Our Hippy Holiday

 

            The wreath above the pool, shaped like a peace sign, was the only indication of the holiday season. As we floated naked in the hot pool with 30 strangers we were sure that this was the oddest Winter Solstice we had ever experienced.

We had come to Harbin Springs in search of California culture and knew we had found it immediately upon checking in. Despite its location in the California wine country, the rules included no alcohol.  In fact we were warned that if we went into town for a meal, we couldn’t bathe in the pools for at least 2 hours because others would perceive it emanating from our pores. The other rules: no drugs, nudity only in the spa areas and absolutely no cellphones.  In fact there was no cellphone signal at the top of this mountain that was the centerpiece of the 700 acres just north of Calistoga.  No televisions, no radios, no clocks and only two pay phones, one of which was broken.  But as darkness fell on our first night there, we started to get the idea. This was a retreat from modern civilization.  The cool drizzly night was uninterrupted by sounds of any kind.  Deer roamed the pathways between the cabins and dining hall.  Stars filled the sky.  People tiptoed quietly, speaking in whispers.  

“I don’t know about this.” Mark had said nervously that evening.  “C’mon” I urged him.  “We’ll never see these people again in our lives.”  We’d mustered our courage and made our way down the hillside to the brightly lit dressing room filled with naked men and women of all ages and sizes.  Our discomfort was in contrast to the ease of the others.  A man in stood in front of a seated woman engaged in quiet conversation about their recent fasts, her head at his waist level.  We undressed quickly and darted through the chilly night to the pool. 

Once we were submerged in the body temperature water, surrounded by deep breathing, we tried to relax.  Cold raindrops fell.  Crystals hung from tree branches overhead. Then Mark whispered with trepidation, “Uh-oh, What’s going on here?” Crouched at the side of the pool was a woman lighting candles embedded into a wreath.  She placed the wreath on her head like a crown, lit a bowl of smoking leaves that smelled like incense, slipped into the water and began a ceremony.  

“We welcome the winter solstice”, she preached.  Solemnly turning to each of us she asked, “Would you like to be smudged?” I thought “no way!” Mysteriously I said “yes”.  Perfumed smoke billowed into my face.  She set the mood by prompting the group to hum “Santa Lucia” over and over again.  The she directed us all to turn towards the east.  Confusedly, the bathers turned in one direction and another until she said, “This way is east.”   “We raise our hands to the east from which all wisdom flows” Obediently we reached from the warm water into the cool night air.   “We raise our hands to the west,” we all turned, “where the radiant sun that warms us sets.  We raise our hands to the south from which the summer heat comes, warming our bodies.  And to the north from which the winter winds blow signaling nature’s cycles.  Now let’s all look down towards the earth, honoring the Mother, our female nature.”  We were glad to plunge our arms back into the warm water.  “And now let’s raise our faces to the sky from which the cool semen falls.”  We tried not to giggle as the other bathers opened their mouths to catch the raindrops.

Then at her direction we circled the pool like children holding hands and singing  “Amazing Grace how sweet the sound…” Then Santa Lucia, hefted a large basket of grapes into her arms.  “Take a grape and feed it to the person next to you.  As you do, give them an incantation for the new season.” The woman to Mark’s right, a well endowed college aged woman with a big blond ponytail, took a grape and fed it to him.  He eagerly turned towards her with his mouth opened like a baby bird.   “For love and family”, she crooned as he gladly accepted the sweet grape and took one to feed me. He plopped it into my mouth sneering, “May God have mercy on your soul”, with only a hint of humor. 

As the weekend went on, we explored the resort.  Hiking until we got lost in the network of trails, taking yoga classes and trying some of the tasty vegetarian meals served in the dining hall. We perused the selections of massage and body treatments, many we had never heard of before,  Watsu, jahara, lomi-lomi, ayurveda,  and fantasized about coming back for workshops such as  “Tantric Massage for Lovers” or “An Evening of Ecstasy”.  

