by Jerome Pearson
September 2009
Towards the end of summer 2009, I spent a delightful week in my home state of South Carolina. More specifically, I spent a week in the Kiawah Islands, which is one of several islands located off the coast of Charleston.
Charleston is one my most favorite cities; this was not the case when I lived in South Carolina; it was only after I had begun visiting Charleston years later that I began to appreciate its various treasures. I now think that I might have enjoyed going to college in Charleston. I did not think this when I was in high school. As a matter of fact, I did not ever consider going to college anywhere in South Carolina. At that time, I just wanted to get away; where, it did not matter, as long as it was away from SC.
Charleston is significantly more beautiful then Tyler, Texas, which is where I spent my freshman year in college. North Grand Avenue in Tyler, Texas cannot hold a candle to South Broad Street in Charleston. I could not have known this back then, but I know it now, and I feel a sense of pride in having come from a place that was not that far from the city of Charleston. It is amazes me now to reflect on the fact that I had, coincidentally, visited the Charleston area only a week prior to leaving for Tyler, Texas in 1976. I did not realize it at that the time, but I was leaving a place that is immensely more exciting than the place I was about to go. Sometimes the dreams we search for are already in our own possession. We only need to click our heels three times and recite “there is no place like home!”
MONDAY
On Monday, August 31, 2009, my wife Cecelia, and I left Wayne, New Jersey for Washington D.C. We would be spending the night with my Mother-In-Law, Mrs. Jennie Henderson, who would also be traveling with us to South Carolina.
TUESDAY
On Tuesday Morning, September 1, we left Washington D.C at 6 am, and were in Richmond, Virginia by 07:30. Our first stop was at Cracker Barrel in Richmond for breakfast. It does not matter what state you are in; all Cracker Barrel restaurants look the same both externally and internally. From far away, you can often see the golden sign, inscribed with brown lettering, advertising its exit and subsequent directions. While the setting is certainly “country”, I always have this innate sense that I am about to enter a home which I was never truly invited. The pictures I see on the wall and the implied history seem to have nothing to do with me. Or, perhaps they have much more to do with me than what I might desire. I often wonder what its “name” really means, this “Cracker Barrel.” But they do serve a decent breakfast, and the waitresses are always obsequiously friendly. I had the grill catfish and fried eggs, over-hard, which are accompanied by grits and fried apples on the side. Cecelia had the French toast and my mother in-law had eggs over medium and bacon. It is one of the few restaurants that serves either fried or grilled catfish for breakfast. As a child, I used to enjoy fish and grits, and being the nostalgic person that I am, on convenient occasions, I will treat myself to the “remembrances of things past.” After breakfast, we were on the road again, heading south on interstate 95. Although Cecelia offered to drive, I felt comfortable enough to drive all the way to Charleston, SC.
Going through the state of North Carolina, I was happy to learn that the speed limit increases to as much as 70 miles per hour. This meant that I could set the cruise control to about 78 and not worry about the flashing blue lights.
I was surprised to learn when traveling through North Carolina that tobacco had not yet been cropped, and that there was little indication that cotton was on the horizon. When I was in elementary school, half of the kids would miss classes during much of September picking cotton, but here it was September 1, and not even a “bud.” Also, I saw some tobacco fields where not even the first leaves had been cropped, when in the past we would be done with the entire stalk by the end of August. Either the seasons are changing, or my memory is failing me, which I sincerely doubt.
After a relatively quick trip through NC, I decided to stop at “South of the Border” in South Carolina to show Cecelia and her mother some of South Carolina’s attractions. What a dump that was! I will not be stopping there again. I don’t even know why they advertise “South of The Border, only 60, then 30 more miles”, as if there is something special to see. Besides getting gas, I don’t know why anyone would ever want to stop there. It looks like some kind of movie-set for the filming of a Clint Eastwood Spaghetti Western: Perhaps “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly”. Well, I must admit that at least two of the descriptions do work.
