Charmed, I'm sure and Rare Common Sense

The low country - marshlands riveted by a blending of fresh and sea water - are the life blood of Charleston and environs.  We soar above them on bridges of amazing heights on our way into Charleston.  They teem with life and feed the soul of this community.  We hope to learn more about them, but we are headed back into town to join a walking tour with a popular local, Michael Trouche, a seventh generation Charlestonian.

This narrow walk, a city block long and only a few feet wide, squeezing between two homes, is an excellent example of the little surprises that walking around Charleston offers.  There are charming tableaus aplenty.  Immaculate gardens invite you to peek in, but not enter (as signs will sometimes politely remind you).

Though all you can see of this grand house is the marble steps, the mahogany door, shutters to ward off storms (and gate!), Michael regaled us about the wealthy owner (he later stopped our tour to say Hi) who found an undetonated Civil War shell buried in his garden and decided to disarm it himself, by carefully lowering it into a barrel of water, and hauling it out of town to do the deed.  It seems that if he had called the proper authorities, they would have disarmed it AND confiscated it.  According to Michael, Charlestonians will go to some lengths to keep their historical artifacts to themselves.

Homes are frequently set sideways on their lots, so that the narrow side of the house faces the street.  The long porches, so situated, take advantage of cooling breezes, essential during the long, steamy summers. 

Not a beautiful picture, but this was interesting.  Our guide pointed out that the brick buildings were usually covered by a layer of stucco scored to look like stone (a fashionable, but unavailable building supply).  The fashion now, as the stucco breaks down, is to leave it patch-worked rather that restore the stucco, in a tribute to historical authenticity.

These bright pink lilies are just now flowering around Charleston.  They are called Hurricane Lilies because they bloom during hurricane season.  We check the skies...

St. Michael's Anglican Church was first established in the 1680's.  This Georgian style building, erected in 1752, has the box pews that we often saw in old churches in Washington DC or NYC - members subscribed to their pews and families could "own" the pew for generations.

Anglicans in Charleston were moving away from the supernatural emblems of Christian faith.  Cherubs fell out of favor and the dove symbol was replaced by a pineapple, the symbol of Charleston hospitality.  A common-sense approach to Christianity displaced the mystical and the church was looked to as a moral guide.  George Washington worshiped in this church while visiting his fellow founding fathers in Charleston.

Louis Comfort Tiffany was commissioned to design the windows in St. Michaels and they were installed in 1897 and 1905.  My poor picture cannot do justice to the revolutionary methods Tiffany employed to make glass glow with color combinations never seen before.

The French Huguenot Church was established in 1681 by Calvinist Huguenots who fled religious persecution in France and were attracted to Charleston by its tolerance.  In 1796 the first church was blown up to stop the spread of a downtown fire.

This graceful Gothic Revival church was built in 1845 to then be almost destroyed by Union shelling during the Civil War, when Charleston was bombed steadily for two years.  After the fall of Charleston in 1865, Union soldiers packed up the valuable organ, and were loading it on a ship bound for New York, when the organist and church ladies intervened and convinced them to return it.

History lessons really work up an appetite, so we stopped into Bull Street Gourmet and Market for lunch.  I ordered duck confit hash and Ben ordered an oyster po'boy.  Whether you bathe your food in duck fat or dip it in cornmeal and fry it, it's good to the last bite!

I was determined to squeeze in a dessert, so I asked the young gal at the counter whether I should try the peanut butter pie.  "I wouldn't." she said.  

I was quite surprised and asked if there was something better.  She said, "It's delicious, I just would never pay $5 for such a skimpy piece of pie."  I said, "I don't mind, I just want to try a local speciality."  She said, "Fine, but I'm only going to charge you $3.50."

Southern common sense AND charm!

Time to dip our toes in the Atlantic.  We drive down to Folly Island and stroll the fine-as-dust white sand beach.  The low country marshes fade into the dunes which are punctuated with wind fences. The water is cool, not cold, and would be inviting for a swim it it weren't for erratic waves pounding in and a giant sign warning "No Swimming" due to "Deadly Currents."

Happy to only enter the water up to my ankles!