What's a Sports Fan To Do?

Road Trip: Savannah

On one of my first dates with Joe we went to a New York Mets game. It was late September, the air was crisp, the Mets were in last place i.e. it was easy to get tickets, so we made the trek to New York. Long story short - I had too much beer, threw up all the way home on the #7 subway train and ruined Joe’s favorite pair of shoes.

Living in New Jersey, we were fortunate that we had both the New York and Philadelphia metropolitan areas all within an hour trek, which meant plenty of professional sporting event options.

When we moved to South Carolina I knew that part of the deal was that Joe would get the NFL Sunday Ticket so that he could still watch “his teams”. And this spring we also had to add the Major Leagues Baseball package so that Joe could watch “his Red Sox.”

Allow me to digress for just a moment. I don’t understand the “my team” phenomenon. Ladies, you understand what I am saying here right? Joe screams and yells at the newspaper, the television, the players, the announcers – whatever form of media is bringing him his sporting news. And he reacts in way that makes you think he owned the team, or was on the team, or shared some stake in their winning season. I don’t get it.

Anyway, the bottom line is - we are paying $140 a month for television. So I of course, insist that Joe watch every bleeping game. But, I’ll admit even I have had a hankering for some live sports action. So, we decided to trek to Savannah for a Sand Gnats game.

A short 17 mile drive brings you to downtown Savannah, a few more miles and you are at the historic Grayson stadium, which first opened in 1926. Since then, a number of baseball teams and up and coming players (including Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle) have graced the field. The Stadium, just off Victory drive, is nestled amid live oaks and its fading façade conjures up feelings of nostalgia – as much of Savannah does.

General admission tickets were $6 each and we managed to grab dinner for under $10. We were amazed to find that beers were only $2 (typically you’ll pay $5-7 at a major league game). However, when we went back for a second round we learned that the “new girl” only charged us for one brew the first go ‘round. So, beers actually = $4 each.

I watched the thermometer on the score board slowly drop from 91 to 84. It was hot and sticky, but it did not ruin the spirit of the crowd. You would have thought that the Sand Gnats were playing for the national championship with the swell of cheers that followed a good play or a hit. It was actually comforting – good old baseball, in a historic stadium, in a beautiful city, with a mix of young and old enjoying the game – a slice of apple pie would have undoubtedly made this night one right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

The Sand Gnats came away with a 3-1 victory over the Rome Braves. Ah, another one for the history books. O.k. not really, but it is indeed a trip worth making for some good ol’ all American fun!

Savannah is a great sister town to Bluffton, with a lot to offer. I think I’ll be traveling there often to keep you in the loop.

For more information on the Savannah Sand Gnats visit www.sandgnats.com.

Stereotypically Speaking ...

One August night in 1979 my father came home from work and he was visibly upset. My mom thought the worst – someone had died. She assumed it was a family member or one of my father’s fellow firefighters. She was off by a bit. New York Yankee, Thurman Munson had died in a plane crash and my father was devastated.

Dad is a huge Yankees fan. I can remember going to see the Yankees play twenty years ago. It was always an exciting trip, trekking into New York City, navigating the South Bronx (with a different game plan each time), eating Yankee franks, the works.

My sister and I broke my dad’s heart I’m sure when we married a Red Sox fan (Joe) and a Mets fan respectively. However, I am sure he had no idea that when we announced we were moving to the South, that he would become the father of two bona fide “Yankees.”

Believe it or not, in the North we don’t refer to ourselves as Yankees. However, in the fourteen months that I have lived here I have been called a Yankee more times than I care to recall – sometimes in a joking manner and too many times it has been said with contempt.

So, will I always be a Yankee? Will time ever expunge that offense from my record?

I just don’t understand the whole North vs. South thing. Now I’m no history buff, but as far as I can tell the Civil War ended 141 years ago. So, why the continuing battle?

Jeff Foxworthy, Saturday Night Live, and Hollywood in general have pigeon-holed us people. We need an uprising against the media. Down with stereotypes. We aren’t really like they portray us, are we?

Do you drive fast and without regard for others?
Do you talk fast?
Are you rude and obnoxious?
Are you in the mob or know someone who is?

If you’ve answered yes, well then, you must be a Yankee.

Do you talk slow?
Do you work at a snail’s pace?
Do you watch Nascar?
Do you know Larry the Cable Guy?

If you’ve answered yes, well then, you must be a Southerner.

Let’s move on people. We live in the geographically diverse melting pot of Bluffton, South Carolina.

If we’re going to make fun of someone, let’s make fun of the folks on the West Coast. After all, those tree-hugging, surfer dudes and gals (probably made of plastic), who either work in Hollywood or in a coffee shop in Seattle, hang out with Paris and Nicole, party all night, and are like, soooo lame.

My Wardrobe Malfunction

Don’t worry. I haven’t bared a breast in Bluffton. What I have done, is totally misjudge the heat of our Lowcountry summer. My wardrobe is all wrong.

It is hot!

We were blessed with a very comfortable spring, which I fear was the calm before the storm. As I write this, the thermometer nears 95 degrees. I just came back from lunch, where I sat in a screened-in porch. When I stood up I could feel the dampness on the back of my shirt (this could be considered “too much information” but bear with me), nothing like a sweat stain when you are out in public to make you feel self-conscious. I’m finding that just walking from the parking lot to the food store has become a mission to avoid overheating.

Ok, I know what you are thinking. The Yankee can’t handle the heat. That may be true, but with a little tweaking of the wardrobe, my problem (and yours) can be solved.

When packing to move to South Carolina, I was very diligent in cleaning out my closet. I parted with anything that I hadn’t worn in a year. I went through my Hope Chest, which houses my sweater collection - not all my hopes and dreams - and said a tearful goodbye to some sweaters that had been with me since high school (and still fit!).

In exchange for paring down my sweater collection, I beefed up my flip-flop and sandal repertoire. This was the first step in my reformation. I haven’t worn socks in 437 days. Ah, sweet freedom! Socks keep the heat in, so I avoid them. I’ve also nixed shoes that cover my feet completely. Its open-toe or open-heel shoes for this convert.

Now is the tricky part. What to do from the ankles up? Three words – white, linen, layers.

• Yes, you heard it here first. The owner of no less than a dozen pairs of black pants says put the black in the back of the closet.

• Linen can be your friend. Who cares if your pants are completely wrinkled by the time you get to the office. It’s better than your pants being soaking wet, right?

• If your day is anything like mine – you are inside and outside all day long. So you’re freezing in the air conditioning and sweating in the heat. Buy lots of t-shirts and a couple of light cotton cardigans. The on again – off again can be annoying but its better than pneumonia.

For the men (if you are still reading) I don’t have much advice to offer. However, my metro-sexual hubby did have some suggestions, which shockingly go against everything I know about him. But a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.