After leaving South of the Border, we continued south in the direction of Manning. I called to ensure that my sister, Ethel, was home because we wanted to see her before heading to Charleston. Ethel had been ill for the past several weeks and we wanted to see that she was ok. We got off at exit 119 in Manning and headed east on 261 towards Manning. We made a right onto Commerce, a left on to Sky View, and then another right onto Collins. After going to the wrong house on Collins, the owner was kind enough to point out that the house I was looking for was next door. Ethel looked good, considering what she had been through, and she was just as gracious as she has ever been. Ethel is strong, honest, sincere, and always possess the utmost integrity. I recall as a child that when I first moved in with my aunt, we would have an assembly line when washing dishes. Ethel would wash the dishes, I would dry them, and Bobby would put them away. At this time, I was in the first grade, and neither Ethel nor Bobby had started school yet. I don’t recall what Junior used to do when we were washing dishes. Ethel’s husband, Ray, who had been sleeping when we arrived, promptly came out to share with us some of the idiosyncrasies of his own family history. Having spent considerable time in New Jersey, himself, Ray entertains us by mocking some of the unique elocutions and speech patterns of our native South Carolina citizens. We talked about old times and things that were currently happening in the community.
As an example, Ethel works with legal immigrant children, exclusively Mexicans, who I guess were temporarily in the United States with their parents as they perform some of the seasonal jobs that we used to do. I think they are officially called migrant workers who are willing to come each season to break their backs with manual labor that need to be done. I could not help but reflect on the fact that when Europeans first came to America, they had apparently had a difficult time getting the Native Americans (Indians) to work in the fields, so they went to Africa instead. To paraphrase the late West Indian Historian, Eric Williams, “they would have gone to the moon if they had to, but Africa was closer than the moon.” But now, many of these jobs are being performed by Mexicans, many of whom are descendants of the original Native Americans. Go figure!
After leaving Ethel’s home, we continued traveling south on Interstate 95. In less than 30 minutes we were crossing Lake Marion in the town of Santee. I remarked that as a kid I always enjoyed riding over Lake Marion. To me, it was the highlight of any school trip. I was always disappointed in any school trip that did not include traveling over water, even though the actual time spent on the bridge was probably less than one minute. When I first traveled across Lake Marion, it was highway 301. At that time, I could see the bridge for I-95 being built, which would run parallel to the bridge on highway 301. The 301 bridge is no longer used and appears as if it was slightly higher than 95.
In another 20 minutes or less we were exiting Interstate 95 for 26 East towards the city of Charleston. For the most part, the speed limit was still 70 miles per hour. Getting from place to place in South Carolina is quicker these days. Going through the outer edges of Charleston, I took 17 South and headed towards the Folly Beach area. After leaving the Charleston City Limits, it still takes nearly an hour getting to Kiawah Beach. The drive to Kiawah was both beautiful and haunting. There is nearly a nearly 20 miles stretch of roads where it appears as if you are driving through a tunnel. At some points the road is only two lanes, at other times it comprises two lanes in each direction which are separated by a bit of wilderness from oncoming traffic. In many instances, the trees are so large that they tend to have limbs expanding across the highway from both sides. The limbs are enveloped with Spanish moss, which provides for a very haunting and dark tunnel-like appearance, so much so, that automatic headlights will often come on, even in the daytime.
Upon arriving at the Condo that we would be renting for the week, I was surprised to see how nice it was. Cecelia did all the planning, so I was pleasantly surprised at the many facilities. It contained two bedrooms, both of which could be considered Master Bed rooms, with multiple closets and bath rooms. There was a full kitchen, stocked with cooking utilities, utensils, real plates, glasses, and a dish washer. Next to the kitchen, there was a laundry room with a clothe washer and dryer. The Condo also contained a dining area and a large living room which led to an outer deck and screened in sunroom porch.
