My Canoeing and Treehousing Adventure on the Edisto | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

My Canoeing and Treehousing Adventure on the Edisto | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

All Is Well In The Tree's ~ Our Adventure~

I had their link http://www.canoesc.com saved for two years before moving back to SC from NC. I had hoped that one day I would be able to take that 23 mile self-guided canoe trip down the Edisto River with an overnight stay in a tree house. The Edisto is one of the longest blackwater rivers in North America, winding 300 miles from its headwaters in Edgefield and Saluda counties to the Atlantic. I debate the blackwaer, I would describe it as Charleston Tea colored. I took the wishing a step further a few weeks ago and contacted Anne Kennedy of Carolina Heritage Outfitters. I was instantly enamored with her sweet spirit through the airwaves. We set a date. I had a few tummy flops when I thought about the experience for the next few weeks. I confess that on several occasions the soundtrack for the movie "Deliverance" wafted through my brain. And then there was the dream of Noah's Ark running aground emptying itself with every creature known to man on the Edisto River. Everything that goes bump into the night will be to the chagrin of my sweet husband who will go out to check it out in his skivvies with a flashlight, I began to pity him before we even left. Renae vs Wild. Anyone that knows me, knows that the combination can lead to disastrous consequences. Which is why I adore my husband for going through this with me. He knows full well that I can't stay in my house on dry land for 5 hours without getting hurt. Much less add a canoe, water, animals. (did I tell you that we have nver set foot in a canoe or Kayak?) The early morning ride to Carolina Heritage OUtfitters at Edisto River and near Colleton County State park took about 1 hour and 45minutes. My bladder refused to pass any establishment that would have a restroom. I knew it would be days before I would see another and I had gulped two industrial sized cups of coffee. We arrived and met Anne and Scott Kennedy. I instictively knew that they are very interesting people. I could see myself sitting on the banks of the Edisto talking past sundown getting to know them. We also had the pleasure of meeting their friend and our transport guide Steve Bond. Steve and his wife are mural artist and have painted many surrounding establishments which you can view at BiBondArtsonline.com Sitting outside the Carolina Heritage OUtfitters rustic building on benches, Anne explained our map and gave us basic river information. And then it was time to go! We picked up our paddles and loaded the canoe with our cooler and backpack. Steve drove us 23 miles upstream to put in. Once there, I spied with my eye...another restroom! I scampered up the hill while Don and Steve carried the canoe to the landing. When I came back we took a crash course on canoeing safety and paddling. I got into the front of the canoe. I assumed that was the part pointed towards the water. Hubby said his laugh of the day was how fast I put on my lifejacket. And then we were off! The river travels at a speed of about 2 miles an hour. Stopping at a sandbar about halfway, we ate our Pimento Cheese sandwiches, gulped water and rested. We were guided the first 10 miles by a blue heron that we named Ichabob Crane. Every single time Don would pull out the camera he flew away. My favorite raptor, a beautiful Red Tailed Hawk crossed our path several times and I was pleased to be the transport for many dragonfly's along the way. Turtles plopped from fallen logs and large fish splashed as they came up for the surface bugs. There were challenges. Trees down, low river bed rock, running aground on sandbars and narrow passageways. I found out quickly that this wasn't a lazy river. I was proud of our decision making and quick responses to obstacles. 5 1/2 hours after entry we arrived at our treehouse. The treehouses are adorable and rustic. We spent the evening in a large hammock under the tree canopy and later up above watching the river flow by from the patio deck of the treehouse. The treehouses are equipped with propane grill outside and propane cookers inside. Propane is provided. Let me tell you that was the best cheeseburger and can of baked beans I have ever had! Nice Tiki torch lights are affixed to the patio railings and give a sense of primitive peace in the evening. There was no need for me to worry about sounds that go bump in the night. I was totally gone within minutes of lying down for evening. At sunrise I awoke and started gathering things for our journey back. I sat quietly on the deck of the treehouse watching the river sleuce quietly by. It is Sunday, my favorite day of the week. One of my first thoughts that morning was that I was worshipping in my creator's most reverent service. About five miles downriver, I had the most incredible experience.We hit a calm clear patch and paddled softly, letting the river take us for a bit. The sound will reverberate for the rest of my life in my audio hardrive. Faintly at first, my ears leaned in and I quit paddling. A church organ in the distance wafted through the trees, it was surreal. The song was "Softly and Tenderly" We pulled into the landing at Carolina Heritage Outfitters in good time, four hours. Scott greeted us and we talked about the river and our trip for a bit before Anne joined us. Scott and Anne are dedicated to the preservation of our natural resources. I consider it a privelege to have participated in this watery path with them, even for this short stay. To book your own adventure on the Edisto with Carolina Heritage Outfitters, go to http://www.canoesc.com Now, as the novice canoer, these are my layman's terms to describe the level of difficulty of the canoeing experience Rated from a 1 being the least difficult to a 3 being the most. If the extent of your daily exercise is walking to and from frig, lifting your tv remote, chewing food and walking to mailbox.... the level of difficulty will be a three. If you occasionally ride your bike, walk a treadmill, take beach strolls, like jigsaw puzzles and problem solving...the level of difficulty will be a 2 If you tramp through woods without snake boots, love the feel of mud squishing between your toes, could fit all your gear for two days in a breadbox. Hello Daniel Boone, the level of difficulty for you is a 1