Yup, you guessed it my J Crew loving husband cut the sleeves off of his t-shirts. He’s gone country! No boots yet – its just too dang hot – but he has made the shift to flip-flops on the weekends. Joe has also taken to bringing an extra pair of shorts/pants with him to work each day, just in case it’s a day in the field.

Now, these solutions are less than revolutionary. I’m not even sure they are solutions. In fact, we’ve found that our favorite reprieve is a margarita. We planted a lime tree last year and are seeing the fruits of our labor. Get a blender and enjoy the summer. Don’t sweat it.

“Do Southerners laugh at different things than Northerners do? Yes, Northerners." - Roy Blount

The Dog Days of Summer

It’s been a doggone crazy week for me. It is Thursday morning and I am on deadline. Of course, deadline is a relative term since I am really supposed to be stockpiling columns for a couple of weeks, so when I am swamped or at a loss for words (ha ha) I can relax and not worry about the “tick, tick, tick” in my head.

My idea for this column hatched Wednesday night as my husband and I finalized our travel plans for next month, yet still haven’t answered the question, who will watch the kids? Our “kids” are of the furry persuasion, two cats and one dog.

The cats came first and have been with me for what seems like - always. When we tied the knot five years ago, Joe inherited Skye and Bauer, who will both be nine this summer. They didn’t seem to notice the transition. Just an extra set of legs to sleep on at the bottom of the bed and twice as many clothes to cover in cat hair. Cats seem to go about their business, not really noticing a change in weather (they are indoor cats), change of season, change of venue (we’ve moved a number of times), change of anything for that matter. Until – you add a dog to the mix.

When Darby arrived on the scene four years ago, Bauer and Skye didn’t “talk” to us for weeks. We were persona non grata – feed us, clean our litter box and leave us alone – meee-ow! The cats keep to themselves, rub up against us every once in awhile – generally when we are in black pants, and swat Darby when ever he passes by just so he knows who is in charge. They live their own lives and sometimes include us.



But, Darby, he is our baby. Non-dog lovers won’t get it. If you have a dog, you understand. If you are childless and have a dog, you’re nodding your head along with me right now - you know. I cry when we leave him for short trips or when he has to get a shot at the vet. I clap when he catches the ball, retrieves a stick, or remembers to wipe his feet before going in the house (we call it the “Darby Dance”). I sign his name to our Christmas cards. His picture hangs in various rooms of our house. I’m pathetic.

Anyway, we can’t convince our beloved pet sitter from the North to travel to South Carolina every day, for nine days, while we are away next month. So, the search begins for a pet-sitter. We need someone to love our “kids” while we are gone.

One of my favorite things about living in Bluffton is the overwhelming number of “dog people.” We live in a dog-friendly community. It is evident at community events, where dogs are often invited to participate i.e. the Ugly Dog Contest. It is evident on the River as many a pup is seen navigating the May from the bow of a boat. It is evident through the acts of concerned citizens who have launched the Bluffton Dog Park effort.

So, I am asking for your help. Who do you trust to pet-sit? Who have you used? Who should I avoid? Send me your best and worst stories. I know you will have the answers.

Earlier this week, a blogger posted the question, “How can you care so much for a dog?”

“He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion." - Unknown

Weekend Tourist

So what do you call the tourists who flock to Bluffton / Hilton Head Island each year for fun in the sun?

Back home, we called non-locals who visited the Jersey Shore, “bennies”, an acronym of sorts for the folks who traveled south from Bayonne, Elizabeth, Newark to visit the beaches of the Shore and make it virtually impossible for a local to enjoy what we believed was ours. The bennies would decend on Memorial Day Weekend and remain until Labor Day.

So, in keeping with the spirit of our roots, we had friends from New Jersey in town for Memorial Day Weekend (don’t worry they aren’t moving here) and they wanted to see the “sights.” We obliged and I was a tourist for the weekend and I loved it!

On Sunday we hit the beach at Coligny. It was a far cry from our usual quiet spot on Folly Field or Burkes Beach, but it was indeed where the action was. For $4 we paid for a full-day of parking, not a bad deal.

Coligny was packed with wall to wall college kids enjoying their summer freedom and with families weighed down by beach gear. I am always amazed by how much stuff people bring to the beach - more kids = more stuff. We selected a spot next what I think was a group of Ohio State Sorority sisters, which basically meant I had to suck in my stomach for 4 hours … there was just no way to compete with these young women. Ah, to be young again.

The weather was perfect, there was a nice cool breeze, and there was the Tiki Hut Bar (adjacent to the Holiday Inn). Frozen drinks were in the $6 range and perfectly refreshing. The Tiki Hut has entertainment seven days a week in the summer and we enjoyed the crooning of Jo Jo Squirrel and Home Pickles (I wish I knew where that name came from). Cooling misters keep the crowd in the check and if you manage to score the table right in front of the stage (we did) you sit beneath the shade of a large oak and a couple of palm trees. It was wonderful to feel like I was on vacation when I was only a few miles from home.

Back home later that afternoon, we assessed our sun burn and got ready for dinner. Doing the tourist thing, we of course, had to head back to the Island. Surprisingly traffic was non-existent and we made it to Hemingway’s at Palmetto Bay Marina in no time at all.

We picked the restaurant based on the recommendation of a friend and the pick was dead on. Hemingway’s didn’t take reservations, but the 30-minute wait for an outside table breezed by. For pre and post-dinner drinks you can try out Hemingway’s own outdoor bar or pop-in at Captain Woody’s. We browsed at Iguana Johns Island Oasis shop, which carries coastal inspired clothing, furniture, home accessories, and gifts. And, before we knew it we had a table looking right out over the bay and the Bridge.

Things only got better. Now, I know restaurant reviews ala me can be controversial, but Hemingway’s certainly hit the mark. For appetizer, try the Smoked Trout and Brie Dip, the Fried Mozzarella, and the Seafood Martini. For dinner, I had the Grilled Atlantic Salmon with Wasabi Potatoes – perfectly cooked with a citrus and marmalade-esque marinade. The rest of my group enjoyed the Sashimi Grade Tuna, the Paella (an old standby for Joe that he ranked as the best ever), Lobster Tails and the Cold Seafood Platter (the cold mussels on the platter didn’t taste as expected, but in no way dampened our spirits).

We were all very happy and very full. But, that didn’t stop us – we ordered dessert. I had the banana bread pudding with vanilla ice cream. It was heaven. All in all, a few rounds of drinks, appetizers, dinner, and desserts for five cost $237 plus tip. The service was excellent and the atmosphere was an added bonus. We will definitely be back, even when we aren’t playing tourist.

