On the way to Tybee Island, there is a great multipurpose trail close to Fort Pulaski. The McQueen Island Rails to Trails park area gives a good six miles worth of exercise options. We took advantage of it early one Saturday and saw more wildlife than people. Once again, I saw a great raccoon that eluded my photography skills. He was waddling (much like me after eating redneck nachos at Wiley’s), and by all accounts appeared to be living quite lavishly out on the island. This is what the trail looks like to the west of Pulaski.
I hear that the trail used to go on past what is now a witch’s curse sign:
![IMG_1549[1]](https://jamiedaviswrites.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/img_15491.jpg)
I was going to cross it, but Bob said he didn’t think we should test the witches in the heart of voodoo country. I agreed.
Bicycle parking:
![IMG_1552[1]](https://jamiedaviswrites.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/img_15521.jpg)
When you get to the end, there is nothing to do. You just rest a minute and breathe and take in the scenery. It’s funny, because, before I lived here I used to think that the salt marshes smelled funny (or even sort of bad). Now I love that smell.
You just stand out here and look at nature and think maybe this is the type of place where maybe the worst thing that could happen is somebody in the Deen family burns dinner or when Comcast lets their cable go out in a storm. This is the type of place where you stand in front of a witch’s curse sign and watch the ships roll out of port.
![IMG_1559[1]](https://jamiedaviswrites.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/img_15591.jpg)
And you just stand there until they pass you.
![IMG_1560[1]](https://jamiedaviswrites.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/img_15601.jpg)
They didn’t come out in the picture, but there were several dolphins out there. They were close enough that we could hear them exhaling. I did capture a magnificent turtle and a crab.
![IMG_1573[1]](https://jamiedaviswrites.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/img_15731.jpg)
![IMG_1579[1]](https://jamiedaviswrites.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/img_15791.jpg)
Tybee Island and Wilmington Island. Places for people who don’t really want to have real problems. And I mean that in a good way.
On our last Do What You Want Saturday, we found ourselves in the car headed for Jekyll Island. We were purely interested in taking advantage of the twenty miles or so of bike paths. This is my favorite place to ride so far!
You will see everything – marshland, beaches, shaded forests, the golf course, and even Millionaire’s Row, the Historic Village, and the Jekyll Island Club Hotel.
The Jekyll Island Club Hotel is quite the place. From their website: “Our historic Georgia Club was described in the February 1904 issue of Munsey’s Magazine as “the richest, the most exclusive, the most inaccessible club in the world.” Its impressive members included such luminaries as J.P. Morgan, William Rockefeller, Vincent Astor, Joseph Pulitzer, William K. Vanderbilt, and other recognizable names on the roster were Macy, Goodyear, and Gould.” The reason this stuck out to me is because I was reading F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Last Tycoon last weekend and on page 16 he describes one of his main characters as “He knew them all – Gould, Vanderbilt, Carnegie, Astor – and he said there wasn’t one he’d care to meet again in the hereafter.” That line just killed me.
Moving on…
I had not seen the island in twenty-five years, when my grandparents took me and my cousin to stay in a condo at Villas by the Sea. I am pleased to report that it was just as I remembered it (in a good way). Driftwood Beach is not as good as Cabretta on Sapelo. But, the Villas did have a nice private boardwalk to rest awhile, and I got to see a wrinkly, swirly, old (assumingly) tree. Not pictured was a set of stairs leading directly into the sea. It was high tide, and of course the stairs normally just lead onto the beach, but when I saw them it was a stairway leading down into the sea. We stood as far down as we could until a wave pummeled us. One day I will write a great American novel and the characters will be: God as a child who is scared of the rain, people who decide to disappear from this terrible world by walking down stairs into the sea (they aren’t suicides – der, this is a gateway), and the princess who has been reincarnated and trapped in a middle class working life as penance for her previous sins. But I digress.
On the way back from the beach through the property at the Villas, walking in the great shade cast over me by giant and looming oak trees covered in Spanish moss, there was a slight change in the wind. The whisper wasn’t audible, it was more of a heart sound. It came to me in the form of my eight-year gone grandfather’s voice. The sound told me I was going to be okay, and it caused instant joyful and peaceful tears.
