So South Carolina…

Welcome.

For as long as I can remember I always had my reservations about visiting the Carolinas. This reason and that reason kept me at bay from the area, placing it last on my list of exciting U.S. destinations, and hoping that when the opportunity came my stay would be a pleasant one. So my first trip into and out of the state was exactly as I had hoped…

Pleasant…

Almost like therapy.

My journey began at the airport in Myrtle Beach where I had found myself after an early morning flight out of the big city of New York. Before the plane touched the turf I could feel my nerves uncoiling all the built up tension from a less than favorable week of work, snow, and a two-thumbs down day of love. Both the sunshine and the sight of the palms and palmettos eased me immediately. I hadn’t realized how much working in the frigid north east for four months had affected my spirit. Part of me wanted to let loose, squawk like a chicken, fly with the speed of a hummingbird, and with the grace of an eagle. I started to feel fine and quite alright with the way things were panning out. It was as if they were retreating back into their natural order.

Yes, to be free… Let me count the ways…

Snapping out of minutes of both self and life reflection, I hopped into my comfy Chevy Aveo rental vehicle, hopped on US 17 South and headed to my Daddy’s house. Along the way I cruised by shops and restaurants unfamiliar to me and the all the places I had previously been. I somewhat noticed the slow, relaxed sort of take your time and enjoy South Carolina speed limit, but by paying it no mind I found myself making my first new friend in the state – The South Carolina Highway Patrol. My friendly bald-headed uniform buddy explained to me that I was going 82 in a 60 or 55 mile zone (I forget which one) and I told him I was quite aware without argument. I must have worked some type of southern magic or charm on the officer as he said he was willing to help me out and not stain my driving record with any nasty points for having an iron foot. Well helping a sister out in the Carolina’s means providing the discounted ticket rate of $129 dollars to be paid to the beautiful state by middle of March. I thanked the officer for being so kind and not slapping me with an even more outrageous fine and pinky-swore that I would pay more attention to the road, stop flapping my gums about the monster in man and day-dreaming about the good times ahead.

Not long after I claimed my souvenir I worked my way through a tangle of tree-shaded back roads to my family’s new place. My dad has a knack for picking homes that are hard to find in the country. The older I become I can understand his love of seclusion and hiding. His new home held just as much charm as the last in Georgia. Bricks covered the front side of the house and large windows in the living room revealed a backyard full of trees just short of the well-kept green and sand traps from a golf course just beyond his property. It was here that my stay at the Barnes Resort & Vineyards began.

A last minute change at the office kept my father from spending the weekend in full with me, but in the evenings we would talk and catch up on everything going on between the things in my life and the changes he and his wife were planning on making to the light lavender counter top in the house. The three of us noshed on the lumpia he had gotten from a co-worker, dipping them in a variety of Chic-fil-A sauces kept up in the kitchen cabinets. While he sipped on his evening glass of red wine I slowly finished off my water with two slices of lemon.

It was on my very last day of my weekend stay that we finally had the chance to see Charleston. We headed into downtown to check out the market, the extraordinary homes on East Battery Square (breath-taking), and to have lunch at Magnolia’s. We killed time by visiting the Charleston visitor center, Isle of Palms and even the not-so-glamorous areas of Charleston the average tourist never sees. From there we drove up to Middleton Place, one of the largest and oldest plantations, now a landscaped garden, in America, for a very quick tour. In fact it was too quick. The entire trip was too quick, but for what it was it was enjoyable despite my run in with the law and soothing to be the arms of the people that truly love and care about me.

My family…

Below are only a few photos from my brief trip in and out of Charleston. I will have to return.

I finally had the opportunity to play with my gradual tobacco filter months after the purchase. The beach was clean, clear and chilly.

Smiling on Isle of Palms beach.

Another shot taken by my dad. Fantastic photographer isn’t he?

Palm painted trash cans line the upper part of the beach. Keep America beautiful – please don’t litter.

After the trip to the beach my dad took me to some sights like this African American Cemetery where there was nothing to be found except for this marker.

Magnolia’s was a suggestion made by the 1,000 Places to See Before You Die guide book I use almost like a travel Bible. On some occasions I totally dislike the book. In this case the recommendation was only so-so. I’m sure with some additional time in Charleston I could suggest something cheaper on the pocket book and much tastier.

Collard green filled egg rolls with an assortment of bursting sweet and spicy flavors.

The mahi was okay.

Entrance to the Middleton Plantation.

Fleur.

Upon walking into the garden the first thing your eyes set sight on is the reflecting pool. The pictures do no justice for the garden’s true beauty.

Pair.

The outro.

Strength,
Adrienne