A tourist is defined as one who travels for pleasure. Many of the residents in Bluffton and Hilton Head will tell you that they moved here after vacationing in the area for months, years, decades. I was one of them. Maybe it is because of the vast beauty – the beaches and the rivers, the endless opportunities for recreation, the great restaurants, or maybe it is living life like you are on vacation every day. Not a bad deal, is it?

Committed to the Asylum

When you walk in, you are not sure where to focus your eyes. You hear the gentle squawk of the resident bird, “Pumpkin”, who forces you to – albeit somewhat hesitantly – venture in further, and peak around. What you make of it is up to you.

You’ve entered the Art Asylum at 1230 May River Road, Old Town, and this is not your typical art gallery. By typical I mean pristine walls sparsely populated with art that you can’t afford and sales associates peering at you trying to assess your net worth. Instead, it reflects the small town feel of Bluffton, as many of the galleries in Old Town do. In fact, the first time I slipped in to have a look I never encountered a person. I wandered on my own for a few minutes – a no pressure browse.

The birth of the Art Asylum is a sweet story steeped in love for the community. Last fall, Harold and Denise Lee, owners of Old Bluffton Flowers (a find in itself and the perfect spot for your visiting guests to pick up a memento of their stay here), were looking for a way to bring an art gallery to the space next to their shop. By January the doors were open and another Bluffton institution was born. The Lees generously provide the financial backing for the Art Asylum as a gift back to the community, one that they adopted years ago.

My second pop-in introduced me to Molly Carrington, Artist-in-Residence of the Asylum, which she bills as a haven for artists. “This is a place to keep them safe from the world,” Molly tells me.

According to Molly, “The Asylum is a montage of good and bad art. Art is everything – it is in the mind of the beholder.” The Art Asylum encourages artist to be unusual and different. This mission stems from Molly’s own experiences as a “junk artist” – a genre that hasn’t been taken seriously in her opinion.

The Art Asylum offers an eclectic mix of art in all forms – paintings, jewelry, paint your own pottery, poetry readings, creative arts classes, artist’s receptions every Friday night (booked through 2007!) and even Tai Chi on occasion. My favorite … Lillian Byrne Heyward’s current exhibit features an inventory of rooster-related oils on canvas that I am salivating over. Good news, they have a lay-a-way plan for art purchases!

Molly tells the story of the Art Asylum and the Bluffton arts community with passion. She is an interesting women with a gift to share and a mantra that goes something like this, “Well behaved women don’t make history.” I like this lady!

Art Walk Today!
Today the Art Asylum and the galleries and shops on Calhoun Street, stay open late and open their doors to the community for an art walk – an open house of sorts.

Merchants and artists will spill onto Calhoun Street offering snacks and libations. Howard Duff will entertain the crowd with his blues music, and guests will enjoy the chance to meet the artists and maybe understand just what it is that inspires them.

IF YOU GO:
Art Walk Bluffton – Food, Music & Art
Today, Friday, May 26
3:00 – 8:00 p.m.
For details, call the Art Asylum at 757.2741

Hair we go again ...

When I was twelve, I insisted that I needed a perm. New Jersey’s sons, Bon Jovi, had recently released their first record and were wildly popular and so was big hair.

My seventh grade, wavy hair would just not do. I needed a perm, so that I could tease it out and look like the rest of the girls in my class. I finally convinced my mom that a perm was the way to go and I remember counting the days until my appointment.

When we arrived at the salon, on a Friday afternoon, we learned that our stylist, whom we trusted, was out sick and Angel would be filling in. Nothing about Angel set my Mom’s mind at ease. It could have been her attire, her tattoos, or the fact that her hair had about 6 inches of dark roots before the bleached blonde took over.

But, there was no way I was letting this opportunity slip through my fingers. So, I sat in the chair and got what many could call the worst perm in the history of perms. I, of course, pretended that it was just great lest I give Mom the satisfaction of a “you were right”. (Shortly after, I would also be allowed to wear makeup. Unfortunately, blue eye shadow was in style back then and there is a year of pictures that I believe my mom should destroy.)

Oddly, that perm gave me permanent curls to this day. Whether it was Angel, puberty, or genes, I have very curly hair and I have been fighting it ever since.

So, what does a girl with curly hair want more than anything else? Why, straight hair, of course! Most mornings, I pull it back in a pony tail and call it a day. But every once in awhile I decide that I need a new look. And, that is where the saga begins.

Since being in Bluffton, I have tried three salons in an effort to find the best hairstyle for me.

Salon A decided that what I really needed was long layers, straight hair and some highlights. You know the “Jennifer Aniston”, seven years too late. It looked great, for a day. The next morning, after I decided there was no way I was straightening my hair each morning (a thirty minute ritual) or having light blonde highlights in my brown hair, I was at Walgreens buying hair color to return to my original state. By noon, my hair was brown again and in a pony tail.

After a five month recovery period, I headed to Salon B. After a thirty minute wait, I again shared my desire for a style. It was December and I wanted to cut my hair short, avoid the pony tail for a few months, and enjoy my curls while humidity was in a down cycle.

Salon B suggested, “yes, go with your curls, but you don’t want short hair, not with your face.” (I think that was an insult.) The indicator light did not go on – the one that should have prompted me to exit immediately - so I allowed Salon B to proceed to tell me what I should do. After all, they were the “experts”. So, I came home with long hair, parted on the wrong side, some short layers mixed throughout and enough product to keep the New York Kennel Club show dogs primped for a year. My solution this time? I gave Joe a pair of scissors and made him cut my hair.

After another long recovery period and months of split ends (did I mention that Joe cut my hair with small bathroom scissors?) I got back on that horse and headed to Salon C – Charles & Company in the Kroger shopping Plaza.

This time, I was prepared to stand my ground and what a delightful experience it was. I was put in the chair at exactly the time my appointment was to start. I then explained what I wanted – just a trim please – and I found a stylist who listened.

I am proud to say that I will indeed return. I finally, after a year of searching, found a salon in Bluffton that will see my repeat business.

The Nitty, Gritty

The Nitty, Gritty

I’ve heard all about them, but still haven’t had the nerve to taste them. Grits that is. They are described as small broken grains of corn. But menus throughout the South, offer various culinary variations to the grit.

They have shrimp and grits, cheddar grits, bacon and artichoke grits, grits and cheese casserole, friend grits, fried grits and ham, southwestern grits, garlic cheese grits, baked grits, corn-grits fritters, chicken medallions and grits, stone ground grits, wild mushroom grits, spring chicken and grits, tomato grits, and chile grits.

The list goes on and on. Emeril, Paul Deen, Bobby Flay, Tyler Florence – they all have their own recipes for grits – these small broken grains of corn, that I guess can taste like just about anything.

But, my interest also lies in the other type of grits. The capital G, capital R, capital I, capital T, capital S – Girls Raised In The South, G.R.I.T.S.