We passed the airport and stopped to watch a family load themselves into a 1966 Cessna 310 that was painted eggshell blue and looked like it should be set on a permanent loop of “Wouldn’t it be Nice,” and if you were flying it, you wouldn’t even care if it was. I tried to get an ice cream in one of the fancy shops close to the hotel. The lady lured me in because she was so audacious she put a sign outside her shop that read “Ice cream.” After I walked all the way in there, I found that the woman was nothing but a damned liar. She was selling frozen novelty items, NOT ice cream, and if you don’t know the difference there’s nothing I can do to help you. Four miles back up the road to the Dairy Queen where at least they actually sell ice cream, and I was happy.
Eating ice cream under the sun. Listening to the heart sound.
Be sure to keep your travels logged and indexed inside your very own “Play” journal, by Stealth Journals. “Play” is an indexed book journal by Stealth Journals that should be used to record all of your good times!
Omaha was a cool little city. The day began with a walk across the Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge in Heartland of America Park into Iowa.
At the bottom of the hill, we stumbled upon a bike rental kiosk. I wish they had these everywhere! Why is this the first time I have ever seen this?!
Challenge accepted, and we saw a good four miles of Iowa on our rented bikes. After a coffee fuel up, we strolled through the Bemis Center for Contemporary Arts, which was featuring Mary Mattingly’s Flock House Project: Omaha, as shown below:
According to her brochure, she is using the center as an active research lab for the “future of urban space.” It very well could be that I just don’t get it, but what this looked like to me was the glorification of tent living and homeless/transient communes. I’m not a fan of that. I don’t believe that we as a society should accept the idea that an alternative healthy living arrangement is to give up our normal-sized homes and downgrade to 300 square foot apartments or tents. Recently, there has been some sort of weird trend that it is somehow cool to live in a shed in a random parking lot. I am here to tell you that that is NOT cool.
Another thing I didn’t get was Miki Baird’s The Chronicles:
It’s a pile of shredded paper that she compiled from the junk mail sent to her father. This is supposed to be some kind of statement about waste. Maybe I am desensitized to the vast amounts of paper waste since I have worked in litigation for so long. Now, to be fair, I did look up her website, and I do like what she is doing with the zippers: http://www.mikibaird.com/zip/zip01.html
After taking in all this controversial art I was in need of something that I could stare at without having to wonder what it meant about the state of the world.
Luckily, the Joslyn Art Museum had a Chihuly installation, so I was able to vegetate for a few minutes. I smiled and soothed myself, muttering “You’re pretty,” to the installation:
The Gene Leahy Pedestrian Mall is a beautiful urban space. Who doesn’t love a pair of giant slides smack dab in the middle of the park? The best thing about the slides is that I happened upon them by surprise. I walked up a short set of stairs, thinking I was entering a small bridge or something to take me down the hill. When lo and behold, there was an impromptu chance at some free fun. By this time, I’m thinking to myself that Omaha is some sort of heaven as far as parks go, with little golden nuggets popping up all over the place. Bicycles and slides for all!
I loved the Old Market area downtown. The city has done a fantastic job with preserving the old railroad warehouses, and this was a bustling center of galleries, shops, and restaurants. Omaha, Nebraska. Who knew you were so awesome?
Our trip is indexed within our “Play” journal from Stealth Journals. The relevant page is pictured below:
http://www.visitomaha.com/things-to-do/attractions/#.U1qkemdOXIU
I have a special place in my heart for The 1886 Crescent Hotel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. I have started researching a chapter to be included in America’s Most Haunted Hotels. When Norman Baker (who was NOT a doctor) turned the old hotel into a cancer hospital, he allegedly used the “Where Sick Folks Get Well” pamphlet to lure unsuspecting patients to the hospital so he could “reap one million dollars out of the suckers in the state.” The pamphlet is said to be the key piece of evidence of mail fraud that led to his 1941 – 1944 sentence in Leavenworth.
It is a fascinating piece of marketing literature, and I got hold of a copy. It is attached for your reading pleasure.
