Plantations

It's not that I've run out of historic houses.  I don't think there's any way you can do that in this part of the world.  But I have started to branch out and get to some of the plantations.  First up was Boone, still a working plantation in that it has crops which are grown and sold.  The crops include pecans, although Hurricane Hugo did quite a number on their orchard.

This particular plantation emphasizes the Gullah Geechee culture.  I found out that Gullah is actually a corruption of Angola and Geechee is a variation on another word for a different area in West Africa. In the area of this plantation, the main crop was rice back then and these were the areas from which the best rice farmers came.   So this part of the world, along the Atlantic Coast from Georgia through the Carolinas became the Gullah-Geechee Corridor.  It's a language and a heritage.

I learned more about the Underground Railroad and its signs and signals.  It makes me proud that the farm in Old Brookville still has the black band around its chimneys to identify it as a safe house.  I loved listening to some of the old songs, too.

I also learned that Michelle Obama's great-great-grandfather (there may have been another great in there -- not sure) was a slave in this general area.  I realize that there are undoubtedly a great number of blacks in America who have similar family connections, but to hear a name that I recognize, especially the name of the First Lady.  That stopped me for a bit.  It's one of those times when you realize that we're talking history here, not fiction.  This was truly real.

On Being a Wimp

I know I haven't been posting much over the past few days and that's partly because I've been into this "being a wimp".  Over the past several days, Charleston has been having what it considers bad weather.  I keep hearing forecasts about serious cold and then possible flooding.  Not to mention that we are still going on about the ice storm and it's aftermath.

I don't mean to be unsympathetic, but realizing what it's like in Chicago and the Hudson Valley and Michigan, I have a somewhat different understanding of those terms.  All I can say about this spell of bad weather in Charleston is that I don't like chilly rain either, but on the other hand, the row of lilies-of-the-valley outside my window are still doing fine, completely undeterred by the weather whatever it may be called.

The result of all this, however, is that when I hear an awful sounding forecast, I tend to decide to stay in and avoid whatever they're predicting.  This means that over the past several days, I have done laundry, organized tax records, and made some calls to figure out some issues with things like insurance and such.  I have also done a lot of reading and knitting.  I'm working on a cowl scarf for myself and trying to finish it so that I can see if I remember how to do needlepoint before I leave.  So no complaints here.  It was kind of nice and relaxing.  And I don't feel that I'm missing out on anything because I still have a few weeks to check out plantations and theaters.  So that's why there hasn't been a whole lot of exciting things to tell you about.  But hang in there.  It should be warm and at least partly sunny this weekend so I'll get back on the job.

Theatre

I had heard about the Spoleto Festival, of course.  And I knew this was not the right time for it.  So I was not expecting much theater in Charleston at this time of year, if any.  But I did notice a number of theaters in my wanderings and started to wonder.  One or two, especially with colleges in the city, didn't surprise me, but, with the help of the internet I found myself browsing through quite a number.

Then one day I noticed a sign for a production of The Great Divorce at what turned out to be a theater of the College of Charleston.  Not a student production.  A professional equity production.  A quick look confirmed that this was indeed an adaptation of the C. S. Lewis book.  Well, now I was really intrigued.  Not only do I love that book, but I was having trouble imagining how you could possibly get it on the stage.  So … I bought a ticket.

I was a little concerned.  When I went on line to buy the ticket, I was offered amazingly good tickets.  Basically very close and dead center.  I began to wonder if I would be the only one or almost the only one there.  No so.  I wouldn't say it was sold out but it was a good house.

The production was darn good.  Good acting.  Imaginative staging.  It's hard to watch a play based on a book that you love and have read multiple times.  You've got it in your head.  You and the author have created your own work, your own world.  So how can anyone do it correctly?  By catching you up in their imagination and their work till you get that wonderful moment called suspension of disbelief.  Apart from a few sound issues, it was very good.

Now we need a brief flashback.  A couple of years ago when I was trying to figure out what I would do if/when I sold the farm, Kit asked me what I really wanted in the place I live.  I really thought about it.  I thought about weather.  I thought about bookstores and knitting shops.  I thought about being able to walk to things.  Then I went to a great production of Waiting for Godot.  Truly great actors but I absolutely hate this play.  It is the epitome of a plot where nothing happens.  And I keep wanting to pick the characters up and shake them.  I know, I know, that's the point.  But then there was a conversation with the actors.  I can't really figure out how to describe that conversation.  It was a conversation with the actors but, more importantly, among the actors.  I will probably never like that play but when we left the theater, I said to my friends, "I know where I want to live.  I want to live where conversations like this go on."