My first encounter with a G.R.I.T.S. was right after I accepted my job here in Bluffton. I was handling all of my human resources paperwork via email and FedEx packages and received the sweetest email from the human resources representative at my new company. She asked about my husband, my family, our new home, our new neighborhood, and what she could do to help me settle. Then, she shared news about Bluffton to prepare me for my arrival - the azaleas were blooming, Church of the Cross was expanding, the weather was warming. She was everything that I expected from a Southern woman and more.

So, to help my fellow newbies acclimate to the land of grits and G.R.I.T.S., check out these recipes for both.

Cheesy Grits (Courtesy of www.foodnetwork.com and the easy version that I am going to try):
1 cup coarse-ground white grits
2 cups water or more, if needed
2 cups milk
1 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper
1 cup sharp white Cheddar
Set a sauté pan over medium heat and grease (bacon grease is a great start). Add the water, milk and grits to the pan. Bring to a boil and reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook the grits, covered, stirring often, until soft and most of the liquid has been absorbed, 45 minutes to 1 1/2 hours depending on the grits. Add more water a half cup at a time), if necessary. Once the grits are cooked to the desired degree of tenderness, season with salt and pepper. Add the cheese and stir well to combine

G.R.I.T.S. (the version I’ll never be, but will continue to aspire to)
• Must be born south of the Mason-Dixon Line (No chance of that happening for me.)
• Well versed in the Southern dialect. Prone to sayings such as, “dahlin’” she takes her time speaking and enunciates. (I’m what you’d call a fast-talker.)
• Can make sweet tea with her eyes closed and hands tied behind her back. (Damn if I can’t figure out how to add the right amount of sugar!)
• She is gracious and warm and always makes you feel at home in her home. (There are a few exceptions who have tried to curse the Yankees - me included - back to the North, but for the most part this holds true.)
• She makes her grits from scratch!

For more, you may want to visit www.gritsinc.com a website dedicated to the art of the G.R.I.T.S. I learned a lot and I think you will too!

Things that make you go hmmm...

My column was moved to Friday. Too much ad space on Sundays was cramping my style - and stripping my column of 200 words a week and we can all agree that the good people of Bluffton need more than 300 words of Courtney each week. So I successfully bothered my Editor enough, that he moved me for good. So here it is, my Friday debut -


DISCLAIMER: I am politically challenged.

What is your favorite type of Bar-B-Que sauce?

Ketchup based?
Mustard based?
Vinegar based?
Vegetarian?

Why do I ask? Actually, it’s not I who inquires. This question was posed by the South Carolina Democratic Leadership Council in an e-Survey on South Carolina politics sent on April 20.

In case you are interested, 33% of respondents favor mustard-based bar-b-que, followed by 32% for vinegar-based, and ketchup-based in a close third with 29%.

In more food news, Governor Mark Sanford traveled to Rock Hill on Monday to sign H.4585, designating the boiled peanut as the official State Snack Food of South Carolina.

Important work we are doing here, huh?

Anyway, these interesting tidbits got me thinking. It is only natural that a new South Carolinian would want to know more. So, here it is people.

The General Assembly declared by Act No. 360, 1984, the peach as the official fruit of the State. South Carolina is the nation's leading peach producer and shipper east of the Mississippi River. See, now I just learned something. Didn’t you think the leading peach producer would be Georgia?

Our state flower is the Carolina Yellow Jessamine - officially adopted by the General Assembly on February 1, 1924, because, and I quote the state website, “it is indigenous to every nook and corner of the State; it is the first premonitor of coming Spring; its fragrance greets us first in the woodland and its delicate flower suggests the pureness of gold; its perpetual return out of the dead Winter suggests the lesson of constancy in, loyalty to and patriotism in the service of the State.” This flower can be found growing up mail box posts throughout Bluffton.

The Palmetto is the official state tree. Ok, that certainly makes sense.

Tea is the state hospitality beverage, per Act No. 31, 1995. Well, of course it is! Some history for you - South Carolina is the first place in the United States where tea was grown having been planted in the Lowcountry outside of Charleston in 1799 at what is now Middleton Place. And now, “the direct descendants of those very plants have been restored to their former grandeur at the Charleston Tea Plantation, a lush, subtropical tea farm, nestled on a serene sea island near the historic City of Charleston.”

But wait! The official state beverage – not to be confused with the official state hospitality beverage – is milk. Um, what did you say? Yes, it is true. Milk was designated as the official State Beverage by Act No. 360, 1984. Why can’t I find anything about a state cookie? Then we could celebrate properly.

Did you know that the “shag” - yeah, baby (only Austin Powers fans are laughing) - is the state dance per Act No. 329, 1984? 1984 was apparently a slow year in the state house. In fact the National Shag Dance Championships are held each year in Myrtle Beach, twenty-four years running. According to www.about.com, shag is “an off-shoot of swing; a couples dance that involves a six to eight step count and involves a simple forward-and-back motion and a change step at the end; with the six count, this consists of two triple steps, followed by a rock step for the ladies and an optional kick-ball for the gents.” Anyone else just trip and fall?

Finally, I leave you with the first couple of verses to one of South Carolina’s two state songs, South Carolina On My Mind …

At the foot hills of the Appalachian chain,
Down through the rivers, to the coastal plain,
There's a place that I call home,
And I'll never be alone,
Singin' this Carolina love song

I've got South Carolina on my mind
Remembering all those sunshine Summertimes,
And the Autumns in the Smokies when the leaves turn to gold
Touches my heart and thrills my soul to have South Carolina on my mind,
With those clean snow-covered mountain Wintertimes
And the white sand of the beaches and those Carolina peaches,
I've got South Carolina on my mind.

Once Upon a Time, There Was a Little Girl

With great pride, I am thrilled to announce that there is finally native Southerner in my bloodline - a native Blufftonian to boot! On Easter Sunday, my niece, Erin Katherine, was born making her the first member of our family to be born in a state other than New Jersey.

Certainly, I will begin to gain some clout with the locals, with the ability to start my sentences - “well my niece, Erin, who was born and raised here, says …”

I have come to understand that even though I have lived in Bluffton for a year now, I am not “from Bluffton” or “of Bluffton”. I am a Northerner, and in fact, I am unfortunately an intruder in some circles (those damn pancakes).

So, I wonder what we will tell Erin about how we came to find Bluffton, her hometown. I think it will go something like this.

Erin – Once upon a time, your mom and dad decided that they wanted to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Your mom and dad loved South Carolina – your dad went to college here and spent hours and hours on the SC beaches during summer vacations. Your dad starting bringing your mom here too and together they fell in love with the Lowcountry. So, it made perfect sense that they would move to Bluffton.