On Christmas night the “Unconditional Dance” was well attended by visitors and residents.  Mesmerizing music boomed from speakers.  Strobe lights flashed.  Dancers spun and twirled, some with hula hoops or scarves.  Some stood on their hands; some fell to the ground ecstatically.  A heavyset women in loose clothes pranced by with a strand of Christmas lights woven through her hair.  As she danced, the lights fell around her like tentacles.  As the music’s rhythm intensified, she threw off her shirt to free her large, pendulous breasts.  A man danced up and artfully draped the lights around her breasts and over her shoulder as they twirled off together.  A California moment.  

I tried to call my family since it was the holidays.  The only operable payphone had a sign that said, “Please don’t use this phone right now.  We are meditating in the adjoining room”.  At first I was frustrated, thought about defying the rules and finding a signal.  But then I reconsidered.  OK.  I get it.  Silent night.  Peace on earth.  Really. 

Postscript:  Harbin Hot Springs was developed as a spa by settlers in the 1860’s, run as a commune in the 1970’s and sold to a New Age Church of Being in 1975 to become a retreat center and intentional community.  Since we visited in 2004, the resort was devastated by a fire in 2015. But it is rebuilding and accepting limited guests now.  A full roster of classes and events will be added soon. Creating guest experiences that are “consciousness-altering and deeply transpersonal, with a feeling of unity, and mental and physical calmness” is their mission. For more information: https://harbin.org/

 

Stiching Gratitude with Cookie Washinton

      

        In 2009 Torreah “Cookie” Washington and her mom Martha Moore were at the Historical Society of Washington, D.C. to celebrate one of Cookie’s greatest artistic achievements: her fabric art was part of an exhibit for Obama’s inauguration. But Ms. Moore was hesitant to enter. “When I was a little girl, we weren’t allowed in that building,” she explained. “We had to go in the back door like the janitors.” The historic significance of the moment was immense for Cookie. “I am a patriot in the purest sense of the word. Every man I have ever loved was in the armed services.” She attended her first protest march as a toddler in a stroller and considers her art her social justice work, her ministry. “I believe in the promise of America and I will work my whole life to see that that promise is kept.” 

         Cookie’s artistic vision includes fables, myths, and icons that precede enslaved people being brought to the United States. She says she’s a “way-shower”. “You can’t know where you’re going if you don’t know where you came from, even if it’s a fable.” Her needles pluck strong Black women from history: Calafia, the namesake of California who inspired the Conquistador Hernan Cortes, the Black Madonna and Sophia, the Goddess of Wisdom. "She is the one who is with you in your darkest hour…who faces disaster with you and…leads you out.” She learned that since 800 A.D., way before the sanitized Disney version, there were mermaid stories. Black mermaids were powerful punishers and grantors of wishes. She was captivated by the true story of Charleston’s “Mermaid Riot”. In 1867, 500 people mobbed a store to set a mermaid free. She swam away in a flooded street.      

        At her current exhibit at Brookgreen Garden’s Lowcountry Center (on view until Nov. 26) her artistry is striking. These are decidedly not your grandma’s sunbonnet Sue quilts which she says,” are usually the one your dog ends up giving birth on.” This is fabric art enriched with embellishments: beads, words, feathers, metallic threads…. "I am interested in making art that stirs your soul and makes you think, makes you feel something and makes you exuberantly happy. I am not at all interested in making art that matches your couch.” 

         Also striking is Cookie’s commentary. Emily Abedon describes Cookie’s art as expressing her personal journey through love, pain, death and rebirth and “a return again and again to a belief that collective human righteousness can create a more just and beautiful world.” A poem Emily wrote "A Piece of Peace", inspired Cookie to stitch a quilt to honor their friendship. 

A Piece of Peace by Emily Abedon

 I wish I could do that, you said, give

someone a piece of not being scared.

 

Everything about your wish speaks

For the way you live your life.  Even

 

The way you don’t wish to give it all,

just a piece, speaks for your humility.

 

You feel a divine being is the only one

who could contain all of fearlessness.

 

I like to think of that divinity from time

to time, a holy vessel, the possessor

of the antidote to life-threatening fear.

