Nae think: Something akin to Déjà vu. Except, I know I have felt this way before.
Condition brought on by Good Coffee!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Word.....Atavistic
Atavistic...throwback to an era ...revisted past way of thinking...
Nae think: Something akin to Déjà vu. Except, I know I have felt this way before.
Condition brought on by Good Coffee!
Nae think: Something akin to Déjà vu. Except, I know I have felt this way before.
Condition brought on by Good Coffee!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Blood Letting, Message in a Bottle and Ancient Indian Shell Ring
Blood Letting, Message in a Bottle and an Ancient Indian Shell Ring
Renae Brabham
Places without asphalt, styrofoam... light poles....whizzing cars....draw me to them like a bear to honey. Ironically, I drive on asphalt with the whizzing cars, pass hundreds of light poles, and drink coffee from a McDonalds styrofoam cup to get to those places. Over a month ago on a humid late August morning, I awoke with a sense of adventure. Groggily jiggling my computer mouse, it awakens my compass to Google the directions for the Ancient Indian See Wee Shell Ring in Awendaw. I put my (Go to heck) hat on and head out to find serenity in the remnants of an ancient civilization. The search for solitude and oneness with nature ends abruptly that morning in a patch of woods near Bull Island.
The shell ring is about ten miles from Mt. Pleasant on Hwy 17 North. I pulled into a gravel pathway with few parking spots. Spying a glass encased park sign, I get out to read it. All the normal park jargon and instructions and then a few added. Be sure to bring water and plenty of bug repellent. I check my water bottle...fine...bug spray...uh oh. I have been standing here reading this sign for several minutes without any bites. How bad can they be? I go back to the car to check the glove box for bug spray. Nope, but hmmmmm...what's this? It's hand sanitizer. I open the cap and sniff it. If I were a mosquito I wouldn't bite anyone with this stuff on. Lathered now with sanitizer, I head to the trail. I lift my camera and take a pic of the entrance, walk three steps past the sign and was covered...seriously covered by angry, black mosquitoes. Beating myself to death as I ran back to the car, I now sit separated from the pathway that led to beauty unknown by a windshield. Turning the key in the ignition, I spin out of the drive with a little kick of gravel, secretly hoping it took out a few of those skeeters. I'll be back, too curious to give up now. It would be nice to go back without a six dollar can of bug spray though. Maybe, I can find out what the Indians used to deter them.
One month later, on a cool crisp September morning, the ancient See Wee Shell Ring calls again. I pat myself down for keys and then call out the contents of my backpack. Water, cell phone, six dollar can of bug spray, breakfast burrito and Dr. Pepper. My friend later added sun block to the list of necessities. We re-name ourselves and the expedition Louise and Clara, after the famous trailblazers Louis and Clark. A half-hour later we are inching into the empty obscure drive of the shell ring. No cars, bikes or signs of civilization other than ours. The blue Taurus looks obtrusive in the tranquil environment. I silently wish to hide it from view. We get out and spray ourselves down immediately. Bushes with clusters of fuchsia colored berries beckon us to check them out, finding out later they are of the Buckthorn species.
The entrance to the See Wee Shell Ring consist of a park information sign with two, knee high round fence posts blocking the path, probably a deterrent for bikes or ATV‘s. The overgrown trail lays behind it. As we near the two poles, we notice a few items sitting on them. A pull tab ring from a 70’s era soft drink can. We chuckle, we had shared the era of the pull rings together. The other item was a glass bottle with a piece of paper rolled up inside. Louisa opens the loose cork and melted wax top. The bottle and paper inside are still wet. Indications that we aren't the only explorers this morning. We unroll the note, it reads in kid script, Ahoy!, be it known that Jack Sam Colby set this adrift August 1, 2011 at Gloucester, MA. Signed and sealed by his scribe Davy Jones. There is an address on it, but barely legible. We figure that the person that found the bottle adrift here didn't want to follow through with the obligation of notifying young Jack. I put the bottle in my back pack and we head down the trail. I hesitate to call it a trail, as the clearance looks more like an animal path. Louise has picked up a “Critter Gitter” a 4 foot stick with forked end to pin the critter to the ground. Pine straw is so heavy that it cushions our steps. Fallen pine limbs are patterned, resembling Rattle snakes lying in wait. Louise continues to poke questionable sticks and objects while we chatter our way through the path one behind the other. Skeletal logs of trees long dead are covered in moss lichen. Orange mushrooms shoot up occasionally to pop some color onto the pine straw forest bed. A simple placard sits atop a small wooden stake announcing our destination simply as “Shell Ring.” The pine path opens up to an incredible wide open vista of marsh. Complicated tributaries wind around a beautiful plank boardwalk, the tide appears to be low. We scan the area for the ancient mounds. A graveyard of storm ravaged trees