Death Valley National Park
Faced with all that Las Vegas had to offer (insert sarcasm), Bob and I decided we preferred the desert. The morning was spent in the car heading out of Vegas to Death Valley National Park. This is the only park I’ve ever visited where an entire page of the Visitor’s Paper is devoted to a section entitled “Survive!” We were perhaps not exactly equipped for an entire day in Death Valley. We had a nice drive and Bob got some great photos of the park. We walked across Badwater Salt Flat, the lowest place in the western hemisphere, and called it a day.
I knew the famous Amargosa Opera House and Hotel was in nearby Death Valley Junction, and that they had a café that I was looking forward to patronizing.
Amargosa Opera House and Hotel
The café was about what you would expect it to be out in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to go take a peek back in the kitchen to see if I could spot Odd Thomas (who is both my favorite short order cook and Deen Koontz character). Our waitress was an interesting character herself. For one thing, she had her right arm all slinged up because of carpal tunnel that had manifested itself after much griddle cooking. In addition to being a mother of three small children and working at the café, she is also the town’s Fire Chief.
We tried to stay overnight, but the young lady working the front desk assured us that there were no vacancies. An older gentleman passed us on the dirt driveway and inquired about our current state of affairs. We assured him we were doing just fine and posed the question back at him. He said he was “Tolerable. Now, tolerable covers a multitude of sins.” We thought this was just about the best response to a “How are you?” that we had ever heard. Before I could ask him just what sins, exactly, he was guilty of, he was gone.
There has been quite a bit of media attention addressing “Spooky Hollow” over in the old section of the hotel that hasn’t been refurbished. I understand that Pacific Borax built the town for its miners in the early 1920’s, and the hotel housed them. The building also contained a hospital and morgue. Since we weren’t officially investigating or spending the night, I don’t have any paranormal tales of my own to share.
The stop was more interesting to me because of Marta Becket’s story. In 1967, a flat tire brought her here. While the tire was being repaired, she wondered around the complex and peered into the old abandoned theatre. Marta was a dancer from New York City and she was immediately moved by the building and knew she would spend her life here. I am fascinated by her story of being pulled to a place that was so drastically different from the place she knew before as home.
It was her dream. This place, out in the middle of nowhere. She chose her life and by all accounts loved it. Maybe it doesn’t look like a picture of success for you, and that’s okay. It doesn’t have to. Each individual striving to live their life in their own way is what success is. That’s it. To focus on anything else is to be distracted from the purpose and will keep you from staying on the right path.
That’s my thought from the desert. Oh, and Bob said to mention how quiet it was. He was sitting outside the opera house on one of those benches while I strolled around snapping pictures. He said he could hear the gravel crunch under my feet from a hundred yards away. Sweet sounds of isolation.
As always, we log and index our adventures inside our “Play” Journal, by Stealth Journals. “Play” is an indexed book journal that should be used to record all of your good times.
Further Reading:
http://www.nps.gov/deva/index.htm
http://www.amargosa-opera-house.com/
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/ca-deathvalleyjunction.html
http://www.travelchannel.com/video/recap-amargosa-hotel
http://www.seattlepi.com/news/article/Ghost-towns-of-the-Southwest-5793603.php#photo-6937988
http://www.sacbee.com/2014/10/05/6755647/where-decay-is-fun-ghost-towns.html
A quick budget weekend getaway close to our hometown of Savannah, Georgia was in order. We settled on Sapelo Island, one of Georgia’s barrier islands. We knew it would be a peaceful retreat because the island has a population of just seventy.
I had just left my day job when my boyfriend Bob suggested that maybe we should head out of town. My mental state was generally stable, although some moments of sheer panic and a sense of being lost floating around aimlessly in the world were starting to creep in whenever I sat still for too long.
We arrived at the Meridian Dock on a Friday morning around 7:15 a.m. We were early enough to watch the island schoolchildren disembark from the ferry. I watched a handful of them bounce off the boat and onto the awaiting school bus, laughing at God only knows what but having the best time. Fresh and shiny and hopeful for the new day. It was a priceless peek into what innocent human lives look like. I began to remember who I was. For the longest time, I had defined myself by my job and the income I generated. A friend once asked me who I would be without my job and I couldn’t answer.