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And The Gritty Award Winners Are... | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Yay, I won a ~Mini Gritty Award~ from Charlestongrit.com for a blog!
And The Gritty Award Winners Are... | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Snoop Doggin Through The Low Country

I am packing things in a duffle bag for an adventure that I will be blogging about next week. For the next two days I will be out of range of cell towers and miles from civilization. Yes, these places still exist. While doing so I realize I am excitedly jittery. I am by nature a scairty cat, albeit a curious one. Nothing pumps my adrenaline more than finding those places where I am in solitude with nature.  There are so many adventures to go on in our beloved low country. A lot of them just turning down a road you wouldn't normally take.
August 01, 2011.Tires... check...Fluids...check.....Gas....check....Mosquito repellent...check. I climb into my car with a RC Cola and Moon Pie. The radio belts out old R & R, Journey and Peter Frampton. Before we moved back to SC from NC, hubby and I would joke that we  knew when we crossed the SC line because Journey would be playing on the radio.
Destination? Today I’m going to take every road that calls to me off of Highway 41, just to see what it leads to. Some are just dead end roads leading to trailers on cinder blocks. Others lead to ornate iron gated fences with "No Trespassing" signs posted. The extremes of the two societies co-existing on these roads took me aback. In the span of a few miles you pass through the poorest sections you could imagine. Telephone poles prop up leaning houses, clothes dry on porch railings, misspelled signs offer goods for sale like "sweet con" and "shcrimps".  And then shazam, there sits a mansion on expansive acreage with an oak lined road. This pattern repeated itself for miles.
The afternoon heat whipped up a dark cloud that threatened to end my trail blazing. I pulled down this one last road. I can sympathize with the nose of the hound as it sniffs out it’s object of affection or direction.  I found myself doing the same with the nose of my Taurus. I pulled through two old vine covered brick columns with a fleeting obligatory glance to see if it had a "No trespassing" sign on the old wooden gate that was ajar. Nope, Ok, off we go. I am stirring up a cloud of white dust behind me on the loose white gravel road. Although thunder clapped loudly, I couldn't make myself turn around. I had to see what was at the end. I realized after driving 3.4 miles on this sandy white ribbon road that I had put myself into an eerily exhilarating position. It looked endless. The only objects that differentiated one mile from the next were the brown signs with animal names to the right and left. I didn’t venture off onto them mainly because like the hound, I wanted to see what was at the end of the road.  I figured I could do some extra snoop dogging on the way out.
I could see a forest enclosure ahead and knew the road was ending. I came to a narrow bridge with a sign reading "Alligator Pond." I got out of car and walked to the low railings of the bridge. I heard the slaps of fish or tails hitting the water. The air was so pungent!  For the first time I realized that no one knew where I was. I had not seen a car, home or any sign of civilization since I had been on this road. I glanced down at my cell phone. Not only have the signal bars disappeared, also the little telephone indicator, the air plane, the 3g.
The quiet was amazing though. Chills went up my spine as I leaned over to look down at the water. It was so heavy with lily pads and pond froth in places that it looked as if it were molasses more than water. The aroma was heady and moldy with a hint of hot pine needles followed with after notes of the wild. I could tell beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was being watched. Alligator? Bobcat? Fox? The dreaded Tree Frog? Thunder shook the ground around me and started me back on my way. I didn’t take any of the roads with animal names on the way out. Partly because of the possibility of rain and mostly because I felt I would get lost in the pine maze.  But, I know that adventure lies down those trails and waits for me on another day.