 

I like to picture the vessel is near me,

not the hovering metal ship of an alien

looking down from the sky, but more

like a kidskin reticule suspended at my hip.

 

I like to imagine that I need only reach

deep into my purse to find the numinous

net that collects butterflies in the stomach,

 

It is easily mine, and that by choice

I don’t, because I know that being scared

Makes me human, and that human

Is really all we’re supposed to be.                                 

     That message was like a ray of sun through the fog of fear that had settled around me. Cookies's words followed me into Brookgreen's glorious gardens with a renewed sense of hope.  “Through the choppy seas of serious challenges and lessons for me this year, God has allowed my hands and heart to continue to create fiber art…With each stitch, I whisper a prayer of gratitude—for one more day and one more opportunity to give back to my beloved community.” 

See her portfolio:

Cookie Washington 

Beaded detail 

Fun In the Time of Corona

 

 

Leigh Cort's "Chapeau Runway" card

            When the term “rage cleaning” struck a chord with me I knew I had to make a change.  The timeline of this forced isolation was coming into focus. The news was dreadful.   I needed a breather. Some inspiration.  What were my creative friends doing to lighten things up?

Painting by Julie Glass

            It was apparent that the lethargy that had infected so many of us had not contaminated my friends.  They were productive and engaged.  While I was doing well to tune into my weekly Zoom Spanish class, two of my classmates were studying 3 foreign languages.  One was researching her imminent move to France.  Sharon, after a career as a travel writer specializing in nature adventures, was enthusiastically streaming naturalist’s tours.  Their message:  embrace the virtual world.  I may be slow on the uptake but now I’m in the front row (for free!) streaming full length concerts on YouTube instead of whining about missing live music.  

Kris Manning's lion made with pop tops

 All around me art is rescuing my friends from anxiety.   Tate Nation gets thank you notes from around the country for the therapy his art puzzles provide:  “It saved our family’s sanity…” It’s the closest family time we’ve had in forever…” Among Kris Manning’s myriad of projects, she’s turning thousands of pop top lids and toothpicks into fantastic mythical creatures. Julie Glass opened an Etsy store and became a “happy full time artist". Creating a Snapfish photo book of her mom’s life has kept Lila busy. Mosaic artist Meryl Weber designed an entire art camp for her grandchildren.  Snazzy “Chapeau Runway” note cards that Leigh Cort designed are perfect for the snail mail we have time to write. I’m best at kindergarten art.  Granddaughters and Modge Podge have turned boring days into messy fun. 

            Music is a strong muse too.  I spent too many afternoons brooding at my piano pounding out “St. James Infirmary” on repeat while my ambitious piano partner Madelyn was skillfully arranging West Side Story for our 8-hand piano quartet. Even the quieted world sparked ideas. The empty beach access paths on Sullivan’s Island prompted Tom Noren to compose beautiful guitar music for each one.  For a quick blast of joy, I turn up"Cha Cha Charleston" by our city’s best musicians,.

           

Meryl's Mosaic wall

            My ambitious friend Sharon wrote 4 short plays and presented a live reading during quarantine. But Laurie’s idea to write six-word stories was more my speed.  Here’s an example:  

Dumped stock portfolio. Buying toilet paper. (David Lenzi). 

 Here is mine: Stuck inside. What now? More Scrabble? 

My creative juices are flowing again. The virtual world is my second home. Cheerful Haydn sits on my music stand. Six-word stories are accumulating on my desktop. The aroma of Modge Podge makes me smile. I’m reminded that art celebrates the best of human nature so it’s an antidote to the nightly news. These creative sparks are not inconsequential or frivolous. They keep our spirits ignited. They’re the fuel of resiliency.

