Charleston, South Carolina
Here in South Carolina we have one of the grandest pedestrian cities in North America. Charleston is a wondrous mosaic of ancient buildings, narrow serpentine passageways going into enchanted realms, sublime gardens, all seasoned with a fine dose of intense, often turbulent history. Once one has garnered a parking place, one is liberated to enjoy delightful days of exploration on foot.
Despite living in South Carolina twenty years I’d never been in Charleston at spring. Prior journeys had taken place during winter or the torrid days of southern summer. Several months ago the idea came to mind this was the year to make a solo journey to Charleston at the peak of the spring blooming season. Having all of one’s siblings hit by life-threatening cancer within the space of weeks does have a way of bringing one face to face with inclinations to procrastinate – some day.
Even with mid-grade gas pushing towards $4 a gallon, my travels were well rewarded. Unknown to me, my arrival was to coincide with the annual Charleston garden tour. The climate co-operated greatly (after all I’m the center of the universe) and three days of high seventy low eight days were granted at no extra up-charge. Alone, with no distractions, these gardens and the fine abundant architecture were mine for the taking. Taking things with a camera allows one a special kind of ownership without the responsibility of upkeep, insurance, taxes; a kind of ownership that allows one to forever give these sublime treasures away. For my friends in Tokyo struggling with an uncertain nuclear nightmare, digital photography can remind them life will get better. Eventually the dark clouds that come over life will dissipate once again and spring will bloom again in all its grandeur. Even in Leningrad the flowers bloomed in the spring of 1946.
I found myself alone in the majestic and imposing St. Michaels Episcopal Church on the lower end of Meeting Street. All the lights had been left on and I was easily able to ‘take’ the place with my camera despite not having tripods with me, knowing I would be able to soon give it away to people who will never see Charleston. Tiffany windows, English brass, and Charleston charm were part of an all-inclusive deal.
An hour later I found myself in the midst of an elegant reception in the magnificent gardens of the Nathaniel Russell house, where well-dressed wait staff plied we botanical gawkers with wine and brie. Capitalizing on the opportunity to collect the wondrous spectral delights around me in fine late afternoon light, I skipped the refreshments; instead staying on task with my camera. I later had fine refreshment and dinner in the Charleston Toast just up the way. There I met two women visiting from Texas, quite entranced with Carolina’s version of spring. Having come so far they were investing two weeks in the journey. I met them on their final evening here. Southwest’s newly inaugurated air service to Carolina would whisk them back to Houston non-stop. Their journey home would be shorter than mine, but then I have developed a good habit of easy distraction by brown signs on the interstate advising of magical realms to be explored.
There is little to compare to Charleston at the peak of Southern spring. Dogwood, cherry, magnolia, and wisteria compete with azalea, snapdragon, and dozens of other grand harbingers of spring. Come on down. The journey’s worth it!
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