My Dwagonflies Den Floorcloths ~Renae Brabham

Love to create these. Check out my facebook page link below to see some of the designs.
http://www.facebook.com/floorcloths

If you use this link and click ~like~ on my facebook page, you will be able to vote for my new rug creation next month.

What's Your Passion? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

What's Your Passion? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Sunday Stroll

Well, I thought I'd dip my feet and slosh through the surf to the end of island. It looked much closer than it was..Took a full hour and fifteen minutes there and back. I get stupid and lose track of time easily in the sand. I was rewarded by this pile of rocks and weathered boards at the end of the journey.

Digging Up Bones~ Renae Brabham

pas·sion/'paSHən/ Noun: Strong and barely controllable emotion. A state or outburst of such emotion. A while back I wrote ~Dead Man's Cell Phone~ http://charlestongrit.com/so-i-called-dead-mans-cell-phone-last-night I find satirical humor in the fact that a death that affected me so little could possibly spring board me to the rungs on the ladder I had deemed impossible. His was a lonely life, lit by the glow of a computer screen and keyboard. Smoke rings circled in dark rooms absent of life except for the lonely beat of one heart. Sometimes loneliness can be the loudest sound in a room. Regrets, children, wives, jobs successes and failures all drowned out by the pounding of the typewriter keys. Boxes filled with ponderings, writings and research tapped out on onion paper with an old manual Smith Corona typewriter going back 50 years, now gather green hues of mold in a musty shed corner. It's what he did, without vision albeit, but it was his passion. He definitely had what is described in passion's definition as "A strong and barely controllable emotion." What he didn't have was the second part of that definition "A state or outburst of such emotion." He didn't type out loud. He expressed himself in selfish silence. I searched my soul to see if the mirror turned inward. Oh yes, there he is, right here in my life, Hell, in my room! There's that briefcase in the corner with a novella written 15 years ago, edges yellowing and saved on a floppy disc. Reams of paper sit waiting to be filled with ink and passion and sent out to publishers. I hid behind screens with a two year old profile pic and typed out to thin air. I fed only the glowing monitor screen and blinking cursor. I didn't share. The boxes of yellowed paper in that shed, his silence and lack of ripples in the oceans' of life opened my cage doors. I pour my heart out on the screen on paper and I let it go. I'm learning that passion is what you shout out loud with your life. It doesn't necessarily mean people are going to like your spillage, but it is how people will identify with you. Everyone has a different way of expressing themselves. Some through brushes, design, anatomy, dance, architecture, music. Others are awesome verbal communicators. And others yet express their passion through their children, families, community services or their sports. Whichever way we choose, it is imperative to the soul to get it out.

Fresh Perspectives

Seeker of the Elusive Job

Why yes...I would like to come work for you...I'm punctual, loyal, I work...I write, I sing, I dance, I cook, I don't need handholding.