 

Stopped by Corona in the Cote d’Ivoire

        Sarah and Gabe were five months into their hitchhiking adventure through Africa when the pandemic flared up. Until then people had greeted them with curiosity and generosity. But the vibe was changing. “People were mean-mugging us…” No one would sit with them on busses. Whispers accused the White people of bringing the virus to Africa. When they arrived late one night in Monrovia, Liberia it all became apparent. Unable to reach their Coachsurfing host, they hailed a taxi to go to the meet up point. The driver was cautious. “When we arrived on Benson Street with its completely dark streets packed with people and littered with garbage, I understood his concern,” Sarah wrote on her blog (https://the-nomaddicts.com/). They settled in to wait under a streetlight. “Usually the attention you receive is innocent curiosity or a desire to sell you something…” But in this sketchy part of town with all of their belongings in tow, they were concerned about drawing the wrong kind of attention. “It wasn’t long before we were spotted by a stocky and staggering man with a glass eye and a stutter…I thought he was drunk but he presented us with a tattered and faded ID card that read DEA Agent.” “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “We are waiting on a friend,” they responded. A crowd formed. One man shouted to defend them. “You want to hit me?!” the DEA Agent spat. The crowd got more vocal. Had Sarah and Gabe had been tested? Quarantined? Where had they come from? Finally their host sped up in a car. “… we grabbed our things and ran towards the car, shoving ourselves in as quickly as possible. The DEA man grabbed the door and began to force his way into the car. All of a sudden, we saw a wave of hands grab the man…and pull him off the car. We slammed the door and drove down side street to escape. Welcome to Monrovia.”

        Border began to close. They hoped to go to Ghana where they had a Coachsurfing host and potential job waiting. But they had to cross through Cote d’Ivoire. “The borders close tomorrow,” they were told as they entered Cote d’Ivoire, “Ghana will be closed at 6pm.” They had 24 hours to make it. It was thirteen hours away. If they travelled all night, they had a chance. When a delivery van offered a lift, a motorcycle cop pulled up. “I wouldn’t take them all the way. They could have the virus,” he warned. Ignoring him, the friendly driver turned up his French rock tunes and took them to Abidjan anyway. He even bought them Chika, a local specialty of fish and couscous. They checked into The Elephant’s Nest hostel and hoped for a grace period at the Ghanaian border the next day.

Sarah Saunders from the Isle of Palms had been travelling and working her way through Asia when she met Gabe Foulkes from Canada in Cambodia in 2018. She says that they “bonded over adventure, politics, beer, and sunshine.” Gabe had been travelling, mostly barefooted, for over seven years. They continued together through Southeast Asia, Vancouver, Alaska and New York, stopping to visit parents Margaret and Brandt on the Isle of Palms before heading to Morocco, Mauritania, Senegal, Guinea and Liberia. In her blog Sarah writes, “We recognized that we had the opportunity to use our privilege to … alleviate the fears people have about travelling… in places often unfairly stigmatized as unsafe to visit.”

The next morning they began the 5-hour journey to the Ghanaian border. Cars sped by and shot them wary looks. It seemed hopeless until a trucker picked them up. He even insisted on hosting them for lunch. Four rides and a rainstorm later, they arrived at the border soaking wet but optimistic only to be told, “Nope, get out. Leave now. The border is closed.”

Waiting out the rain. Waiting for a ride. 

So since late March they’ve been at the Elephant’s Nest in Cote d’Ivoire. Although the interruption to their adventure has been a huge blow, Sarah also describes the down time as “liberating, a time of exploration“. She’s learning new skills like gardening, resourceful cooking, motorcycle repair and meditation. They’ve become certified in teaching English as a second language. The airport is still closed so their next destination is uncertain, perhaps inexpensive Cambodia to teach English. Their wander lust is

unquenched and she doesn’t miss much. Just her parents. Also the Southern pork BBQ since they’re in a mostly Moslem country. And “If we could just find some grits, we’d be in good shape.”

Follow them on social media: https://the-nomaddicts.com/

https://www.instagram.com/the.nomaddicts/

https://www.facebook.com/thenomaddicts/

America Sings For You

       I love that transcendent moment when the curtain goes up and the air is electric with anticipation. But nothing was like the opening of “Hamilton”. In-your-face lyrics asked who the “bastard, orphan, son of a whore… dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean…” could “grow up to be a scholar?” And then, tauntingly: “what’s your name, man?” A diminutive actor emerged from the ensemble and meekly recited, “Alexander Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton.” That’s when the audience went wild, especially the teenagers. A Beyonce concert, screaming kind of wild. Why all of this excitement for parts of US history that bored us in high school? Clearly this is not just another Broadway show. It’s a cultural phenomenon.

