April 11-27, Savannah, Charleston, the Blue Ridge Mtns.
April 11
Why didn’t we stay longer at Hanna Park? I loved it there – lush green dense foliage, huge trees, the constant call of birds of every variety. We had no compelling reason to leave. Foolish foolish, foolish!
In Florida – less so in Jacksonville – the vegetation is lush and tropicalj. The plants and trees that grow wild – Norfolk Island Pine, creeping charley, bromeliads, air plants, leather and maidenhair fern, spider plant, orchids, rubber plant, fig – are the same ones I carefully nurtured as house plants in Arizona – usually to a sad ending. Here, they grow as trees! Wildly, lushly, with vegetative abandon. I am in awe.
April 12
I run today from our RV in Hanna Park to the beach. That is, I run/walk. I run until the pain in my knee demands that I walk, then I run again, then walk. The sun is hidden behind a thin film of clouds so it is cool if humid. After breakfast, Steve and I go for a long bike ride through the park. This is a perfect bike-riding, hiking, running park.
But we are leaving today. We travel to Skidaway State Park in Georgia, 5 miles south of Savannah. This park is green and forested – not as dense as Hanna Park, but beautiful nonetheless, with large open sites for each RV. Tomorrow we will go to historic Savannah, walk around and see the city. There’s a lot to see here, and as we look at a map and guidebook for Georgia, a lot to see in the state. We may spend more time here than we had planned.
April 13
We drive through the streets of Savannah through a tunnel of trees. They are dressed to kill with Spanish moss draped from every branch, swaying like grey feather boas. The city has paid attention to its landscaping and architecture: new buildings must look old, with clapboard or “Savannah grey” brick (which is really red) in the Southern architectural style. The homes and buildings have a warmth and charm that invites “come on in,” with wraparound porches, curving staircases, contrasting wood shutters and lacy wrought iron around windows and doors and as boundary fencing in the front.
Interestingly, despite Savannah’s important role in the Civil War, there is little mention of this period in its history. On a city tour today we pass the Colonial Cemetary where the greats from Savannah’s history are buried. It is also the place where Sherman’s Union army camped during his march through Georgia. During their stay in the cemetery, the soldiers defaced gravestone and even pulled some grave markers out of the ground and tossed them about. Not knowing where these headstones belonged, they were lined up on the back wall of the cemetery, where thgey remain as a reminder of how war can bring out the worst – as well as the best – in its participants. But any descriptive material about Savannah or the cemetery does not mention Sherman or his troops’ destructive acts here.
We walk through the graveyard, reading the headstones where we can; many are illegible, the inscriptions blurred by time and weather. But those that are readable tell an important story about the past. Most of the occupants of these grassy acres died young – 5, 25, 30 years old. The average age at death seems to be about 32; the 50 or 60 year old is a rarity.
April 16
Charleston, SC
We are staying at a campground in St. George, SC, home of the World Grits Festival this weekend. It has received media attention from the Wall St. Journal and the New York Times. We decide we can’t stay in the international grits capital without attending the annual grits festival. We go, eat grits, and leave. There’s not much there to attract anyone’s attention, not even a historical grits exhibit. But 50,000 people, we’re told, will attend over the 3 days of the festival.
We are driving to Charleston. . . azaleas are in bloom everywhere, a splurge of color along the roadway – fuschia, coral, palest blush pink, white. The woods lining the highway hint of the dense forest that greeted the original colonists. And swamps or marshland – wetlands are everywhere in the South, from the moment we entered Louisiana.
April 17-26
Asheville and Waynesville, NC
Winter is transitioning to spring. Some trees still cling to their burnished leaves, leftover from autumn. Others are pretty in pink, white or rose blooms, or hesitantly showing their new green leaves, creating splashes of color against the hills.
The Great Smoky Mountains are breathtaking. I try to find words to describe the view that surrounds us, but fail. Go. Look. Drink it in. Secondhand descriptions or photos are worthless.
After 7 days in Waynesville, a small community in the Smokies, we move on . . . to Lebanan, Tenn. From there, we drive the Jeep to Bowling Green, Ky so that Steve can visit the National Corvette Museum. He is in heaven. When we arrive at the museum, we are told most people spend a little over an hour there. I know better – Steve can (and does) spend the day there, with a 1.5 hour break to tour the Corvette factory nearby. On our way back, we take a detour to visit Springfield, TN, where I lived for a year when I was 6. I try to find the house where we lived, but my mother doesn’t remember the name of the street and while I find a house that looks like it could be the one, who knows?