to the right of the walk are uprooted and laying atop of pile of oyster shells. There are no fences or protective barriers encasing the mound. It mound appears to continue on as we walk further around the curving boardwalk. We are alone albeit the scurrying of hermit crabs. The low tide starves the plough mud and oyster beds of their nutrient, sea water. The marsh cracks and pops like Rice Krispies. We stand in front of an information pedestal that informs us that we are facing the ceremonial grounds opening in the center of the shell ring. The area is non-descript. The park signs offers suggestive information to explain oyster shells mounded in a circle enclave dating at minimum 4000 years old. Louise and I drop to our knees on the boardwalk and begin to mentally pull off the layers. What we are looking at is tangible, but vague. I'm not sure what I expected, an oyster shell from 4000 years ago looks like an oyster shell today. Composites show they are piled ten foot deep. That's one hell of a oyster roast. Archeologist have exhausted themselves in studies like these. Why did the Indians mound their shells in a ring like this? The elementary deduction of man/woman you hunt, me gather struck me. I would guess that the indigenous women didn't want the oyster shells with juices dripping in their compounds. Something akin to taking out the garbage today. And, you could only dump something so high before you need to make another pile. That's just my philosophy. Actual archaeological studies suggest something similar if you read between the line and graphs. Officious descriptions warranted further research at home. Mapping the Sewee Shell Ring. Michael Russo & Gregory Heide is an extensive research PDF file available with a quick Google.
There may not be a line to get in the See Wee Shell Ring, fee to pay or fence to go through, but the absence of tourism enticement shouldn't diminish it's historical and concentric value. Actually, I find it now to be more awesome without the trappings. It is a jewel in the rough. Upon reading the information sign explaining the open mound in center before us, my friend Louise looked out in awe and said. "Isn't
it amazing that man innately knew how to worship and gather ceremoniously without ever being taught.” Over 4000 years ago, they gathered right here to celebrate as families and friends. Just as we too did today. We celebrated a friendship, we shared our lives in conversation, we laughed and scratched our bites and got a few cactus splinters in us. The Louise and Clara expedition will live forever on my mind. A blessed day of laughs and hours of talking on a bench alone watching over a secluded ancient shell ring and wondrous marsh. We keep our spirits alive with this sense of wonder and exploration. Back to the beginning of the story. We find a message in a bottle. Two worlds collided in a narrow tributary on the sacred ground of the See Wee Shell Ring. A little boy, anxious and filled with wonder throws a bottle off of a pier in Gloucester, MA. It travels 1190 miles through Hurricane Irene to land at low tide in a marsh in the shell ring. The bottle was left on a post by someone who found it interesting, but found by others who share that sense of wonder and exploration. I am going to send a post card to Jack in Gloucester, telling him where his bottled landed. If he wants it returned, we can do that. If he wants us to re-drift it, we can do that too.
Renae Brabham
Places without asphalt, styrofoam... light poles....whizzing cars....draw me to them like a bear to honey. Ironically, I drive on asphalt with the whizzing cars, pass hundreds of light poles, and drink coffee from a McDonalds styrofoam cup to get to those places. Over a month ago on a humid late August morning, I awoke with a sense of adventure. Groggily jiggling my computer mouse, it awakens my compass to Google the directions for the Ancient Indian See Wee Shell Ring in Awendaw. I put my (Go to heck) hat on and head out to find serenity in the remnants of an ancient civilization. The search for solitude and oneness with nature ends abruptly that morning in a patch of woods near Bull Island.
The shell ring is about ten miles from Mt. Pleasant on Hwy 17 North. I pulled into a gravel pathway with few parking spots. Spying a glass encased park sign, I get out to read it. All the normal park jargon and instructions and then a few added. Be sure to bring water and plenty of bug repellent. I check my water bottle...fine...bug spray...uh oh. I have been standing here reading this sign for several minutes without any bites. How bad can they be? I go back to the car to check the glove box for bug spray. Nope, but hmmmmm...what's this? It's hand sanitizer. I open the cap and sniff it. If I were a mosquito I wouldn't bite anyone with this stuff on. Lathered now with sanitizer, I head to the trail. I lift my camera and take a pic of the entrance, walk three steps past the sign and was covered...seriously covered by angry, black mosquitoes. Beating myself to death as I ran back to the car, I now sit separated from the pathway that led to beauty unknown by a windshield. Turning the key in the ignition, I spin out of the drive with a little kick of gravel, secretly hoping it took out a few of those skeeters. I'll be back, too curious to give up now. It would be nice to go back without a six dollar can of bug spray though. Maybe, I can find out what the Indians used to deter them.
