Festival Fun in South Carolina

Last weekend was exciting. Instead of spending all my time in the bunkhouse baking bread (what I did the weekend before), Whitney (fellow intern), Jake (her boyfriend), and I hit up two local festivals: the Pine Straw Festival  in Patrick and the Strawberry Festival at McLeods Farm just outside of McBee. 

First up was the Pine Straw Festival. We drove all the way to Patrick, 20 minutes away, for this. 

The Pine Straw Festival did have a bouncy slide, which I suppose was pretty exciting.  I don't know they would have let us on, though. Maybe if we had a small child they would have, but there weren't any around we could borrow. 

Small line-up of old cars and some people I don't know. 

Don't have booths like this at home in Ohio... 

We spent about four minutes walking around because I wanted to take pictures of pine straw (of which there was none). Pine straw is fallen pine needles that are gathered up and used as mulch. You would think that if the festival was named after pine straw there would be some there, an informational booth or something at least. But no. I was disappointed. 

I soon got over my disappointment when we headed back to McBee and McLeod's Strawberry Festival. A much better festival, primarily because we ate peach enchiladas and ice cream (makes my mouth water now just thinking about it) and they also had a booth for Carolina Sandhills Refuge, wagon rides, cornhole, and kids crafts. And strawberries, peaches, and other fresh produce. 

I bought a basket of these delicious strawberries, some of the best I've ever had. And now I have a sweet white plastic basket that says Mac's Pride.  

Yummy-looking peaches. Haven't had any yet, but the peach ice cream was good. 

They also have a small museum with all sorts of neat random old stuff, including cars, artwork, cash registers, cases of old knives, a row of rocking chairs, and these decoys. 

Wall of tools and things. 

One of the collection of old fans sitting next to the collection of cash registers. 

Whitney and I went to the small McLeod's produce stand just down the road from the refuge one day after work for peach ice cream. Not a good idea. Now that I know there is homemade peach ice cream so close,   I'm going to be there everyday after work. My entire weekly stipend is going to be spent on peach ice cream. 

If you're interested, here's the McLeod's website: http://www.macspride.com

It says they deliver peaches, but I'm not sure how far (as probably most of the people reading this are not in South Carolina). I plan on personally sampling a large variety of their produce, baked goods and deserts in the next few months, so I'll let you know how everything is. 

This is Patrick

This may be slightly mind-boggling, but Patrick is both a place AND a person.


This Patrick (the place) is located in South Carolina, roughly 17 miles from McBee, which is slightly left of the middle of nowhere South Carolina.

This Patrick (the person) is currently located in Florida, somewhere on Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge, probably doing something fun like spraying invasive plants.
He can both talk the talk and walk the walk, and is an expert cogon grass eradicator. Don't let his mild-mannered appearance fool you, he'll kill him some cogon grass or old world climbing fern before you can say Bazinga! Although it's much more exciting if he does it while you say Bazinga!

This Patrick has seen better days.

This Patrick is better days.

The most exciting thing about this Patrick is that the Dollar General is now open on Sunday.
Though I do hear that the Pine Straw Festival is a good time.

This Patrick mingles with NASA astronaut cut-outs. And touches lightning bare-handed. Even the astronaut has to wear gloves. This Patrick is basically a superhero.  Pine straw just can't compete.

This Patrick has a post office and a church (one of each),

but this Patrick has a USFWS hat (jealous) and a pretty purple passion fruit flower. Pretty purple passion flowers are always preferable to post offices.

The people of Patrick probably think I'm nuts because I pulled over to take pictures of signs around town (which consists basically of what you see here, a few houses, and a gas station). I also get the impression out-of-state plates are not welcome, probably especially when those plates are attached to a car with a Skunk Ape bumper sticker. I received several hostile looks.

I know this Patrick thinks I'm nuts (especially after writing this blog). However, his looks are something less than hostile. (And none of his used parts are for sale).

This blog post is what happens on weekends when you're slightly left of the middle of nowhere South Carolina, looking through pictures from your last internship in Florida.

Thank you to Meghan for supplying some of the Patrick photographs. This blog would not have been possible without your assistance.

My heart belongs to the desert

My heart belongs to the desert; land of sun, dirt, rock.

I am the raven, dark shadow on the red rock wall. I am the sage, slowly crinkling in the sun. I am the rock pinnacle, rising out of the flat. I am the sun, browning rows of fence. I am the road, pavement stretching on into the horizon. I am the hawk on the fence post, waiting. I am the jackrabbit, listening. I am the bone-thin horse, running. I am the wind, touching every grass, every particle of dust.  I am the hard-baked earth, cracked and parched.  I am the tree, twisted by life without. I am the beetle, crawling. I am the coyote, spilling secrets to the stars. I am the bright moon, giving light to those who cannot see. I am the traveler, sleeping in the night-cold, peaceful.

I am the one standing on the rise, greeting the rising sun with my own spirit-light, the light within merging with the light without.  

All pictures were taken in Utah (2011) during a road trip taken with my friend Max from Ohio to Colorado, via all sorts of interesting places like the Red River Gorge in Kentucky, New Orleans, the freeway system of Texas (not really), New Mexico, and Utah. This piece was written during that same trip. 

Kalmia Gardens

Yesterday I journeyed to a beautiful quiet part of Hartsville called Kalmia Gardens. I'd driven past it a few times on my way into town for supplies (conveniently, it's just down the street from Bi-Lo, the local grocery store). After driving past the intricately wrought gates a few times, I knew I had to explore. The drive into the gardens is narrow and easy to miss, hidden behind dense foliage. As with many truly beautiful things, one needs to look deeper in order to see. 

Kalmia Gardens are quite unlike Carolina Sandhills. Here we have pines, tall and open, the soil sandy and covered with a thick layer of browned needles. The gardens are another place entirely, reminding me strongly of the tropics. Thick layers all around, the sunlight filtered through dark green leaves, vines holding all the trees together, growing over and in and on top of everything. 

There is also water here, streams, rivers, the soil is dark with water. With water comes lush life, bursts of colored flowers growing everywhere they can. 

I've always liked marigolds, their scent and their sturdiness. Their yellow petals remind me of the ruffles on a dress of a little girl, running in the bright sun after dandelion fluff, in her hair a yellow bow that perfectly matches the ruffles on her dress and tiny socks. The brightness of her joy hides any grass stains on her knees and skirt, the dirt on her face disappearing as she grins and shrieks with happiness. 

The gardens have a slightly disorderly feel to them, which I love. In a place like Kalmia Gardens, one can imagine the spirits of the plants, wood sprites and water nymphs, peering from behind the lilies or having a merry picnic on the banks of the pond, cavorting and singing with the robins. The wrens, nimble in the mountain laurel, let loose a tumble of liquid sound before diving away into the shadows, perhaps to find a meal for their young in the nest. 

If you're interested in the history of the gardens, there is the Kalmia gardens website: http://www.kalmiagardens.org

Happy Mother's Day Mom! 

Every flower I see reminds me of you and all of the wonderful ways you have made my life beautiful. Thank you for showing me the beauty in every living thing, and for teaching me how to properly dead-head. Without you, my marigold-self would be scraggly, with all sorts of ugly bits hanging here and there. Thanks for keeping me dead-headed and helping me to grown into myself. 

I love you Mommy! You're the best Mom I've ever had :)