The waiting area to board the ferry is a small building with concrete floors and some benches. We passed the time with one other passenger – a farmer from north Georgia whose ties to the island stemmed from his mother being born there. He shared a story about his grandfather quitting his job as Island Manager after a few short weeks of working for Mr. R.J. Reynolds, the great tobacco heir, who had recently purchased the island in 1934 from Mr. Howard Coffin. The grandfather was on board a barge that he claimed R.J. had paid some goons to sink for the insurance company. Unbeknownst to him of course, and he stayed on board that ship for two days with the other two crew members and worked to keep that barge afloat. His reward? R.J. cussed him out for saving the barge, so he quit on the spot. Then my new friend cracked wise with a lawyer joke and further endeared himself to me.
We paid our $5.00 round trip ferry fee and were on our way. We rented realtor Lucy Lea’s upstairs apartment and she had left The Beast for us at the dock. The old hunter green Jeep Cherokee had the key in its ignition and though somewhat muddy and a little rusted, seemed perfectly willing to haul us around. She would later prove her worth when I braced myself in a Spiderman stance inside the car as Bob navigated a very muddy and pothole filled road to Cabretta Beach. We did not tip and we did not get stuck. The Beast never faltered.
Lucy’s apartment had a very handy way of getting luggage upstairs:
I wish I had a pulley system at my apartment.
Cabretta Beach was the wild and out of control cousin. Cabretta was desolate and intriguing, with interesting features, but not exactly what you would call pretty.
It certainly was the most isolated beach I have ever visited. We did not see a soul and we went on both days we were on the island. We were okay with being alone in the world.
The last time, on our way back, I noticed what appeared to be drawings in the sand of trees. I don’t know what could have made them, but there was a section of beach that was covered with the drawings.
The Hog Hammock community on Sapelo is comprised of many descendants of slaves that stayed on the island after the Civil War to preserve their Gullah-Geechee culture. Today, there are a few old home places still standing, complete with peeling Haint Blue paint. The color was believed to have spiritual properties in many African cultures, such as the ability to ward off evil spirits.
At the end of the first day we caught a sunset by the lighthouse. We had not been so relaxed since last fall when we escaped to the north Georgia mountains for a weekend.
The next day at Nanny Goat Beach, we had to contend with the crowds. We saw a whopping seven more people. I was coming back to life. Full of hope and not worried about much. Freedom was my new favorite drug and I was starting to learn what it felt like to be a person and not a job. I listed off all of the things I was without a job: girlfriend, daughter, friend, sister, aunt, cousin, published author, traveler, and healthy human being. I also decided that sometimes when you are in transition, it is okay to float.
As we were leaving, I asked Lucy Lea about her Sapelo story. She came to the island by chance. She had a clothing store in Peachtree City, Georgia and was actually in search of Cumberland Island. Greyfield was booked so she found herself in a grocery store buying a meal for the night when she found a book sitting on top of the green beans. The book was about Georgia’s islands. She visited Sapelo and knew she wanted to live there immediately. Some things are just meant to be I guess.
People have asked her what she does with all her time on the island. “I don’t know,” she said. “I do yoga. I go walking. All I know is I never have enough time.” I know what she means.
The last night of our stay, Lucy’s daughter-in-law rode the ferry at 2:30 a.m. to the mainland and a new baby girl bounced in to our world. I prayed that she would live a good life with enough adversity mixed in to make her strong enough to fight when she has to.
I watched some dolphins playing while I waited on the ferry. And when our time came to go, we floated right on home.
As always, our adventures are logged and indexed inside our “Play” Journal by Stealth Journals. A sample entry page is pictured below:
In America, the South holds a certain mystique. Whenever I meet someone who has never traveled in my section of the world, they invariably conjure up images in their minds of old plantation homes with Spanish-moss covered oaks lining the drive, gentlemen and ladies who entertain on front porches, the eccentric aunt who lives upstairs, and a slower way of life.
While these stereotypes may be true in many instances, there is another one that carries even more weight when discussing characteristics of the South. Savannah, Georgia has been named One of America’s Most Haunted Cities by U.S. Today. As the city grew, it built upon its dead. Houses and commercial buildings were constructed right over burial grounds, and when people renovate it is routine to find human remains in the ground. The local courts ruled in the 1950’s that having a ghost in your house is a structural defect, and sellers must list paranormal activity in their Disclosure Statements. The below list discuss some of the reasons why Savannah is known for being so haunted.