Why didn’t we stay longer at Hanna Park? I loved it there – lush green dense foliage, huge trees, the constant call of birds of every variety. We had no compelling reason to leave. Foolish foolish, foolish!
In Florida – less so in Jacksonville – the vegetation is lush and tropicalj. The plants and trees that grow wild – Norfolk Island Pine, creeping charley, bromeliads, air plants, leather and maidenhair fern, spider plant, orchids, rubber plant, fig – are the same ones I carefully nurtured as house plants in Arizona – usually to a sad ending. Here, they grow as trees! Wildly, lushly, with vegetative abandon. I am in awe.
April 12
I run today from our RV in Hanna Park to the beach. That is, I run/walk. I run until the pain in my knee demands that I walk, then I run again, then walk. The sun is hidden behind a thin film of clouds so it is cool if humid. After breakfast, Steve and I go for a long bike ride through the park. This is a perfect bike-riding, hiking, running park.
But we are leaving today. We travel to Skidaway State Park in Georgia, 5 miles south of Savannah. This park is green and forested – not as dense as Hanna Park, but beautiful nonetheless, with large open sites for each RV. Tomorrow we will go to historic Savannah, walk around and see the city. There’s a lot to see here, and as we look at a map and guidebook for Georgia, a lot to see in the state. We may spend more time here than we had planned.
April 13
We drive through the streets of Savannah through a tunnel of trees. They are dressed to kill with Spanish moss draped from every branch, swaying like grey feather boas. The city has paid attention to its landscaping and architecture: new buildings must look old, with clapboard or “Savannah grey” brick (which is really red) in the Southern architectural style. The homes and buildings have a warmth and charm that invites “come on in,” with wraparound porches, curving staircases, contrasting wood shutters and lacy wrought iron around windows and doors and as boundary fencing in the front.
Interestingly, despite Savannah’s important role in the Civil War, there is little mention of this period in its history. On a city tour today we pass the Colonial Cemetary where the greats from Savannah’s history are buried. It is also the place where Sherman’s Union army camped during his march through Georgia. During their stay in the cemetery, the soldiers defaced gravestone and even pulled some grave markers out of the ground and tossed them about. Not knowing where these headstones belonged, they were lined up on the back wall of the cemetery, where thgey remain as a reminder of how war can bring out the worst – as well as the best – in its participants. But any descriptive material about Savannah or the cemetery does not mention Sherman or his troops’ destructive acts here.
We walk through the graveyard, reading the headstones where we can; many are illegible, the inscriptions blurred by time and weather. But those that are readable tell an important story about the past. Most of the occupants of these grassy acres died young – 5, 25, 30 years old. The average age at death seems to be about 32; the 50 or 60 year old is a rarity.
April 16
Charleston, SC
We are staying at a campground in St. George, SC, home of the World Grits Festival this weekend. It has received media attention from the Wall St. Journal and the New York Times. We decide we can’t stay in the international grits capital without attending the annual grits festival. We go, eat grits, and leave. There’s not much there to attract anyone’s attention, not even a historical grits exhibit. But 50,000 people, we’re told, will attend over the 3 days of the festival.
We are driving to Charleston. . . azaleas are in bloom everywhere, a splurge of color along the roadway – fuschia, coral, palest blush pink, white. The woods lining the highway hint of the dense forest that greeted the original colonists. And swamps or marshland – wetlands are everywhere in the South, from the moment we entered Louisiana.
April 17-26
Asheville and Waynesville, NC
Winter is transitioning to spring. Some trees still cling to their burnished leaves, leftover from autumn. Others are pretty in pink, white or rose blooms, or hesitantly showing their new green leaves, creating splashes of color against the hills.
The Great Smoky Mountains are breathtaking. I try to find words to describe the view that surrounds us, but fail. Go. Look. Drink it in. Secondhand descriptions or photos are worthless.
After 7 days in Waynesville, a small community in the Smokies, we move on . . . to Lebanan, Tenn. From there, we drive the Jeep to Bowling Green, Ky so that Steve can visit the National Corvette Museum. He is in heaven. When we arrive at the museum, we are told most people spend a little over an hour there. I know better – Steve can (and does) spend the day there, with a 1.5 hour break to tour the Corvette factory nearby. On our way back, we take a detour to visit Springfield, TN, where I lived for a year when I was 6. I try to find the house where we lived, but my mother doesn’t remember the name of the street and while I find a house that looks like it could be the one, who knows?
posted by Anne-Marie | 6:29 PM
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