After unpacking, and getting a “lay of the land”, as it were, it was time to decide where to have dinner. Having arrived late in the day, we thought it best to have dinner some place close. We went to a restaurant located in Fresh Fields Village, which is the only shopping village that is attached to the Kiawah Island community. The village contains, among other things, the visitor’s welcome center, which is we where retrieved the keys to the condo and other welcoming documents and maps when we first arrived. There is also a grocery store, a bookstore, and various other unique shops. One of the recommended restaurants was King Street Grill which combines a sports bar and restaurant. When I travel to unique areas, I tend to try to sample, if possible, the indigenous local specialty. The Charleston Jambalaya immediately attracted my attention. As a southern boy who had been raised on rice, I immediately surmised that the combination of chicken, andouille, shrimp, and red spicy rice would fit the bill. I must admit that while I have had better, the meal was, nevertheless, sufficient. The meal, however, was also just a little bit salty for my taste; a taste which may have been somewhat altered since leaving SC many years ago. These days, I often find southern food salty, although I did not see it as such when I was a child. I remember returning from Germany and thinking that my Aunt was putting more salt in the food than I recall. She was adding no more salt than usual; it was simply that I had become accustomed to less salt. Despite this slight change in my need for salt, I must confess that I still love southern food, and am willing to forgo the usual health concerns, if only temporarily, for just a little bit of southern nostalgia.
After returning to the condo, I pulled out one of the 5 books that I brought along for the trip. I was reading a novel called “The Vagrants” which was written by a Chinese writer who now lives in the United States. The novel is set in little town in China called “Muddy River”. It involves some of the shocking events that occurred in China during the counter-revolutionary period stemming from the 1960s through the incredibly early nineties. A counterrevolutionary was any individual who opposed the existing communist government, which was then headed by Chairman Mao until his death in the early seventies. Most of these individuals were young idealists, who saw the communist government as backwards and oppressive. The novel centered on a main female character who was 28 years old and who was about to be publicly executed for her involvement in some of the uprisings. These executions were called “denunciations”, and all individuals in the community were encouraged (forced) to witness. Schools were cancelled for the day because the government wanted to ensure young kids the opportunity to celebrate and witness how dissidents are handled if they should ever challenge the existing government. In most cases, unless it was a relative or a friend, members of the community seemed to look forward to these events; it was seen as somewhat of a holiday. As a matter of fact, if a relative of the condemned person showed any signs of sadness or remorse themselves, they too would be punished. Displaying any signs of disapproval of the impending execution of a counterrevolutionary was considered blasphemous, even if it was one’s daughter who was about to be executed.
During the previous week, President Obama and family were also on vacation. It was mentioned that Obama had also taken books to read; as a matter of fact, he took the same number as me, which was five. I probably got in more reading than he did because Senator Edward Kennedy passed during the week President Obama was vacation, and I am sure he became intimately involved with preparing for the various eulogies. However, it was interesting to note that I had already read two books that Obama had taken with him: “Lush Life” by Richard Price and “The Turnaround” by George Pelecanos. It was good to know that the President and I have similar tastes.
WEDNESDAY
The next day, which was Wednesday, would be our first full day on the Island. After breakfast, Cecelia and I went to scope out the beach. We wanted to see what facilities were available, i.e. chairs, umbrellas, etc. For a modest fee these things could be rented although it’s ok to bring your own, which was something we hadn’t considered. After parking in one of the many beach entrance points, we walked down a little path that leads to the beach. There is nothing like getting a glimpse of the expansive Atlantic Ocean. We sometimes forget that the earth is more water than land. And each continent is an island, large and small, surrounded by the vastness of oceans.
Because it was so early, the beach was nearly empty at the time. However, there were a few early visitors who had already camped out along the shore in both directions. There are miles and miles of beach area within close proximity of any of the condos. We could see a lone fishing boat far out. After talking to one of the Island representatives we were able to have a large umbrellas and chairs installed on the beach for our later return.