One month later, on a cool crisp September morning, the ancient See Wee Shell Ring calls again. I pat myself down for keys and then call out the contents of my backpack. Water, cell phone, six dollar can of bug spray, breakfast burrito and Dr. Pepper. My friend later added sun block to the list of necessities. We re-name ourselves and the expedition Louise and Clara, after the famous trailblazers Louis and Clark. A half-hour later we are inching into the empty obscure drive of the shell ring. No cars, bikes or signs of civilization other than ours. The blue Taurus looks obtrusive in the tranquil environment. I silently wish to hide it from view. We get out and spray ourselves down immediately. Bushes with clusters of fuchsia colored berries beckon us to check them out, finding out later they are of the Buckthorn species.
The entrance to the See Wee Shell Ring consist of a park information sign with two, knee high round fence posts blocking the path, probably a deterrent for bikes or ATV‘s. The overgrown trail lays behind it. As we near the two poles, we notice a few items sitting on them. A pull tab ring from a 70’s era soft drink can. We chuckle, we had shared the era of the pull rings together. The other item was a glass bottle with a piece of paper rolled up inside. Louisa opens the loose cork and melted wax top. The bottle and paper inside are still wet. Indications that we aren't the only explorers this morning. We unroll the note, it reads in kid script, Ahoy!, be it known that Jack Sam Colby set this adrift August 1, 2011 at Gloucester, MA. Signed and sealed by his scribe Davy Jones. There is an address on it, but barely legible. We figure that the person that found the bottle adrift here didn't want to follow through with the obligation of notifying young Jack. I put the bottle in my back pack and we head down the trail. I hesitate to call it a trail, as the clearance looks more like an animal path. Louise has picked up a “Critter Gitter” a 4 foot stick with forked end to pin the critter to the ground. Pine straw is so heavy that it cushions our steps. Fallen pine limbs are patterned, resembling Rattle snakes lying in wait. Louise continues to poke questionable sticks and objects while we chatter our way through the path one behind the other. Skeletal logs of trees long dead are covered in moss lichen. Orange mushrooms shoot up occasionally to pop some color onto the pine straw forest bed. A simple placard sits atop a small wooden stake announcing our destination simply as “Shell Ring.” The pine path opens up to an incredible wide open vista of marsh. Complicated tributaries wind around a beautiful plank boardwalk, the tide appears to be low. We scan the area for the ancient mounds. A graveyard of storm ravaged trees to the right of the walk are uprooted and laying atop of pile of oyster shells. There are no fences or protective barriers encasing the mound. It mound appears to continue on as we walk further around the curving boardwalk. We are alone albeit the scurrying of hermit crabs. The low tide starves the plough mud and oyster beds of their nutrient, sea water. The marsh cracks and pops like Rice Krispies. We stand in front of an information pedestal that informs us that we are facing the ceremonial grounds opening in the center of the shell ring. The area is non-descript. The park signs offers suggestive information to explain oyster shells mounded in a circle enclave dating at minimum 4000 years old. Louise and I drop to our knees on the boardwalk and begin to mentally pull off the layers. What we are looking at is tangible, but vague. I'm not sure what I expected, an oyster shell from 4000 years ago looks like an oyster shell today. Composites show they are piled ten foot deep. That's one hell of a oyster roast. Archeologist have exhausted themselves in studies like these. Why did the Indians mound their shells in a ring like this? The elementary deduction of man/woman you hunt, me gather struck me. I would guess that the indigenous women didn't want the oyster shells with juices dripping in their compounds. Something akin to taking out the garbage today. And, you could only dump something so high before you need to make another pile. That's just my philosophy. Actual archaeological studies suggest something similar if you read between the line and graphs. Officious descriptions warranted further research at home. Mapping the Sewee Shell Ring. Michael Russo & Gregory Heide is an extensive research PDF file available with a quick Google.
There may not be a line to get in the See Wee Shell Ring, fee to pay or fence to go through, but the absence of tourism enticement shouldn't diminish it's historical and concentric value. Actually, I find it now to be more awesome without the trappings. It is a jewel in the rough. Upon reading the information sign explaining the open mound in center before us, my friend Louise looked out in awe and said. "Isn't
it amazing that man innately knew how to worship and gather ceremoniously without ever being taught.” Over 4000 years ago, they gathered right here to celebrate as families and friends. Just as we too did today. We celebrated a friendship, we shared our lives in conversation, we laughed and scratched our bites and got a few cactus splinters in us. The Louise and Clara expedition will live forever on my mind. A blessed day of laughs and hours of talking on a bench alone watching over a secluded ancient shell ring and wondrous marsh. We keep our spirits alive with this sense of wonder and exploration. Back to the beginning of the story. We find a message in a bottle. Two worlds collided in a narrow tributary on the sacred ground of the See Wee Shell Ring. A little boy, anxious and filled with wonder throws a bottle off of a pier in Gloucester, MA. It travels 1190 miles through Hurricane Irene to land at low tide in a marsh in the shell ring. The bottle was left on a post by someone who found it interesting, but found by others who share that sense of wonder and exploration. I am going to send a post card to Jack in Gloucester, telling him where his bottled landed. If he wants it returned, we can do that. If he wants us to re-drift it, we can do that too.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Making Biscuits Isn't All That Hard
But.....Making biscuits someone will eat is!! Twenty five years of trying, I finally made a batch that Don didn't let drop right out of his mouth at the table. Not pictured here as they are all gone!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Dawning Of A New Day
Ethereal sky this morning. Windy and Humid! Snowy was dragging me to follow a squirrel so I didn't have correct light on camera...but I like it!
