memory of all my good times......
Prop me up beside the jukebox when I die..."
Saturday, January 2, 2016
January 1, 2016 Rose Hill Plantation, First Day Hike
Driving into Union, SC on 176, I pass the dying mall. The Belk's sign is down and a banner proclaims "Gone Out of Business". Only the Fogata Mexican Restaurant remains.
It is eleven miles after turning right on Sardis Road to the Rose Hill Platation built by William Gist. It has finally stopped raining and tonight it is to turn cool, a normal cool for this time of year. It has been so warm and wet, the the hills and grassland pastures are bright green, the early forsythia is blooming its' yellow bells. Crab apples and even early cherries have pink blossoms. At one sheltered spot, daffodils are in bloom.
Hardwood trees are bare so that the big clumps of miseltoe are visible. Along the road are mobile homes, trailers , cows and goats in pastures eating the green grass. Here and there is a large newly built home down a long tree lined drive. On the left is O'Shield's Deer Processing and then Fast Al's Oil Change. Fast Al also has a sign advertising PIGS FOR SALE with a picture of a pink pig. Soon I am in Sumter National Forest with pristine woods of tall pines, crossing the Tyger River over flowing its banks far into the forest, then over an old narrow red bridge over Fairforest Creek, also overflowing far and wide, past a shooting range and a Wildfowl Area. It is still hunting season and small pickups are parked nose first on dirt roads.
Rose Hill is on the right, a beautiful yellow stucco framed colonial home with brick underneath. I park my car and get out wearing my orange vest so that the hunters will not think I am a deer. The ranger office is in the back of the old kitchen separate from the main house where according to the ranger, squirrels come in to try and eat the fake vegetables on the shelves. E. Moses signs us up, just me and 7 others and we take the trail behind the picnic shelter (there is a 2 mile trail which shoots down to the Tyger River which today is partially flooded). We walk to the constant sounds of gun shots from the shooting range two miles away. Ranger Moses will take visitors on three tours of the home in the afternoon, but for the trail, she tells us about the land, how the early American Natives were mostly nomadic at least 12,000 years ago or more. Later they cultivated very small gardens of berries and herbs. When the Europeans came, they planted cotton in this hilly space. They just plowed downhill and the water ran off the nutrients. Today, lydar, a kind of ground X-ray, is being used to find out more about the history of the land.
She tells us some spicey tales about the Gists and the Bobo family who had a similar mansion at Cross Keys on Highway 49. The brother in lawof William Gist, Samuel Rice, shot and killed one of the Bobo men just as he was sitting on the street in Union. Over a woman, they say. William gist was with him. Gist was in several duels one where he killed a man. Nothing was done about these killings. Of course, William Gist was the governor.
It was the Wild Upstate. Now and then, it still is. Today no one was shot by deer hunters.
It is eleven miles after turning right on Sardis Road to the Rose Hill Platation built by William Gist. It has finally stopped raining and tonight it is to turn cool, a normal cool for this time of year. It has been so warm and wet, the the hills and grassland pastures are bright green, the early forsythia is blooming its' yellow bells. Crab apples and even early cherries have pink blossoms. At one sheltered spot, daffodils are in bloom.
Hardwood trees are bare so that the big clumps of miseltoe are visible. Along the road are mobile homes, trailers , cows and goats in pastures eating the green grass. Here and there is a large newly built home down a long tree lined drive. On the left is O'Shield's Deer Processing and then Fast Al's Oil Change. Fast Al also has a sign advertising PIGS FOR SALE with a picture of a pink pig. Soon I am in Sumter National Forest with pristine woods of tall pines, crossing the Tyger River over flowing its banks far into the forest, then over an old narrow red bridge over Fairforest Creek, also overflowing far and wide, past a shooting range and a Wildfowl Area. It is still hunting season and small pickups are parked nose first on dirt roads.
Rose Hill is on the right, a beautiful yellow stucco framed colonial home with brick underneath. I park my car and get out wearing my orange vest so that the hunters will not think I am a deer. The ranger office is in the back of the old kitchen separate from the main house where according to the ranger, squirrels come in to try and eat the fake vegetables on the shelves. E. Moses signs us up, just me and 7 others and we take the trail behind the picnic shelter (there is a 2 mile trail which shoots down to the Tyger River which today is partially flooded). We walk to the constant sounds of gun shots from the shooting range two miles away. Ranger Moses will take visitors on three tours of the home in the afternoon, but for the trail, she tells us about the land, how the early American Natives were mostly nomadic at least 12,000 years ago or more. Later they cultivated very small gardens of berries and herbs. When the Europeans came, they planted cotton in this hilly space. They just plowed downhill and the water ran off the nutrients. Today, lydar, a kind of ground X-ray, is being used to find out more about the history of the land.
She tells us some spicey tales about the Gists and the Bobo family who had a similar mansion at Cross Keys on Highway 49. The brother in lawof William Gist, Samuel Rice, shot and killed one of the Bobo men just as he was sitting on the street in Union. Over a woman, they say. William gist was with him. Gist was in several duels one where he killed a man. Nothing was done about these killings. Of course, William Gist was the governor.
It was the Wild Upstate. Now and then, it still is. Today no one was shot by deer hunters.
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