So, when Great Divorce was over and had been suitably applauded, I was surprised to hear that there would be a conversation about the play for anyone who cared to stay.  Hmmmm.  Maybe not exactly a sign from Heaven, but enough to get me checking on those other theaters.  This visit may now turn into more of a theatre sampler than an old house tour.

Public Transit

One of my latest adventures was local public transit.  Charleston has a system of cute little green trolleys (along with more utilitarian buses, of course) called DASH.  There are about four different loops and, best of all, it's free.  What could be better?

It's been a long time since I took a bus, although I used to do it fairly often in NYC, and I had forgotten the whole social dynamic of travel by bus.  First of all, from my reading I had anticipated something created for the tourist trade.  That may have been the idea but the locals have certainly taken it up.  Tourists were definitely in the minority but tourist or local, there's still nothing quite like going by bus.  There's the wait for it to arrive.  Not too bad the first time I got on but wait till later.  Then there's the group that somehow always builds up near the front, followed by the driver asking everyone to move back.  Then there's the person on a cellphone who apparently wants everyone to be aware of her social life.  And, of course, there's the political/social discussion going on among three guys on the back seat at voice levels that would reach the last seats in any theater.  Some things never change.  But I do think Occupy Wall Street should be aware that it has at least three voluble supporters in Charleston.

One transfer and I got to Broad Street and set off for the historic house I had selected for today's tour.  It was lovely by the way.  After the house and stops at one or two shops in the area, I found the proper trolley stop and waited for the return trip.  I do not know if this is a pattern or just my experience that day, but waits were much longer and trolleys more crowded.  Maybe it was just that all those tourists I hadn't seen in the morning were now heading home to decide which marvelous restaurant to try.  In any event, the trolley was so crowded that it was difficult to keep an eye out for street signs and I missed my stop and had to trudge (trudge is what you do at the end of a day of sightseeing) back to the transfer point I needed.  Waiting for the trolley I needed then took longer than anything yet had.  Every other line came by the stop multiple times and if I had wanted to go to the aquarium, I could have done it several times. The young lady sitting next to me at the stop, a student at a local college, and I had about decided that they had cancelled our line for the day when one finally appeared.  It gave me a look at parts of the city I hadn't seen yet and it did get me home.

Thinking back on my transportation efforts, I calculate that I spent at least half my time that day waiting for trolleys and getting where I wanted to go.  I have a new appreciation for those who have to negotiate cities that don't have subway systems.  I've also decided that I will do my bit with recycling but it makes more sense for me to drive to the area I want to explore and park in a parking structure.  Thank heaven there are lots of those in downtown Charleston.

Not in Kansas Anymore

I was going to post about old houses and other historic stuff, but I told this story to a friend yesterday on the phone and she said I should post it.  So here goes.

The place I'm renting has ample parking behind the house, but parking here does have one problem.  I feel as though just about every bird in Charleston has left its mark on my car.  I managed to clean most of the mess off the windshield.  Although there were still remains, I wouldn't get arrested for impaired vision.  But the top, the hood, the trunk, everything on my little red car was a spotted mess.  BTW, this is not just me.  Another renter solved the problem by spreading what appeared to be a sheet over the windshield and hood of his car and anchoring it in place.

Finally, I had to do something.  This was clearly not going to wash off in the next rain.  (Not that there's been much rain since the pseudo snowstorm.  Charleston is all about sunshine.)  So I checked good old Google for a car wash.  It never occurred to me that car washes would have reviews but once again I underestimated Google.  One of the closest ones included a review from a woman who had lost a ring with both sentimental and monetary value.  She thought she had lost it in the car but had searched thoroughly and had not been able to find it.  She took the car to this car wash and when she got into the clean car, there was the ring on the center console waiting for her.  Thrilled, she found the attendant who had cleaned the interior to thank him and tell him how much it meant to her.  The response was along the lines of Well, I found it and figured you had lost it and would like to have it back.

Clearly this was the place for me.  Especially with my history of losing and finding and losing and finding a ring.