New Headline: Mayberry Beats TomKat | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

New Headline: Mayberry Beats TomKat | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

An Ode to The Andy Griffith Show

Even though I'm not a purchaser, I read the mag rags while waiting in the check out aisles. I mostly focus on them to keep from grabbing a bag of peanut M & M's. Sadly they are the extent of my pop culture. This past week I noticed that Andy Griffith's death secured a small photo caption in a sidebar of the full cover spread ~How Katie beat Tom~ pertaining to the divorce of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. Some would argue their divorce is reality and actually newsworthy in comparison to Andy Griffith who was merely an acclaimed actor for more than half a century, whose name symbolized the fictitious town of Mayberry, NC and it's colorful characters, all of which became the Nirvana of Main Street America living. There is such a little town. Mt. Airy, NC has all the allure of Mayberry RFD, and not by accident. It was Andy Griffith's hometown. One of my favorite fall weekends in NC was spent at the Mayberry Festival. Some of the tributes to Mayberry are; Floyd's City Barber Shop, The Mayberry Inn, Mayberry Bed & Breakfast, Andy's Homeplace Bed & Breakfast, The Andy Griffith Museum, The Andy Griffith Theater, Aunt Bea's Barbeque (intentionally misspelled), Aunt Bee's Room, Wally's Service Station, Bluebird Diner, Old Mayberry Jail, a true to life Barney impersonator, paddy wagon to haul off the town drunk Otis, replica of the police car that Andy drove and a life-sized bronze statue of Andy and Opie headed off for their fishing trip. The Mayberry parade kicks off Mayberry Days honoring it's reigning Pickle Queen, symbolizing Aunt Bee's quest for the elusive Blue Ribbon for her canning, cooking and baking abilities. Despite all it's charms, Andy Griffith dismissed any ties between The Andy Griffith Show and his home town of Mt. Airy for decades. Andy didn't publicly return to his home until 45 years later for a dedication of his namesake highway, where he finally gave the town the validation it deserved. But to me the best part of this story is that Mt. Airy NC didn't wait for his validation to turn into what it was meant to be. The economy of this area was in textiles and furniture, it's commerce dried up and rolled out of town like tumbleweed. Waiting wasn't an option. Mt. Airy, NC could be a ghost town today, if on the map at all weren't it for someone picking up a fragment of hope and building on it. We are always going to be waiting for something aren't we? The shoe to drop, the bottom to fall out, the car to reach 100K miles, the kids to move out, the alarm to go off, the sun to go down, the sun to come up, the fish to get on my line, the phone to ring, , the Mayan calendar to expire, Jesus to come. What kept this town alive was the hope of being that sleepy little fictitious town, where men and boys whistle while they walk with cane poles to fishing holes, life slows down and everyone lives in the moment. Mayberry had it's problems, maybe things weren't all that good. Aunt Bee's pickles were terrible, Goober spouted a few expletives while busting his knuckles in his garage. Andy lost his wife and was a single dad, Aunt Bee was a widow living with her son, Floyd lost at love, Barney was insubordinate at best. Yet we loved everything about all of them. What the show did focus on all that was good. I remember days after 9/11, I found solace in this show. The whistling at the beginning of the Andy Griffith show was a soothing salve on frazzled nerves. A half hour with Andy, Barney and Opie and I am ready to unplug that phone that isn't ringing with the job offer, make that peanut butter sandwich and walk down a dirt road barefoot. I can't imagine screenwriters fabricating a documentary on Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise that would be comparable.

Isn't Life Grand?