       Our mom took my two sisters and me to dozens of Broadway shows growing up. We still burst into song upon mention of “The Music Man” or “West Side Story”. Family occasions often include parodies with costumes and props (which scared off a few would-be boyfriends back in the day). So travelling to Nashville to see “Hamilton” was a good reason for a trip together. But I wasn’t sure I’d like the show. I’d heard the acclaim. But rap music? History? How good could it be? Lin-Manuel Miranda, the show’s originator, elicited the same reaction when he previewed the work in process at the White House in 2009. “I’m working on a hip hop album about the life of someone who embodies hip hop…. Alexander Hamilton.” Curious chuckles rippled through the audience. But he explained that this “young, scrappy” man who codified so much of our nation’s fundamental concepts “embodies the word’s ability to make a difference.” A few years later the show was a block buster and Michelle was one of its biggest fans. “Hamilton, I’m pretty sure, is the only thing that Dick Cheney and I agree on,” President Obama joked. “This show brings unlikely folks together. And, Lin-Manuel, if you have any ideas about a show about Congress…now is your chance. We can use the help.”
     

 Over wine and cheese in our wonderful Airbnb we listened to the show’s recording and studied up. Printed lyrics prepared us for the rapid fire renditions from the stage. We read interviews and debated themes. We were especially intrigued by Miranda’s inspirations which included his father and Tupac Shakur. Luis Miranda was an ambitious Puerto Rican who moved to New York after graduating college at age 18. He went on to serve as an adviser on Hispanic affairs to Mayor Koch before starting a political consulting company. Tupac, the rapper who was shot to death in 1996, reminded Miranda of Hamilton because both were brilliant writers who incited animosity and jealousy. Also, neither knew when enough was enough. We debated whether the non-White cast constituted cultural appropriation which led us to understand Miranda’s intention to get the audience, and especially the non-White youthful audience, to relate to the story. Instead of harpsichords, there is hip-hop. Miranda wants us all to picture ourselves in America’s still-evolving story.
       As first and second generation Americans, we identified with this “quintessentially American story,” as Obama described it. “In the character of Hamilton -- a striving immigrant who escaped poverty, made his way to the New World, climbed to the top by sheer force of will and pluck and determination-- Lin-Manuel saw something of his own family, and every immigrant family.” The glow of patriotic pride followed us from the theater as we imagined our nascent country floundering and fighting for freedom. It’s our grandparents’ story too. They risked everything to come here. The cast sings, “When you’re living on your knees, you rise up. Tell your brother that he’s gotta rise up, Tell your sister that she’s gotta rise up, When are these colonies gonna rise up?”
   

   The unconventional music also struck me as a moment of cultural transformation. Like other innovations, it raised alarms. Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring” premier caused a riot. Gershwin was called a poser and a Tin Pan Alley hack when he wrote “Rhapsody in Blue.” Even Miranda’s mentor Steven Sondheim cautioned him that an evening of relentless rap might get monotonous. Only a few glimpsed the potential. Rob Chernow, author of the biography that the play is based upon, heard a preview and said, "He sat on my living room couch, began to snap his fingers, then sang the opening song of the show. When he finished, he asked me what I thought. And I said, 'I think that's the most astonishing thing I've ever heard in my life.' He had accurately condensed the first 40 pages of my book into a four-minute song."
       The show is the colorful, exuberant, youthful, messy, ever-evolving, radiant history of America. As President Obama said, “we hear the debates that shaped our nation … with a cast as diverse as America itself … the show reminds us that this nation was built by more than just a few great men -- and that it is an inheritance that belongs to all of us.”







If You Go:

https://hamiltonmusical.com/us-tour/tickets Shows begin in several U.S. cities this summer including Atlanta in August and Charlotte in January of 2021. Coming to Charleston in 2021, date tba.