Your Uncle Joe and I were pretty upset that your mom and dad had moved. And then Grandma and Grandpa decided that they were going to move to Bluffton too. We hemmed and we hawed, but the beauty of Bluffton persuaded us in the end.

You are so lucky to live in Bluffton. Here, you can watch dolphins in the May River, feel the grass between your toes all year long, savor fresh seafood, gaze at the starts that appear close enough to touch, and be part of a culture that you will be proud of. Bluffton is going to be your favorite fairy tale.

Next week I move to Fridays. (Statistics show that pancake lovers don’t read on Fridays.) See you there!

Expecting the Unexpected

Note: I wish I could get into the mind of my Editor for just one moment. This week, he again, took the spirit out of my weekly column with overzealous editing. Aren't you glad you get to see the REAL version?

Have you ever gone somewhere not really knowing what to expect? Or been a little hesitant about what you were about to encounter? And then, been so pleasantly surprised that you admonished yourself the whole way home for being so silly. Well, welcome to my world!

Their names were Paul, Marianne, Renee, Joanne, Celia, Willie Ann and Mary and I joined them this past Wednesday to hear more about a project they are working on. And, I am hooked.

The Bible Missionary Baptist Church, with a congregation of thirty-five, has a lofty goal. They want to build a new church. The small congregation has a track record to prove that they are serious about meeting their goals. They purchased 5-acres of land two years ago and have paid it off. And they paid, in full, for the architectural plans and engineering studies. Now, they are ready for the next step – the construction of a $500,000 church.

The Bible Missionary Baptist Church is no ordinary Church. They have made a profound impact on Bluffton since their establishment five years ago. The Church members are active, dedicated volunteers – who spread their love and kind hearts throughout our community - visiting the sick, tutoring students, providing juvenile counseling, offering a helping hand and perhaps my favorite – providing financial support for kids who show a special talent. Yes, they will help a member of our community afford piano or dance lessons to refine their skills.

Up until now, they have been doing their work out of the Bluffton Community Center. It is time that they have their own home. And, you can help.

Next Saturday, April 29, they are holding a church building fundraiser with good ol’ Southern cooking and gospel singing. This is the taste of the South that I have been waiting for.

Church of the Cross on Buckwalter, has opened their doors to host the event. When I asked Paul (Pastor Paul Hamilton, Jr.) about the unique nature of this partnership among the churches he responded, “They were reaching and we needed to be reached.” The camaraderie goes deeper – five pastors from the local Baptist churches will join the celebration as well as choirs from ten community churches. All offering their support to help a fellow church.

Tickets are $50 per person and cover quite a spread – shrimp and grits (the committee will be peeling 50 lbs on shrimp in preparation for the event – that is dedication), baked chicken, ribs, ham, collared greens, black eyed peas and cornbread. (Not to mention great entertainment, a silent auction and door prizes.)

When you arrive, make sure to introduce yourself to the members of the Bible Missionary Baptist Church – they will be in gold shirts, with the church name on them and would love to share their story with you.

No matter what your religion is, this event is about spirituality and the community coming together to help a cause, that has for five years helped to better our community.

It is time to get to know each other beyond the wave of a hand. This is the perfect opportunity.

SIDEBAR:
What: Bible Missionary Baptist Church - Church Building Fundraiser
When: Saturday, April 29 at 6:30 p.m.
Where: Church of the Cross, Buckwalter Parkway
How: For tickets call Minister Willie Ann Hamilton at 338.6238

Um, What's the Bible Belt?

When I was six, my family traveled to California to visit my mother’s cousin and her family. We were met at the airport by mom’s cousin and her family and we loaded into their panel wagon for the trip back to the house. My cousin, David, turned to my sister and I, and said, “we’re Jewish, what are you?” And I replied, “We’re girls, silly.”

Apparently the magnitude of that question was beyond my first grade education, and I had no idea that my reply should have been, “Catholic, what’s it to you kid?”

When contemplating the move to the South, we often heard the standard north vs. south barbs, but we also heard incredulous shrieks of, “you’re moving to the Bible Belt!” (Thank goodness our reputations did not precede us.) My reply, “um, I guess so…” when I was really thinking, what the heck is the Bible Belt?

Our friends at Wikepdia.com tell us that – “A Bible Belt is an area in which Christian Evangelical Protestantism is a pervasive or dominant part of the culture. In particular it is the region where the Southern Baptist Convention denomination is strongest. It covers a number of southern Middle-West and Southern states in the United States. In the U.S., the stronghold of the Bible Belt is typically seen as the South, due to the colonial foundations of Protestantism in the culture of the region. The major forms were of Tidewater Anglicanism after the Church of England and Appalachia Presbyterianism after the Church of Scotland.”

This definition really hasn’t helped clarify much for me so; I have been pondering this Bible Belt notion for some time now. And, interestingly it came up at a meeting I attended earlier this week. We were discussing a sunrise Easter service. My colleague, Jim, chimed in that yes, he and his wife were attending the sunrise service and then they had two more services to attend.

The idea of participating in three church services in one day was unfathomable to me. (I am one of those kids who was “forced” to attend church each Sunday and catechism classes until my parents stopped making me at about age 14 – and I haven’t been back much since.)

So, after our meeting I pulled Jim (a native Georgian) aside and asked – “do you think that religion is regional?” “Why does religion and the practice of it seem to be more prevalent in the South?

“Courtney,” he said, “I don’t think it has anything to do with North and South. I am a Christian and I believe in the Bible. The Bible, to me, is the only book that is one hundred percent truth. So, I attend a church that preaches the Bible as I believe it.”

“Let me tell you a story,” Jim said. I had to chuckle, Jim loves to tell stories and I love to listen. And, it began. Jim told me the story of the Christmas Celebration at his church in Savannah – he likened it to a Hollywood production - that thousands attend each year.

As people arrive at the celebration, they are given a name tag with a biblical name, and together with members of the congregation they all play a part.

This past Christmas, the church received a call from a gentleman who had attended the Christmas festivities the night before – his first time at that church. This man went on to explain that he had lost his wife and two children that year. He and two of his other children attended the program at the church and when they arrived they were each given name tags – each with the name of one of the three family members they had lost.

Jim finished his story and said, “You see, that was a message that everything would be alright.”

Hmmm, that will make anyone a believer, even a Yankee. I think I can stop asking questions now.

Aw, Shucks

Two weeks ago we headed north to New Jersey to visit the ol’ home-front. (Per your emails, those readers who are sick of reading about NJ, can turn the page now.) I’ve been whining to Joe about being homesick for sometime now. So, as we crossed the Delaware line into New Jersey, I expected some feeling of familiarity to wash over me. It didn’t. As I passed the exit for “Shore Points”, I again, expected this wave of emotion. Nothing.