50 Shades Of Hotter Than Hannah | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

50 Shades Of Hotter Than Hannah | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Hotter than Hannah, 50 Shades of Red

Who was Hannah? In all probability Hannah, a southern euphemism, was a harlot whose reputation is used precariously in the south to describe an extremely warm day. She was one hot tamale, that's who she was. "Bless Pat it's warm out there" could describe early June in Charleston. I think Pat was the good girl. "Hotter than Hell" is the typical innuendo to describe the low country July heat, so if you hear it's "Hotter Than Hannah” you can bet your sweet bippy it's a scorcher. The higher the mercury rises, the more sultry the language. Now factor in 50 Shades Of Gray and Magic Mike and lawd, you have turned up the heat index another 10 degrees. I believe, and it's just me now, that the marketers of these two female driven summer releases would have served better purpose to release in the winter. I'll pass on Magic Mike and Shades of Grey for that matter. Nothing against either one. I like to think some things are just better left to imagination. I'll just sit on my back patio with a glass of wine and turn 50 shades of red. I was talking to a friend who was reading 50 Shades, she told me that some of our mother's "Romance" novels were hotter than 50 Shades. Which brings me to the true story of my mother in law. God bless her soul. She had every single romance novel that hit the shelves, the minute they were released. Her Magic Mike was Victor on "The Young And The Restless",she taped every episode she couldn't watch, her eureka moment was when she realized she would never have to miss another episode while at work with the new fangled invention of recordable VCR's. My mother in law passed away at home unexpectantly. Sometimes those "We'll laugh about this one day" moments happen at a very bad time. And in this case, the day we laughed about it was only 2 days later. The pastor came to the home to console us and help with funeral arrangements. We talked about her last moments. I retraced her last minutes as visible from the objects in her room. A bowl of banana pudding, a glass bottled Coca Cola with peanuts still bubbling in the neck of the bottle and a good book. Two days later at the funeral, the pastor is giving the eulogy. I sit on the front row with my family, beside my daughter and husband. The pastor talks about her life and attributes and hard work and family and finishing well, finishing well? My ears perked. His next line was "Yes, Mrs...?????'s daughter in law told me that when she passed away she was eating banana pudding with a coke and peanuts and reading ~The Good Book~" OMG. I audibly gasped. I looked at my daughter to my left because she knew what book she was reading and it didn't have Holy Bible wrote on the front, more like Nora Roberts. My daughter chuckled and it was on. We both held back snorts and giggles as we apologized and worked ourselves out of the aisle seats barely making it to the front door before belting out in peals of laughter. We tried three times to go back in and didn't make it until my daughter promised to sit behind me. We made it through the sermon and never corrected the pastor. No, I don't think it's sacrilegious to tell this story. I have seen my mother in law smile while silently reading for too long to believe that she wouldn't get a kick out of reading this herself. I believe if she were here now and I asked her if she had read 50 Shades, she would shake her head no while holding up her latest ~Good Book~ at me smiling.

Charleston Post and Courier reports today that it will be doing aerial spraying to kill adult mosquitoes...Why prejudice? Get the teens and babies too.

Swimming Instructions Inside Box... Turtle | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Swimming Instructions Inside Box... Turtle | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Swimming Instructions Inside Box (Turtle) R. Brabham