Musing from the Courtyard At the Casa Marina Hotel

               

                It’s a balmy night.  The Rum Old Fashioneds in Casa Marina’s Penthouse Lounge made it even sultrier.  From this perch, lively with the hubbub of a suntanned crowd, I marveled at the sunset on Jacksonville Beach and eavesdropped on the last few dances of the glamorous wedding in the hotel’s courtyard below.  Now I’ve come downstairs to the breezy patio where, in 1925, the hotel’s grand opening was celebrated.  As they do today, guests admired its Spanish Mediterranean design.   It was also the area’s first fire proof building which insured its survival through several fires as nearby hotels burned down.  I’m wondering who else has sat right here listening to the waves.

                Al Capone did.  Prohibition was a boon time in Florida.  Jacksonville was known as “the playground for the rich and famous” attracting gangsters, royalty and tourists many of whom took the new cross country train to spend evenings strolling on the boardwalk and riding the famous Ferris wheel.  Dashing along the coast on his 32-foot powerboat Flying Cloud, Al Capone ran rum from the Caribbean.    The Casa Marina was where he rendezvoused with the movie star Jean Harlow who described her allure: “Men like me because I don’t wear a brassiere.  Women like me because I don’t look like a girl who would steal a husband.  At least not for long.”  Capone’s Florida syndicate included the popular John B. Hysler, nicknamed “Liquor King”.  He was gunned down by federal agents as he was picking up some illegal hooch.  Fifteen hundred people mourned him at the funeral where a local told a reporter: “He was a good Joe, ya know?  So he ran some shiner around these parts.  Folks gotta survive.  Them Yankees pay real good money for that Cuban rum I hear.  Shoot, he even was bringin’ in some real classy folks—some of them Italians from Chicago.  “Member that boss?  That flashy guy named Al?” (Ennis Davis, Jacksonville Metro).  There’s a bullet hole in the breakfast bar at the Casa Marina.  No one is telling me why.  

           

     Just up the beach is The Jacksonville Beach Lifesaving Corp.  Its members have been saving lives and dispensing gallons of sunscreen to clueless tourists since 1912.  I would have loved to have seen the looks on the faces of the lifeguards when Jean or the other movie stars sashayed by.  Mary Pickford, Clara Bow and even Katharine Hepburn may have caught their eye.  Jacksonville was the “winter film capital of the world” with 30 movie studios in the 1900’s.

                  During World War II, the Casa Marina was appropriated by the government for military housing. This cloudless night has me imagining the stealthy Nazi infiltrators creeping onto this beach with destruction in mind. In 1942 four German spies slid into the shallows by submarine and concealed explosive materials in the sand with the intention of crippling the production of aluminum and magnesium plants.  The infiltrators had lived in the U.S. awhile to become familiar with the society and how to blend in undetected.  But their plot was discovered by soldiers, perhaps those staying right in the rooms here, and they were later sentenced to death. 

                When World War II ended 50,000 people filled the Boardwalk and pier to celebrate Independence Day.   There were dances, beauty contests and parades.  I watched fishermen reeling in their catch along that pier earlier today but a towering Margaritaville Hotel is rising where the Boardwalk closed in 1964. The pier still hosts a party each year when  Sterling Joyce, the Casa Marina’s debonair Maitre’ D, holds a birthday party to benefit a local charity.  People dance there as they have for almost 100 years. 

                The Casa Marina Hotel is most well known for being the venue for over one hundred weddings a year.  It’s such a romantic setting with its intimate beachside ceremonies and the ocean front bridal suite. The hotel’s rich history adds character.  The wedding tonight was elegant.  The joy radiated all the way up to my penthouse viewpoint.  There’s the new couple now, walking hand in hand on the shore.  She’s still in her wedding dress.  They’re kissing as the waves wash around their ankles. 

Brooke Images

If You Go:  https://casamarinahotel.com/

               

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It’s Time For a Bath

Along the Awendaw Passage on the Palmetto Trail

The Japanese have a lovely tradition: forest bathing. It’s beautifully described in an excerpt from this poem by Betsy Hughes:

You stand beneath this canopy of trees,

surrender will, hold still. You close your eyes

and listen as the rustling of the leaves

and lapping breeze-blown waters tranquilize.