I turned to Joe and much to his delight I declared, “I guess South Carolina is indeed home”. It seems I’ve gotten used to things here in the South. And now that we just passed the one year mark, I guess it is official, we are here to stay!

Now, the twelve hour drive was just too long for me - more so for our hero, Joe, since he drove the whole trip (what a guy!). Despite the fact that I barely survived, our four dozen May River oysters, packed in ice, weathered the trip like champs and we were very excited to share them with our Yankee friends.

After experimenting a few times at home, we were prepared to celebrate a Lowcountry tradition, 800 miles North on our friends brand new (and gorgeous) dining room table. And our friends loved it!
I’d share the pictures, but we paired our oysters with margaritas and the photo journey falls into the T.M.I. – too much information – category. We had fun, let’s leave it at that.

Moving on, if you haven’t tried this tradition yet at home, here’s how you do it:

First, call the Bluffton Oyster Company and place your order – order the selects, not the clusters, they are a little more expensive but well worth it. When you pick up your order, make sure to grab some shucking knives, too. Otherwise, you’ll ruin every butter knife you’ve got.

The cool part is that you can start yourself a big ol’ fire in the backyard (not advisable unless you are a member of the Bluffton FD) or just light the grill, which seems to work just fine for us. You’ll need a bucket of water and a piece of burlap large enough to cover your grill surface.

Soak the burlap in water. Place the oysters on the grill at medium heat and cover them with the burlap. When the burlap dries out, re-hydrate. The oysters should only take 7 – 10 minutes on the grill, they will begin to open naturally due to the steam.

Cover your table with newspaper. Adding cocktail sauce or drawn butter is an option – the oysters can definitely stand on their own!

An interesting tidbit: Although it seems to be hard to find anyone who knows the exact origin of oyster roasts, it is said that perhaps American Indians were the first to roast oysters in the south as early as 4,000 years ago, evidenced by blackened shells found throughout the coastal regions.

I’ve seen conflicting reports regarding the “R factor” – eating oysters only in months with an “R.” I don’t know what the rule is. But, April is running out, so plan your roast soon!

In the words of the great Pat Conroy, “Your one job is to eat as many oysters as you can while they are still steaming off the fire. A lukewarm oyster is a disappointment to the spirit.” Enjoy!

Planning a Party in Bluffton? Beware ...

April 2, 2006

It was an unsuspecting Sunday morning, the birds were singing and all was right with the world. Today I was hosting a baby shower and looking forward to celebrating. I had been working for months to make sure everything was just right and by noon, the house was overflowing with people. We ate, we drank and we were merry. And then, the tables turned!

Our guests had started to leave and we noticed that one of them was walking back and forth on the street. We asked her if everything was ok and, it wasn’t. Her car had been towed.

Yes, one of my lovely neighbors didn’t like that a car was parked in front of her house so she called the Bluffton Police. The Police verified that the car wasn’t stolen and it did not belong to any other immediate neighbors, and after my “neighbor” promised to pay the towing costs (which she later denied), the Police issued an Event Number (which helps them keep track of the crazies who call – my words, not their’s), not a Case Number because nothing illegal had actually occurred.

My neighbor then called a towing company who towed the car that was parked (legally) on the street for less than two hours. Hmmm, you can do that? My first reaction was that the towing company just stole a car!

Four hours and a dozen phone calls later and I have some answers, but I have even more questions!

This was not the fault of our POA; in fact, at the time of the incident our covenants did not state that parking on the street is illegal. So, who is at fault?

Is it the Towing Company, who responded to my neighbor? My neighbor, after all, had an Event Number, which is all the Towing Company needs to do their job and ensure that they aren’t charged with grand theft auto. Preston at Pro Tow (on Burnt Church Road) was a real trooper in answering my questions and even offered to amend the bill once I sort this all out. (I’m not there yet Preston, but I do appreciate the offer!)

Is it the Bluffton Police Department? They issued the Event Number to my neighbor to act if she wanted to. But, can we expect the Police Department to know the ins and outs of every POA in Bluffton? I think not. (Thank you Officer Murray and Officer Creason for fielding my many questions and my numerous phone calls.)

Is it our neighbor who missed the Being a Good Neighbor 101 class? (And will probably toilet paper my yard this evening.) Do we now fear ever having company since our guest’s cars may be towed?

Is it the developers who are aggressively building new community after new community – following the narrower the street, the more houses you can squeeze in mantra?

Or is it our town’s planning commission who approved a community with a sub-par infrastructure (narrow streets) in place?

Is this a problem without a solution? I don’t know. But I do know that this will spark some lively debate. So, let’s talk about it. What is the answer?

Or, if you are bored, annoyed with your neighbor, or just a pain in the #$%, you may want to make sport of the newest game in town. Call the cops, have a car towed, have a great day!

The Old College Try

March 26, 2006

It was a Friday afternoon in mid-October 1990 and I was napping on the couch, after a really rough day of high school. I had a dream that I had gone out the mailbox and my college acceptance letter was there.

Sure enough, I woke up from my nap, went to the mailbox and there it was, a letter from West Virginia University. I tore it open, did a little celebration jig on the front porch and ran inside to call my best friend, Lisa, who I was hoping would be joining me at WVU in the fall.

My reasons for selecting WVU were pretty lame. Lisa’s cousin had gone there and went on to become the physical trainer for the Philadelphia Eagles, making him a bit of a celebrity. Mr. Genco, our very cute, very young, physics teacher was also an alum, making the allure even greater. Add to that – it was number one on the party school list that year. I was a girl ready to go wild!

The short version of the story is - I went, I saw, I conquered, I got a 2.0 GPA. And by the spring semester of my freshman year I was back at home attending our local community college in preparation for three years at a very small, very private, very Catholic, women’s college.

Despite my short tenure at WVU, they are “my team” and my allegiance is strong. I still proudly wear a 10+ year old WVU sweatshirt on most Saturdays in the fall, and whether I am in New Jersey or South Carolina, I always meet a fellow fan.

Why is she telling us this, you may ask? Because … when I attended the Hilton Head St. Patrick’s Day parade two weeks ago, what struck me most was the large contingent of marchers showing not only their Irish pride, but pride for their alma mater. Only further demonstrating that the Lowcountry is quickly becoming a melting pot.

As floats streamed past decked in green – so did the Michigan alums, and those from Ohio State, Penn State, and Notre Dame. But, here is the kicker. As we were packing up, a gentleman approached us to comment on how nice our beach chair was. “Blue and orange stripes, huh? You must be big Florida Gator fans”, he said. “No”, I replied, “we just bought it at Wal-Mart.” “Really”, he said, “how about I take it off your hands for say … $40?”

So, yes, we left the parade $40 richer and ever more aware of the price one will pay to support “their team.” It is quite an interesting phenomenon and I have to wonder what the stories are behind everyone else’s favorite team.