Colonial Park Cemetery:
Colonial Park dates back to 1750. In 1820, Yellow Fever struck Savannah, and it is estimated that more than 700 victims are buried in this cemetery. Even more disturbing, during the Civil War, Yankee soldiers set up camp within the gates of the cemetery, and even inside the mausoleums. Many graves and headstones were desecrated, and today you can see where random headstones have been placed against the back wall because it is simply impossible to establish where the original gravesites were (Link 1). One of the most popular local legends is that of Rene Asche Rondolier. Rene was born in 1777, and was over seven feet tall. He was known for killing animals around the neighborhood. When this came to light, his parents confined him on the property. However, soon, two mutilated bodies of young girls were found near the family’s property (now the cemetery), and Rene was found hiding in the tunnels below ground. Even after he was killed by the townspeople, two more children and one woman were later found dead. Rene’s ghost was blamed for these deaths (Link 2).
Juliette Gordon Low Birthplace:
Savannah is the birthplace of Juliette Gordon Low, the founder of the Girl Scouts (link 3). The house is open for tours, and staff members have reported hearing piano sounds and have even seen apparitions. As I wrote in one of my personal blog posts, “Margaret Wayt DeBolt wrote Savannah Spectres and Other Strange Tales in 1984, and the tour began because of her and her fantastic book. As an aside, my favorite story in the book (and about haunted Savannah so far) is the one about Nellie and William Washington Gordon, II, who seemed to have a love that even death could not interfere with. As Nellie lay dying, her children who were in attendance were reported to say “when she died, her face took on the radiance of a bride, going to meet her bridegroom.” The family butler was said to report, through a face streaming tears, that he saw the General appear, and that he came to fetch her himself.” (Link 4)
Kehoe House:
William Kehoe’s 1892 Renaissance Revival home looms five stories over Columbia Square in downtown Savannah. Many family members died in the home, and as early as 1937 it was being operated as a mortuary. The home was owned by Goette Funeral Home during the 1950’s and 1970’s. Football great Joe Namath was the last private individual to own the home. There are many stories on the internet and even in some books that tell the tale of two Kehoe girl twins who perished in the home while playing in a chimney (Link 5). There is a commemorative decoration in the chimneys on the main floor that is said to corroborate this story. During my personal overnight stay in the house, I asked a bellman about the stories. His reply? “It’s not haunted. There are two children, and they live here. This is their house.” I interviewed Tara Kehoe Ryan on October 26, 2013, and she confirmed that two of the Kehoe girls passed away in the home at very young ages, but they succumbed to Roseola, and passed within days of each other, not while playing in the chimneys. For more history about the Kehoe family and their historic home, please see Carol Ann Causey’s research paper (Link 6).
Oatland Island:
Today, Oatland Island is a wildlife preserve and favorite field trip destination for local schools. While visitors walk the wooded trails, they will come across random abandoned buildings and old towers. In 1927, the main building was a hospital for The Brotherhood of Railroad Conductors. The 1940’s brought a syphilis outbreak, and locals (including children) were brought here. Somewhere along the way, rumors persisted of the government running secret tests on the patients. (Link 7) For more information about the history and hauntings of Oatland Island, please see Shannon Scott’s short film (Link 8).
Old Candler Hospital:
Originally built in 1808 as a poor house and seaman’s hospital, this building claims to have its share of haunts inside. But perhaps the biggest attraction it holds is actually underground. The Oglethorpe Tour Company was the only company in town that held a license to take tours down into the morgue tunnels below the old hospital (tours currently suspended while construction is taking place on the new Savannah Law School) (Link 9). The tunnels are the subject of much speculation by locals. Tour guides tell tales of autopsies being performed underground, as well as claiming that the tunnel was used to carry victims of the Yellow Fever out of the hospital without drawing the attention of the public to the epidemic (Link 10).