Inhaling deeply, you can breathe the smell

of dew-damp soil, the scent of pungent pine,

organic emanations. All is well,

    The beautiful natural areas that surround us are beckoning. That elusive feeling of calm and serenity we all need so badly is there waiting.  Even with many areas closed to the public, these have remained open and sparsely visited.  They’re all within an hour’s drive.

Best Short Walk in the forest: The I’On Swamp Trail is an easy 2.5 mile walking loop in the

Emilia and Lana Rose O'Donnell enjoy
the I'On Swamp Trail. 

Francis Marion Forest. Embankments, some from the 1700’s, are remnants of the patchwork of fields built by enslaved people for rice cultivation. Interpretive signage describes the history and ecology of the area. Easy and close-by. To reach the trailhead, turn left exactly across Highway 17 from the Sewee Education Center onto Forest Road 228 and drive 2 miles to the parking lot.



Best place to spot birds and alligators: The South Tibwin trail is about 5 miles long, perfect for a short bike ride or long hike. Bird watchers from around the world come to this well managed area of hardwood bottomlands, pine uplands, tidal marshes and freshwater ponds. A scenic duck blind is an exciting place to spot alligators while you eat a picnic. Directions: From the Sewee Visitor and Environmental Education Center, take Highway 17 North toward McClellanville for 11.4 miles. Look for the forest sign and iron pipe gate on the right.

 Best walk for Lowcountry beauty: If you want to impress visitors or just need a little reminder of our gorgeous region, head to the Awendaw Canoe Launch (boat launch is under repair and closed as of this writing) at the end of Rosa Green Road in Awendaw. The trail meanders along Awendaw Creek, twisting back into the forest, over wooden bridges and ends at Buck Hall Landing, five miles away. It’s the most scenic section of the Palmetto Trail (which goes across the whole state) that I’ve found. Rest at one of the little benches along the creek and just breathe. You can walk as far as you’d like before doubling back or put another car at Buck Hall and walk the whole 5 miles.

Best place to remember the Swamp Fox: The longest section of the Palmetto Trail, 47 miles, begins here. It traverses four ecosystems through the Francis Marion Forest including swamps that were hide-outs for the Revolutionary War hero Francis Marion. It’s a bumpy bike ride or easy walk through mature long-leaf pine forests and grassy savannas. Walk or ride awhile and then double back or put another car at Halfway Creek Campground, about 5 miles away. Directions: Take US Hwy 17 to intersection with Steed Creek Road (S-10-1032). Trailhead and parking are 0.25 miles north of Steed Creek Road.

Lillies blooming along the boardwalk in the
Santee Coastal Reserve. 

Best all-day adventure in the wilds: When I have all day and plenty of energy, I take my fat-tire
Santee Coastal Reserve.
bike to the Santee Coastal Reserve just north of McClellanville. The 24,000 acres of diverse habitats are managed by the DNR and the Nature Conservancy for the benefit of wildlife and birds. You can roam all day by bike or foot. Highlights are the Washoo Reserve, the scenic boardwalk and the Cape Trail.  Gorgeous and highly recommended. Directions: From McClellanville travel North on SC Hwy 17 toward Georgetown. Approximately 3 miles out of McClellanville, turn right onto South Santee Road. Travel for about 3 miles and then turn right onto Santee Gun Club Road adjacent to the St. James Community Center.  There’s an easy to miss sign there pointing down a dirt road  adjacent to the St. James Community Center. Pass the first kiosk and proceed 2.5 miles to the camping and picnic area where many trails begin.

Best place to be alone in nature: The huge ACE Basin has remained open to recreation throughout the pandemic and offers many options for biking and hiking. In particular, the trails that begin near the Grove Plantation (building is closed) are easily accessible and scenic. Take a picnic and sit by the manse before riding or hiking along grassy, stony and paved trails. Don’t miss the vine-covered old silo on Silo Road. Directions: From Charleston, drive south on US 17 to SC 174. Go left and follow the signs to the ACE Basin Edisto Unit.