Monday, September 5, 2011
Flash-Back
FLASH-BACK (condition when you find your hot flash isn't limited to just your neck anymore)
R. Brabham
Ok, I'll admit I struggled with this story for a bit. I had a hot flash, left to go get some snacks, forgot what I was doing, remembered what I was doing and came back. I thought of the Jeff Foxworthy Line and replaced Redneck with Menopause. You might be going through menopause if:
You would like to start a focus group to study the benefits of providing menopausal parking spaces at the grocery stores, hospitals, malls and chocolate shops. Remember ~Tawanda~ in the movie (Fried Green Tomatoes)
You are absentminded, hmmmm, what was I saying? Oh yeah. Absentminded.
You are acting just plain stupid. e.g. Standing at the front door of my house clicking the unlock button on my car keys, trying to figure out why door won't unlock.
Your husband is sitting on the couch with a blanket rather than you.
You find yourself ripping open a bag of m & m's in the store before you get to the register.
You do things you wouldn't do, because what the hell, you're 50 and invisible anyway.
You feel sorry for your old make up brush when the hair starts falling out.
Won't pluck eyebrows for fear they won't grow back.
You don't want to brush the loose hairs off your shoulder, it's too final.
You think of spray painting your scalp to a more neutral color, like your current hair color.
You realize that you will have to go to prison to finish your latest projects.
You don't buy green banana's anymore.
You wake up one morning and your hair has taken on the texture of a brillo pad.
You talk to your body in the mirror, "What the heck is that!?"
You don't turn around when you hear a wolf whistle. Because you did once and it was a parrot.
You have a brief moment of "I've still got it" when a trucker honks his horn. Then pulls along side closer to motion that your gas cap door is open.
Your sister calls your mole a liver spot.
These were my "aha" moments. Everyone has their own I am sure. There were signs it was happening. You just
ignored them, like you ignored that aged poofy person that mimicked your every move as you walked past the store windows. I'm not depressed about it. I just haven't embraced it yet. There are benefits I am sure. I just don't have enough material to write a page on it yet.
R. Brabham
Ok, I'll admit I struggled with this story for a bit. I had a hot flash, left to go get some snacks, forgot what I was doing, remembered what I was doing and came back. I thought of the Jeff Foxworthy Line and replaced Redneck with Menopause. You might be going through menopause if:
You would like to start a focus group to study the benefits of providing menopausal parking spaces at the grocery stores, hospitals, malls and chocolate shops. Remember ~Tawanda~ in the movie (Fried Green Tomatoes)
You are absentminded, hmmmm, what was I saying? Oh yeah. Absentminded.
You are acting just plain stupid. e.g. Standing at the front door of my house clicking the unlock button on my car keys, trying to figure out why door won't unlock.
Your husband is sitting on the couch with a blanket rather than you.
You find yourself ripping open a bag of m & m's in the store before you get to the register.
You do things you wouldn't do, because what the hell, you're 50 and invisible anyway.
You feel sorry for your old make up brush when the hair starts falling out.
Won't pluck eyebrows for fear they won't grow back.
You don't want to brush the loose hairs off your shoulder, it's too final.
You think of spray painting your scalp to a more neutral color, like your current hair color.
You realize that you will have to go to prison to finish your latest projects.
You don't buy green banana's anymore.
You wake up one morning and your hair has taken on the texture of a brillo pad.
You talk to your body in the mirror, "What the heck is that!?"
You don't turn around when you hear a wolf whistle. Because you did once and it was a parrot.
You have a brief moment of "I've still got it" when a trucker honks his horn. Then pulls along side closer to motion that your gas cap door is open.
Your sister calls your mole a liver spot.
These were my "aha" moments. Everyone has their own I am sure. There were signs it was happening. You just
ignored them, like you ignored that aged poofy person that mimicked your every move as you walked past the store windows. I'm not depressed about it. I just haven't embraced it yet. There are benefits I am sure. I just don't have enough material to write a page on it yet.
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