So I was only slightly surprised to see the sign for this place as I headed out for my next exploration and realized that I would be passing it on my way home.  Looked like I needed to go there.  It seemed a nice enough place, with the usual array of services (I even got to pick the scent of the air freshener to be used.)  Then I paid and waited for my car.  After a bit, it appeared but it wasn't placed with the other clean cars for detailing or whatever you call the hand drying and interior clean up.  Instead it went on through the area and headed away to another area.  A bit startled, I followed and found someone to ask what was going on.  He explained that they hadn't been able to get all the gunk off my car so they were sending it through the wash again.

I walked away slowly thinking about this.  I wasn't surprised that the wash hadn't taken care of everything.  If I expected anything out of the ordinary, it would have been a quick comment that they had not been able to get everything off.  I hadn't expected that they would do the job twice at no extra charge.

Not only am I not in Kansas, I'm sure not in Long Island anymore.  Let's hear it for Southern courtesy and thoroughness.

Tours

When you're in a city for the first time, I think it always helps to take a tour.  It helps you get oriented and make a mental list of things you want to come back and see.  And where else can you hear all the stories that apparently only tour guides know and tell.

Example -- did you know that the only deaths in connection with the bombardment and surrender of Fort Sumter occurred after the surrender.  It seems that the officer who commanded the Fort and the General to whom he surrendered knew each other quite well and carried out the whole thing like the gentlemen they were.  The problem was that when a cannon salute was fired, one of the cannon exploded and two gunners at that station were killed.  The only casualties of the battle.

And speaking of exploding cannons, brings us to the Civil War.  The battery in Charleston was indeed a battery in those days.  A battery of cannons.  When Sherman was on his way, the Southern powers that be decided that they could not let these cannon fall into Sherman's hands, so they decided to blow them up.  Needless to say (see above), all did not go as planned.  Apparently they saved the biggest for last and when they set off the destruction of the last and largest cannon, it not only destroyed the cannon.  It also sent pieces flying in all directions and a number of them into nearby houses.  The largest piece -- several hundred pounds -- landed about four houses over in the attic of the house.  How it failed to crash through, I don't understand.  But it did.  It stayed in the attic and is still there to this day.  It seems that no one could figure out a way to get the thing out without pretty much demolishing the house in the process.  Talk about the perfect souvenir.

Markets

It's not only Market Street.  In Charleston shopping and markets are a universal.  My first exploration was the King Street I had heard so much about.  Strolling down King Street, there seems to be an unending row of restaurants and shops of just about every kind.  There's one of my first and favorite finds, Glazed, a gourmet doughnut shop.  It has incredibly inventive flavors.  The apparent favorite is maple bacon and it's not bad.  Needless to say, I am on a mission to assess all the available options.

Then there are the antique shops, the cool shop with fabrics from Southeast Asia, some of which become beautiful pillows that just might end up in Amagansett.  There are, of course, all of the usual upscale brands you find everywhere.  But then you get to Broad Street, which is one antique shop after another.  Plus, of all things, a needlepoint shop.  Do you know hard it is to find a needlepoint shop these days?  Definitely a good omen.  There is, also of course,  a real possibility that I will add at least one more project to my ever growing stash.  If my knees every totally refuse to let me explore, at least I will be well prepared.

Then there is the well known Charleston Market.  It's been around since the beginning of Charleston and is a mostly open air market extending for blocks and blocks.  People are sure to to tell you that it was never a slave market.  The land was donated way back when for the sale of meat, grains and produce.  Now it is basically a craft market.  The sweetgrass baskets are supposed to be the big draw and they are lovely and every seller has or is someone sitting there weaving a basket.  The thing that intrigues me is that the designs of the baskets are the same at every seller.  Is there something about sweetgrass that mandates the way you can shape it or am I just being cynical?

And last but not least there is a charming little cheese shop just off Broad.  Everyone is very knowledgeable and helpful and the shop has not only cheese, but wine and other goodies to go with it.  I had no intention of resisting.  Something tells me this could get to be a regular stop.

And did I mention that Broad manages to fit in some good restaurants?  I had lunch at a pub called the Blind Tiger.  (Blind Tiger was a euphemism for a speakeasy in Prohibition,)  Good local beers and a hamburger that could make my personal 10 best list.