Finally, it is only right that I give a big “Go Hawks” to Monmouth University (of West Long Branch, NJ and where I received my master’s degree). Monmouth was surprisingly placed in that awkward number 65 spot at the “Big Dance”. I would have loved to have heard that phone call. “Yeah, you guys kind of made it, but not really – just play one more game.” Much to my delight they won their first NCAA Tournament game ever and slid into the number 16 slot where they inevitably fell to Villanova. Well, there is always next year.

‘Til then, WVU is still going strong (or they were before I headed out of town for a long weekend). Let’s go Mountaineers!

Get Out the Vote

March 19, 2006

“It was a great national contest that will immediately be recognizable to you. Two men were vying for one prize. Although tens of millions of ballots were cast, the margin separating the two was less than 1 percent of the total. The announcer ticked off the state by state tallies as the two candidates, both Southerners, watched closely. One candidate had won Ohio and New York. The other had won a great bounty: Florida. As the night wore on, reporters came to us live from massive placard-waving rallies in the candidates’ hometowns. Minutes later, the network was ready to make its announcement, once that would answer the question on the minds of millions.”

This opening paragraph in David T.Z. Mindich’s 2005 book Tuned Out, could easily refer to one of two great races. The obvious answer to many is the 2002 Bush v. Gore race. Or, it could go the other way – to an election that saw a voter turnout of 24 million where we heard, “ladies and gentleman, the winner of American Idol 2003 is Ruben Studdard.” (Clearly, some of these voters were minors, but bear with me here.)

In November 2000, about 37 percent of the 457 registered Bluffton voters cast ballots. In 2002, turnout was about 51 percent, or about 215, of the 425 registered voters. And, on November 15, 2005, 265 Bluffton voters came out for our local election (a mere 22% of the nearly 1,200 registered voters). The run-off on November 29 saw 350 ballots cast.

265.

350.

Where were you Bluffton? Is it only wings and pancakes that move you?As a fairly newbie, I know that registering to vote is not at the top of the list of things to do. When you finally make the trek to Motor Vehicle, you do have the option of “motor votering” and registering yourself at the same time as your car. However, that system failed me and hubby, and a number of other folks I’ve heard from. (I will say though, you may just need to wait out the system as my mom just received her card seven months after becoming a motor voter.)

I’ll admit I was not at the polls on Election Day and until this week my second voter registration form sat on the corner of my desk at home. But, now that it is submitted, I will monitor the mailbox until I am official.

In sixth grade, when Missy Mikovits and I ran for class president and vice president against Bryan Dickerson and his running mate (who’s name escapes me) everyone turned out for the vote. Yes, we were probably required to, but the power that our vote wielded drove the sixth graders to debate, to make signs, and to campaign on the school bus. It was that power that made the process all that sweeter. And it was the 100% turnout that made our loss ever the more painful.

So, where is the passion? Is it that we feel that we hold no power? Why aren’t we motivated to make it to the polls?I don’t know what the answer is but come November, I will stand at the polls all day if I have to and I invite all of you who want to take me to task - on pancakes, wings, manners, Southern charm, or whatever the topic of the day may be - to show up and vote.

Cast your vote, engage in some friendly debate and then let’s shake hands.

Then we will all be winners at the polls that day – after all, if we have the freedom to voice our opinions, shouldn’t we?

Ain't No Thing But a Chicken Wing

March 12, 2006

I can’t believe I am about to quote a country song, but here goes… “Every time I hear that song, I go back, I go back. We all have a song that somehow stamped our lives, takes us to another place and time.”

That Kenny Chesney really knows what he is talking about. Last Friday night, Joe and I hit the new Wild Wing Café in Bluffton and the first song that I heard … brought me back. And the song after that, and the song after that. It was like I was sitting at Leggett’s, my favorite restaurant/bar in New Jersey.

I could fill a year’s worth of columns with Leggett’s stories but I will spare you and just touch on the highlights. Leggett’s was our local beach bar and restaurant. We would always arrive early enough to get a spot at the bar and order their special thin crust pizza and lots of appetizers. We would play Budweiser Bingo on Thursday nights, listen to our local bands on the weekends, and always play a rousing round of the “tion game” – a very high-tech wordsmithing competition where participants would rattle off words that ended with “tion” … anticipation, arbitration, abomination, you get the picture.

Anyway, my Leggett’s memories are near and dear to my heart. So when, within, the first few minutes at Wild Wing, I was flashing back to another place and time, I was hooked.

But, it wasn’t only the music on the stereo, which by the way included old school alternative picks like Souixie and the Banshees and Elvis Costello paired with some recent classics from Dave Matthews, Fuel and the Goo Goo Dolls, that made my night.

Let me give you some specifics. Having never been to the Wild Wing on the Island, I wasn’t sure what to expect, which made my first impressions even sweeter. It is a great space - big bar, a great inventory of TVs in varying dimensions (two with Law & Order re-runs, it’s always fun to guess who’s the culprit with no sound), lots of booths (the best seat for a relaxing evening out) and interesting artifacts and artwork on the walls – fodder for conversation.

If you are a wing person – who isn’t? – I think you will be happy. With fifty variations to choose from there must be something for everyone. My favorite – “THE GENERAL Tsao, Tso, Sow...Whatever!” – being a wordsmith myself (see the “tion game”) I loved the name and had to go for it.

Now, ever since I embarked on my thirties a couple of years ago, I continue to be reminded of how young I am not! As we were leaving, full and happy, the twenties crowd from my office was just arriving. No doubt, they actually got to hear the live band that was slated to go on later that night (they have live music four nights a week). No worries though, this week I will take a nap in the afternoon, ensuring that I can enjoy all that they have to offer!

Confessions of a Beach Bum

March 5, 2006

My mom played golf the other day with her new friend, who hails from the Jersey Shore (who knew there were so many of us). They were talking about the beach and mom’s friend commented, “we need a boardwalk”. I am not sure if her comment was in jest or a longing for the familiar, but I had to laugh at her statement.

You see, if you have been to the beach in New Jersey you know that every beach is lined with a boardwalk. Some boardwalks are just walking and biking space. Others are crammed with games, boutiques, bars, food, amusements and rides.

The NJ boardwalk is a social scene in the summer (for the folks from Nawth Joisey), a respite for locals in the winter, and the stage for many a Springsteen video or Sopranos clip. But, as I sat on a Hilton Head beach just a few days ago, with the Lowcountry spring finally upon us, I did not miss it at all.