After retrieving my mother-in-law, we returned to the beach and claimed our umbrella and chairs. The temperature was nearly perfect on this first day, partly cloudy and not exceeding 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The water was cool at first, but you became adjusted to it in less than a minute.
I absolutely love the haunting sounds of the roaring waves; as they cascade like gigantic fountains, retreat like enemy soldiers, only to return again and again with what seems to be an exponentially greater onslaught of reinforcement. I would love to have a house on the ocean, with my bedroom facing the ocean, and having those mysterious, haunting, and melodious sounds delightfully tranquilizing me to sleep each night.
We had lunch in the Village at little soup and sandwich shop. This little restaurant serves some of the best soup and sandwiches that I have ever had. I never thought a grilled BLT and homemade vegetable soup could be so good.
After the delightful lunch, we returned to the Condo in early afternoon. My mother-in-law took her usual afternoon nap. Cecelia and I read or watch TV or did a combination of those things. I checked my work email, replied to requests, and generally surfed the web before taking a nap myself.
We decided that we would go into the City of Charleston for Dinner. There is a restaurant located on Anson Street called “Anson”. After parking, and prior to dinner, we took a brief walk down a couple of streets that were located not too far from the restaurant. We took a brief walk through the famous Market area where various vendors were hawking their wares, from various leathers items, woven baskets, tee-shirts, etc.
After returning to the restaurant, we were able to be seated earlier than our reservation. Cecelia had been to this restaurant before, but this was my first time. For appetizer, I ordered the Cornmeal Crusted Okra, which my mother-in-law and I shared. Cecelia and Mother also shared a She Crab Soup. For the main course, I ordered the Cashew Crusted Grouper with Hopping John Rice. Cecelia ordered one of the recommended house specialties, which is a Roasted Red Snapper with Succotash and Shrimp. My mother-law had the Braised Beef Short Ribs.
After our meal, we made the long dark journey back to Kiawah Islands. If you think that the stretch of road that leads to Kiawah is dark in the daytime, then you can imagine what its like at night. When driving into our condominium complex, we saw a raccoon slowly crossing the road, with its eyes glaring suspiciously at us, as if to say, “You are invading my space and time.” I could only imagine what other nocturnal creatures might be roaming the premises this time of night, readying themselves for any potential breakfast opportunities.
THURSDAY
On Thursday morning, after breakfast, Cecelia and I went for an early morning walk along the beach. My mother-in-law stayed in and played scrabble by herself. Later that morning, we drove up to the Tangiers Outlets, which are located in North Charleston. You wind up driving around the outer edge of the city again, this time going north on 17, and then west on 26 all the way to exit 213. This Tangier Outlet is one of several Tangiers located throughout the United States. The stores are usually the same, with Brooks Brothers being the top men store, and perhaps Anne Taylor for women. And of course, what is an outlet if it does not have the omnipresent Eddie Bauer? I enjoy outlets, and have gotten some terrific bargains, but my favorite of them all is Woodbury Commons located in the New York state, which is about a 40 minutes drive from my home in Wayne, New Jersey. Woodbury Commons is more upscale than the Tangiers because, in addition to Brooks Brothers, it also has Gucci, Saks, Neiman Marcus, Armani, Tods, Bally, Ralph Lauren, to name just a few. But Brooks Brothers was having a 70% off sale that day, so I did take advantage of that.
After returning to the Condo, I checked my work email again. I wanted to ensure that although I was on vacation, I could still be of some assistance if needed; being the dedicated person that I am (?) I also wanted to check out a review for a restaurant that Cecelia had observed when we were traveling to Charleston on Wednesday. The restaurant was called “The Fat Hen”. Leave it to Cecelia to discover a hidden jewel, even if its luster is not readily apparent when viewed from the road. The online reviews were excellent, and the prices seemed fairly reasonable. So, The Fat Hen would be it for dinner.
