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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.