The beach in the early spring is one of the most relaxing spots in the Lowcountry. So, when my boss told me to take a day off, I took him up on the offer. I headed out at about 10:00 a.m., made a pit stop for sunscreen …

Wait! I have to stop here and tell a funny side story. Last year, I moved to South Carolina on April 6. On April 10, I sat on the beach for hours soaking in the Hilton Head sun, in an attempt to achieve my first “tan” of the year (much earlier that I was used to). On April 11, I started my new job – bright as a Jersey tomato. I was burned to a crisp and easily stood out as the new chick, obviously from the North, and obviously unaware of the strength of the Lowcountry’s April sun.

… made a pit stop for sunscreen, Sun Chips (a Courtney beach staple) and a good book. When I made the left off of 278 onto Folly Field Road, I was surprised to find that I was not the only one escaping the office for the day. The first parking lot was full!

So, I parked the car, grabbed my beach chair and other gear and headed to pay for my parking. And, even though I have been doing this for almost a year now I, of course, forgot my space number so I backtracked, determined I was in space #20, dropped in my quarters and I was ready to roll.

Sinking my toes in the sand for the first time in months was just heaven. And I wasn’t alone. I shared this small slice of heaven with parents and young children – some who appeared to be teetering on legs that had just started to walk; dogs enjoying the freedom that only a good game of fetch on the beach can offer; retired couples walking hand in hand seemingly satisfied with what life has provided; and a few folks just like me – escaping from the office, if only for a day.

The smell of the ocean, the texture of the sand, the trademark seagulls, and the dolphins in the distance - these are the things that vacation is made of. Unless you are one of us, the lucky few who call the Lowcountry home.

How About Them Wilsons

February 26, 2006

Four score and twenty-four years ago, a family of Northerners made Bluffton their new hometown. This prominent New York family, like many industrialists of the late 19th and early 20th centuries decided to purchase a hunting estate in the South. Little did they know the allure of the Lowcountry would quickly convince them to make Bluffton their full-time residence.

It was 1902 when Richard T. Wilson, Jr. purchased 18,000 acres in Bluffton, South Carolina, and named the property “Palmetto Bluff.” (Before Wilson settled on the name “Palmetto Bluff” for his South Carolina estate he called it “Eden.”)

Wilson built a modest house overlooking the May River for the family’s winter visits and began spending as much time as he possibly could at the estate. When his father died in 1910, the obituary identified his son, Richard, as “having spent little time of late in New York and whose home is now Palmetto Bluff, S.C.” In fact, the census of 1910 lists Richard T. Wilson, Jr. and his family as residents of Bluffton.

We are talking about a time when electricity was still a novelty; L.L. Bean had just offered is first ever mail order leather boots, the bra was finally being introduced as a more comfortable option than a corset, and the Oreo was developed by Nabisco.

I find it rather interesting – and I am beginning to sense a pattern - that even back then, folks were looking for a quieter, more relaxed way of life.

In Bluffton, Wilson was able to spend his time pursuing his interest in agriculture. Wilson used his land for farming vegetables and for raising dairy and beef cattle. He bought 50 Shropshire sheep and even hired an Australian cattle rancher to oversee them. Many of the provisions for the estate were produced on the property.

More than anything, Wilson loved thoroughbred race horses, and he was an expert horseman and breeder. In 1916, his horse, Campfire, was not only the top money-winner in North American racing, but also the American Champion Two Year Old Male. In 1922, Wilson’s horse, Pillory, won the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes. Wilson owned stables in New York and Kentucky, in addition to those at Palmetto Bluff. The Wilson stables’ racing colors of yellow and green were in winner’s circles around the country.

Palmetto Bluff was Richard T. Wilson’s idyllic retreat away from the city of New York until on March 2, 1926, the great mansion caught fire. A distraught Wilson had to twice be led away from the roaring flames, which eventually reduced the magnificent building to ashes.

The loss of his beloved home devastated Wilson. Unable to face rebuilding, he returned to New York and sold the entire property to J.E. Varn a few months later. Wilson died in New York City in 1929.

And, the rest as the say is history.

So, enough about me and the Wilsons - how does your story go? What made you move to Bluffton?

Special Thanks to Dr. Mary Socci, Palmetto Bluff’s Archaeologist, for the continuing history lessons!

C,C,C is for Cookie, Cookie, Cookie

February 19, 2006

There is a special day that comes ‘round only once a year. We wait, and we wait, and when finally this day arrives – oh, the reward is sweet.I’m talking about Girl Scout Cookie day – the day when cases and cases of cookies are distributed to the impatient masses that have been waiting for the satisfaction that comes only from a Thin Mint.

I had some insider information (thanks Jim) that this day was nearing and headed out to witness the cookie frenzy first hand. I was graciously invited to attend a meeting of Bluffton’s Girl Scout Troop 252, so I had a front row seat for the excitement.During my journey to cookie heaven though, I learned a thing or two. The meeting I attended was dedicated to the Troop’s preparations for Girl Scout World Thinking Day, which is an annual event for Girl Scouts only. (Seems to me a worldwide thinking day for everyone may not be a bad idea … but, I digress.)

For World Thinking Day, Girl Scouts around the world turn their efforts to learning about girl scouts in other countries. This year, Troop 252 selected Jamaica and spent a number of weeks learning about the Jamaican culture. During prior meetings, the girls prepared and sampled Jamaican dishes, made a Jamaican flag, and crafted a display board illustrating all that they have learned. I was lucky enough to be there for the real fun – tie-dying shirts! Kudos to Troop Leader Renee Polcari, who mastered the process of tie-dying and managed to get eleven shirts tie-dyed with not a drop of dye splattered on the floor or a girl scout. On Thinking Day, February 26, Girl Scout Troops from Bluffton and Hilton Head will gather together for a parade of countries followed by troop performances and finally, their favorite, visiting the other countries with their “passports”.

Watching their plans un-fold was definitely a stretch from my typical Saturday morning routine, but it was chock full of fun moments. Witnessing the transformation of eleven pre-teens – from a group of somersaulting, cart wheeling and chit-chatting girls - into a focused team with a mission was quite impressive. It seems to me, that the girl scouts of troop 252 are taking their role quite seriously and definitely adding value to our community.

And then, just as the clock struck 12, the “cookie moms” (and one cookie dad) rolled into the parking lot. Minivans were converted into delivery trucks and bursting at the seams. A caravan of parents soon followed and there in the pouring rain, dedicated volunteers unpacked and distributed 2,000 boxes of cookies to the girls of Troop 252. Ah, sweet relief.

If you missed the opportunity to place your advance order, you can still support the young ladies of Troop 252. They will be at Wal-Mart on Hilton Head today, February 19, from 12:00 – 2:00 p.m. and at Kroger in Bluffton next Saturday, February 25 from 12:00 – 2:00 p.m. No thinking required!

For more details on Girl Scouting in our community, contact the Palmetto Service Branch, which serves girls in Bluffton and Hilton Head Island, at 843-842-3444.