The Fat Hen Restaurant is located in Johns Island, which is about a 30-minute drive from Kiawah. I think we all agreed that Fat Hen was even better than Anson. As the reader can now tell, I do love Sea Food, so I ordered the Pan Seared Grouper with wild mushroom, garlic, tomato, herbs, and butter beans. How could I possibly pass up the butter beans? My mother-in-law had the Crab Cakes and Cecelia ordered a Chicken Comfit which came with collard greens and mash potato.
FRIDAY
The next day, Friday, we returned to the Beach. This was perhaps the hottest day of the week. Even the sand was hot, and reminiscent of those extremely hot days during my youth when we walked through fields bare footed. I always tell the story of walking in fields wherein the sand was so hot, that we would often dig holes in the ground to stick our feet in, in order to cool them off. But, walking in the waters along the shores of the beach greatly ameliorated the condition. Although the day was hot, the humidity was no so high, so we were still able to enjoy the beach. This time we actually had lunch on the beach. I took orders, and retrieved lunch from local a local grill, and then returned to beach. After lounging and reading, it was time to return to condo to rest up for Friday evening. On this evening, we decide to go to J.B. Smokeshack restaurant which is also located on Johns Island. Although you can order from the menu, the specialty here was the “all you can eat” buffet that include such things as butter beans, potato salad, fried fish, pull barbeque pork, ribs, fried & baked chicken, as well as dessert. They advertise that their pork shoulder and ribs are cooked over hickory wood, and that their chicken is cooked over apple wood. They offer a variety of home-made sauces, ranging from North Carolina vinegar-style to Texas tomato-base, and finally mustard sauce of South Carolina. The restaurant only seats about 20 people at any one time, but there was sufficient turnover, and no one was left standing for exceedingly long. Also, there is the usual “sweet” and “unsweetened” iced tea which is a staple in the South. I tend to prefer my Iced Tea unsweetened, so that I am able to determine my own level of sweetness. I tried a couple of spoons of the Banana Pudding which they claim is “real”, but I have never known what unreal banana pudding would be like. Perhaps it was because I was no longer hungry, but I did not find the banana pudding anything to write home about. I don’t do well at “all you can eat” because I am never comfortable “eating all that I can eat”. More often than not, I use the opportunity to sample various tastes. To me it is the variety that is most attractive, rather than the volume.
SATURDAY
The next day, Saturday, brought many pleasant surprises. Saturday was the chosen day for driving back up to Clarendon County to spend time with family and friends. We knew Saturday would be good because almost everyone would have the day off.
The first stop was at my long-time friend, Clarence’s, home. When I arrived in Summerton, I got off at exit 108, and made left on highway 102 towards Summerton. I then made another left on 301 and headed toward St. Paul. About a half mile up the road, there is a semi- graveled road on the right that leads back into a neighborhood that I had never visited until Clarence showed it to me exactly a year ago.
Clarence is still in the military and is stationed at Ft. Jackson in Columbia. However, within the last couple of years, he and his wife, Dorothy, bought and renovated a ranch style home located right outside of Summerton. I first saw the house a year ago when it was still being worked on when Clarence and I went there after our 2008 high school reunion. Now the home is being lived in, as Clarence awaits retirement in 2010. As a Colonel in the US Army, Clarence has done quite well for himself. Retiring at the rank of Colonel with nearly 30 years in the military, offers a kind of freedom that most of us can only dream of. As a retired military Colonel, at his age and health, Clarence will have a kind of luxury and flexibility that most of us will never experience. But it is a reward well-deserved for the many sacrifices he has made along the way. Among many other things, Clarence participated in “Desert Storm” and was at the Pentagon on the day the Plane struck it on September 11, 2001. About Clarence, I once wrote in my high school yearbook that “there is no way God will ever let him down”. Perhaps I was right.