Cliché, everyone knows the line you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Not so, proven to me by our dog Snowy. She adopted us 12 years ago, she had me at hello. I was sprawled out in a lawn chair tanning in the yard when I heard a barreling noise and panting coming through the field headed directly for me. Snowy leapt into the chair and proceeded to lick me all over my face. The neighbors started calling her back, I was sad to see the sweet bundle of yellow fur leave with her tail and head drooping down. She belonged to the neighbors. My quiet time of the day is early morning when the dew has evaporated from the wings of the birds and bees and they begin their chorus of chirping and buzzing. Coffee mug in hand I would head to the back steps under the shady Elm tree, my favorite place for morning meditations. It just happened to be the time of the morning that the neighbors let Snowy out. Searching for the prime spot (out of her own yard) to do her business, she wandered up on me. Snowy sauntered up the steps and sat flat on her butt right there by me for over a half an hour. She seemed to enjoy the peace as well. The neighbors opened their door and called her back. She left me obediently but reluctantly, looking back until I was out of sight. The next morning I heard their screen door squeak to let Snowy out. She stampeded across the field stopping cold at the bottom of the steps to see if I were sitting there. She gleefully climbed the steps and perched by me quietly. We sat like this every single morning. One day I got up to go back in the house and she hadn't been called home yet. I opened the door and she sat there looking at me like "Aren't you going to invite me in?" I opened the door and introduced her to Don as he was pouring his coffee. He rubbed on her and we talked about how sweet and pretty she was. I let her out of the door before the neighbors would start calling. Sometimes if I were outside, she would ignore her owners and take off for me. I was always scared for her to do this, they always hollered at her or popped her when she went back. I walked her back across the field one day to tell them that she wasn't bothering me and could visit me anytime. I hoped this would keep them from being so mean to her. It didn't. I have never understood why anyone would get a dog just to be mean to them. Anyhow, the young man asked me on one of my ventures to walk Snowy back home if I wanted her? He said they were moving to a new town in a few months. Snowy walked back across the field with me and didn't go outside alone again until they moved. I was so scared they would take her back. We were elated. Snowy laid down at the foot of our bed that night and has been there for 12 years now. She knows peace. She has something to compare it to and she chooses it. We accepted her the way she came to us. We didn't expect more. She doesn't play ball. Fetch is an unnecessary workout. Her preferred cardio workout is squirrel treeing. She likes 2 squares and two milk bones a day. She thrives on routine, she hates baths and deems them as punishment for some crime that she would never commit again if she knew what it was. She hates water of any kind for that matter. And so be it. We have tried many times over the years to show her how much fun water can be, she is a lab mix after all. Her face peels back and a tense crazy look comes to her eyes at the sight of water, so we never push the matter. She shakes her paws if the slightest water gets on them. One summer we purchased a pontoon boat. We envisioned summers with Snowy as mate at the helm of the boat with her skipper. That vision was squashed quickly, like the first time we took her out on the boat. I had ordered a large dog lifejacket, we put it on her. Don jumped into the water to show her how wonderful it was. I eased Snowy down into the water from the side. When she left the side of the boat she frantically pawed at don, ripping his stomach open with her nails to climb out. We sold the lifejacket on Ebay. And Snowy barely acknowledged that we were leaving her on any boating morning afterwards. High and dry is where she has been since. And so be it. We moved back to SC a few years ago. We now have a pond and fountain behind us. I love the sound of the water as the fountain sprays and I sit on my back patio. Snowy, not so impressed. For over a year she has traversed the pond and treated it with indifference. Until she saw the turtles. They came out in droves on the banks of the pond this year. Snowy loves to sneak up on them before they topple into the water. Some she victoriously helps nudge back into the water with her nose. The turtles are now the focal point of her morning. The once invisible pond has became her utopia. And then it happened. Don takes Snowy for her evening walk, she meets a friend along the way. The box turtle appeared at the bank of the pond, teasing Snowy as it popped it's head up out of the water and then disappeared. Snowy immerses both paws looking for the turtle to reappear. Up pops the turtle pulling back a little into the pond as it continues the tease. Snowy now has all four in. The turtle weaves around her coming up near her side, Snowy starts putting her paw out to touch it, splashing some. Snowy has a wet belly! Don tells me the story with the same exuberance he had when he took the training wheels off of Abby's bike and she took off. Snowy has circled that pond now for a week in search of her pundit, each turtle that pops up could be it. But no, they all avoid her. And then on a hot July 4th evening. Snowy sits on the bank of the pond and her friend comes to join her. Snowy forgets that she doesn't like to swim and dogpaddles out to meet her friend. Now when Snowy lays asleep at our feet with her legs twitching as she sleep barks, we know her dreams have changed. She just needed the right inspiration.