The Governor’s “Stay at Home” order specifically includes outdoor exercise as an essential activity. Surprisingly few folks go to these places so social distancing is easy. Let the pandemic be your excuse to discover them. Perhaps like me, you’ll go back many times.

As the breeze-blown waters tranquilize, you can exhale to the feeling: all is well.

If You Go:

Take: Wide-tire bike, strong bug spray, printed color coded maps

More Information: For ACE Basin:  U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service,  Swamp Fox Trail  South Tibwin Trail and Santee Coastal Reserve

Caribbean Carnival

     We scrambled out of bed before 6 AM to join the street party that had started at 2 AM. It was easy to find by following the pounding calypso backbeat blaring across downtown Roseau. A trailer was piled high with speakers and a canon that fired eruptions of foam onto the heads of dancing revelers, covering them in bubbles. Another guy flung handfuls of colored powder. Little tie-dyed clouds wafted and then settled into puddles of beer where chickens skittered. Carnival on the island of Dominica.
   

  As Mark and I joined the street “jump-up”, we were transfixed by little dramas in the parades that went by: a  dead looking man being carried in a coffin, a guy in a Donald Trump mask, a scene of a taskmaster beating his slaves, huge contingents of villagers all dressed as convicts, skimpily dressed women of all shapes busting their moves and especially the hundreds of astounding “bwa-bwa” stilt dancers. 

 They gyrated down the street on perches way above our heads. Even some children had mastered the tricky balancing act. Other villages paraded as traditional “sensays” in costumes made from crocus bags, banana leaves, frayed rope and cloth draped in multiple layers around the entire body. Large horned hats completed the look which is somehow supposed

to represent chickens. Maybe chickens from some nightmare fantasy, we thought, especially the ones wearing platform shoes and carrying whips. What impressed us the most was how uncommercialized the outfits were. Most all looked homemade; 

marvels of ingenuity. A contingent of pageant winners from across the island featured young women with ingeniously engineered headdresses that formed a globe, or wings, or encircled them in spirals. One gorgeous ensemble was made entirely of wrapping paper including her dress, necklace and hat. 

   The day was a kaleidoscope of color and pageantry. An adorable promenade of kids pushing their little homemade trucks filled the streets in the afternoon. 
Some rode in cardboard police cars and fire engines. They wore simple matching outfits made from cut-up t-shirts with paper pirate hats. Along the street booths sold drinks, roast chicken and “goat water”, a Caribbean stew. It was funny to us that the parades didn’t go from point A to point B; they simply circled around downtown over and over.    

     Dominica’s Carnival is known for holding true to the island’s French, Caribbean and African traditions. It takes place on the Monday and Tuesday before Ash Wednesday after months of preparation. Even Hurricane Maria didn’t stop the festivities from taking place in 2018. It’s known to be one of the safest Carnival celebrations. We saw plenty of security to balance out the debauchery and even though we were obvious tourists as some of the few White people there, the vibe was welcoming and electrifying. Everyone we asked was happy to pose for photos and seemed genuinely glad to share the festivities.  

            Located in the Leeward Islands of the Lesser Antilles (and not to be confused with the Dominican Republic), Dominica is an independent country lovingly called the Nature Island. Two-thirds of its 290 square miles is covered with lush rainforests that blanket the mountains right down to the rocky, black sand coasts. English is the official language although most islanders also speak a Creole.  Despite being ranked as the top sustainable island in the Caribbean by National Geographic, it is the least visited one.  For Carnival we stayed at the upscale Fort Young Hotel which is steps away from the festivities.  From our ocean front balcony, we enjoyed watching cruise ships docking and scuba divers embarking.   

    

        For lovers of authenticity and cultural expression like us, experiencing Dominica’s Carnival was the ultimate.  It is a dazzling display of social solidarity and boundless creativity set to a pounding rhythm, calypso music and dance. 

If You Go

Carnival in Dominica will be Feb. 24 and 25, 2020

For more information:  https://discoverdominica.com/en