And let me tell you reader, my friend Clarence can barbeque some ribs. I sat next to the grill and was sampling the tender meat with my hands just as it was taken off the fire. These were some of the tenderest and juicy spareribs I have ever had. In addition to the barbequing of the ribs and chicken breasts, his wife Dorothy had prepared a feast for the ages. This meal consisted of several types of exotic salads, Spanish rice, and of course Clarence’s ribs and chicken. Dorothy also baked a wonderful cake for the occasion, which we were too stuffed to eat at the time. Therefore, Dorothy and Clarence insisted that we take the entire cake with us since I would be visiting relatives later that afternoon.
After lunch, we went to look at the horses. At that time Clarence and Dorothy had four beautiful horses, one of which was about to be returned since she did not get along with the other horses. Clarence saddled one of the new horses and began to ride it up and down the road in front of his house. He looked like a real Black Cowboy. He has done quite a bit of land scaping on his property and even has his own John Deere tractor. It is interesting that while he has spent considerable time in such places as Arizona, North Carolina, South Korea, Middle East, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, D.C., California, and Seattle, it is the little town of Summerton that he has chosen to finally settle.
After leaving Clarence and Dorothy, we headed up to Sumter. Leaving Summerton, we headed north on high 15 towards the town of Sumter. Deberry was hosting the family get- together, which was not previously planned, but perhaps only thought of when they realized that I was home. It turned out to be an unplanned mini-family reunion. Some of the best family reunions we have had are unplanned. We would bring various items to be grilled or some items that were already prepared.
Deberry is now a Pastor and lives in a nice home with her husband, Bobby Cook, and daughter Datra. There is one son, Ricardo, who is serving in Iraq. Pastor Deberry Cook is my aunt’s second oldest daughter, who was only two-year-old when I moved in with them as a kid. Therefore, although first cousins, we were all raised as sisters and brothers; as a result, I am considered their second oldest brother. Deberry, who was formerly called Debra, had decided many years ago to use the name as it is actually spelled on her birth certificate, which is “Deberry”. Deberry has been the pastor of several churches, sometimes as many as two simultaneously; she is well known in South Carolina, and I would often “Google” her name and find her presiding over some ceremony stemming from her church affiliations. Along with Deberry, her sisters, Ethel, and Denise, are also ordained ministers. My dear aunt, if she could only see them today, might be just a little bit surprised to learn that she has not just “one”, but “three” daughters who are ministers. Now, if Audrey (Renae) should ever decide to do a “trial” sermon, I might just have to be there for that.
As I mentioned before, the cook-out at Deberry’s turned into a mini-family reunion. While there, I received a call from our Aunt Frances from Buffalo, who was trying to get Deberry’s phone number. She told me that she was in Sumter but had left the number at home. I told her that I, too, was in Sumter, and that we were all getting together just at that moment. We retrieved Aunt Frances from her brother’s home in Sumter and brought her to the cook-out. After returning to the cook-out, other relatives had arrived, some of whom I had not seen in more than 5 years. For various reasons, I had not seen Peanut or Terry for several years, so it was so nice to see them both.
There was more food to be eaten, but I had to be careful with my portions, since I had eaten so much meat earlier. There were a variety of rib types, chicken wings, along with bake beans, potato salad, and macaroni sent by Ethel, who could not make it. For dessert we had the Cake that was provided by Clarence and Dorothy.
The next day, Sunday, as we were leaving Kiawah Islands, and heading north towards home, I began to think about the wonderful week. It was so wonderful being on the beach and enjoying some of Charleston’s hidden treasures. But most importantly, it was good just being with family and friends again; reminiscing about old times; enjoying the current time; and just reflecting, hoping, and praying that the future trips home will be as great as or better than the one I just experienced.
As we were leaving the state of South Carolina, I can now say that in spite of the many Mark Sanfords and Joe Wilsons of the world, I can still click my heels three times, and recite: “There is no place like home!”
Jerome
September 2009