The Pirate’s House:
The “Herb House” which adjoins the restaurant is said to be the oldest house in Georgia. The old wooden restaurant is dark and maintains the perfect old seafaring atmosphere. It is not hard to picture a room full of sailors drinking rum after arriving in Savannah’s harbor in the late 1700’s. Captain Flint, the famous pirate in Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island was reported to have died upstairs (Link 11). The tunnels (one of which is prominently displayed – yet roped off) reportedly lead underground to the Savannah River, where many men were shanghaied after a long night of drinking. (Link 12)
Marshall House:
When you check into the luxurious Marshall House you may not have ghosts in mind. But visitors and staff insist that Union soldiers remain from the Civil War days when the property served as a hospital. (Link 13) The Marshall House even topped Fox News’s list of haunted getaways. (Link 14) While on a recent tour, my guide informed us that during renovations, the Marshall House was one of the famous locations that unearthed some of those pesky Civil War human remains that people have been finding all over the historic district.
Old Pink House:
This is the home of Savannah’s best ghost host. James Habersham, Jr. built the home in the late 1700’s and reportedly is still hanging about. Women are advised to avoid the restroom in the tavern downstairs. This is because of so many people experiencing getting locked in! Ghostly children are blamed for these tricks (Link 15). James has been seen and experienced by staff and visitors alike. He will light candles, straighten table linens, and has even shared a toast with a guest (Link 16). A tip for travelers trying to sneak out on the bill by feigning terror in the restroom: the bartenders are on to you. You will surely be caught.
Moon River Brewery:
Most of the ghost stories around Savannah are harmless in nature. Over at Moon River, the experiences tend to run a little darker. The Manager reports being pushed and shoved, has had bottles thrown at him, and has seen silverware thrown from the tables. He has also seen women walking up and down the stairwells (Link 17). One of the most interesting videos I have ever seen is of “Toby,” the entity purportedly captured on video lurking around a pool table in the cellar. A full body female apparition has also been witnessed walking up to the bar by multiple people simultaneously. The Brewery is in the same building as the former 1821 City Hotel. (Link 18)
1790 Inn & Restaurant:
The 1790 prominently advertises the spirit of Anna. They even (in good fun) have a replica of her spirit displayed in an upstairs guest room 204 by the window so passersby can see her. (Link 19) The truth of Anna has turned into nothing but rumor now, but the sad tale is one of heartbreak when the young lady was betrayed by the love of her life, who was a visiting sailor. She either jumped off the roof or was pushed to her death (Link 20). Whatever the origins of the story, guests keep leaving comment cards that reflect a presence is sticking around 1790. The most common guest comments? Well, they are from couples who report that the female has experienced something. Perhaps Anna is still bitter after all this time and is working diligently to prevent other people from being happy in their relationships.
Links:
Link 1: http://www.visit-historic-savannah.com/colonial-park-cemetery.html
Link 2: http://www.hauntedlowcountry.com/index.php?/hauntlow/georgia/the_story_of_rene_asche_rondolier/
Link 3: http://www.juliettegordonlowbirthplace.org/
Link 4: https://jamiedaviswrites.com/2013/09/20/ghost-talk-ghost-walk-savannah-walking-tour/
Link 5: http://www.kehoehouse.com/haunted-savannah.htm
Link 6: http://www.library.armstrong.edu/kehoe.pdf
Link 7: http://www.haunted-places-to-go.com/haunted-places-in-georgia.html
Link 8: http://shannonscotttours.webs.com/apps/videos/videos/show/16961191
Link 9: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SoMeeP53UUM&list=FLJNDOoyWBbQzJ0RXmH0rJFg&index=8
Link 10: http://www.savannahbest.com/savhist/tunnel.htm
Link 11: http://www.thepirateshouse.com/history.html
Link 12: http://ghosttoursinsavannah.com/haunted-savannah/the-pirates-house/
Link 13: http://www.marshallhouse.com/history.htm
Link 14: http://www.foxnews.com/travel/2011/10/11/haunted-hotels-provide-perfect-october-getaway/
Link 16: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/674150.James_Caskey/blog/tag/haunted-pub-crawl-savannah
Link 17: http://www.moonriverbrewing.com/about-us/the-ghosts
Link 18: http://savannahnow.com/accent/2008-10-09/moon-river-watch-out-ghosts-throwing-bottles#.Uw5w2GeYbIU
Link 19: http://17hundred90.com/category/in-the-news/
Link 20: http://savannahnow.com/accent/2008-10-30/17-hundred-90-comment-cards-dont-lie#.Uw5y0meYbIU
Living so close to what is often referred to as Savannah’s twin city, we thought it was downright shameful that we had never spent a weekend in the other fine southern city. So we set out to do just that. On our way, we had to make a pit stop somewhere around SC-17, and I’m going to need you to brace yourself for this one. I preface this by saying I am a full-fledged southerner. For better or worse, more Cracker Queen than Belle. But even I have never seen the likes of this:
This is just priceless and I honestly think I should win some sort of award for capturing this image. This my friends, belongs on a cover of some magazine somewhere. One time, the great Dixie Carter (by way of playing Julia Sugarbaker on Designing Women) had to school a New York Times writer about how southerners don’t eat dirt for vitamins. But then you go in a gas station somewhere and see a pickled parts buffet and then kind of think “Well, damn. No wonder they think we don’t have indoor plumbing down here.”
Oh, I’m just getting warmed up here.
I’m not going to tell you that I saw some jackass get out of this monstrosity and purchase an assortment of pickled items. But I will tell you that after I saw all of the above three things happen in a VERY CLOSE time frame, I coined a new state motto. “South Carolina: Where People are Different.” Feel free to quote me extensively on that. Get the “i” in my name right, okay? It’s J-A-M-I-E Davis.
Alright, I realize we had less than a glamorous start on our Charleston adventure, but I promise you I wasn’t jaded.
Here’s the thing about Charleston. There’s great shopping, restaurants, park walking, and historic architecture. Kind of like Savannah, where we already live and enjoy the amenities daily? We had a nice walk around the Battery Park and waterfront areas.
We even went and checked out Folly Beach, which is a funky little beach town, but you know what I ultimately said? I told Bob that I was so sick of seeing so many people gathered around all these brown oceans we have here. He informed me that the Atlantic is brown because of river sediment, and some more science stuff that I guess makes sense but I don’t care because I just want the ocean to be blue. South Beach, Miami. These people know what an ocean should look like. The entire Caribbean Sea. Also very pleasing. I said, “If we can figure out how to turn the Savannah River green on St. Patrick’s Day, we can figure out how to make the Atlantic blue off Tybee.” Bob said we cannot just make the ocean blue because it will kill all the fish and all this other crap (which I don’t care about, because I don’t even like fish). I don’t want to turn the entire Atlantic Ocean blue, anyway. Just the parts where I visit. My point is, I don’t think anyone is even trying to make it prettier and that makes me just so sad. Why can’t I have a blue ocean where I live and places I occasionally visit? Life sucks.
But I digress. I don’t want to slam Charleston, and that’s not what I’m trying to do. We are always glad to go see somewhere new. I like bacon and cheddar cheese on my grits just as much as the next person. Usually, we like to take in the local art museum when we can. We did that over at the Gibbes and here is the best thing I have to say about that:
That light was pretty, though. They closed 1/3 of the museum but still extracted full price admission from us and that was disappointing. Of course we didn’t complain about it, what kind of people do you think we are? We would have been more than happy to pay obviously, I just don’t appreciate the poor customer service. You don’t have to try to pull one over on me at the art museum, okay? We can pay your admission. In case you haven’t heard, I have much bigger problems on my hands to contend with, namely changing the color of the Atlantic Ocean (but only where I live and occasionally visit).
What else? Here’s the difference between Charleston people and Savannah people. Georgia was a penal colony. Charleston was a place where the wealthy English first went to Barbados, and then came here. Where people leave signs like this outside their homes in the Battery Park area.
I’m just not the kind of person who gets all hot and bothered when a dog behaves like a dog. I guess in Charleston, the old blue bloods make even the dogs walk the line.
As always, we log our adventures inside our “Play” Journal, by Stealth Journals. “Play,” is an indexed book journal by Stealth Journals that should be used to record all of your good times.
Jamie Davis Writes 