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LowCountry Joe Creations

Just when I think I have done it all something in my brain says....be creative Joe....live your dreams....be a wire wrap artist.  I set my mind to it and the included pic is the result. The pendant pictured is a rare LowCountry arrowhead from my collection. But what good are they if these pieces can't be seen and enjoyed by others. So, I decided to learn how to present them in an art form that I have wanted to do for years. In the near future they will be offered for sale, not shelved away in the confines of a dark uncaring museum.

This particular point is my first, fashioned with inexpensive wire. Future points will be designed using 14 ct. gold and sterling silver. This will enable me to capture the spirit of its long past owner and provide the purchaser with a true historical heirloom piece that can be be treasured for a lifetime. Also, I have come upon a very limited amount of LowCountry sea glass. Sculpted by Lowcountry waves this glass comes alive in a pendant and is stunning in a ring..... my next venture.

At this time I feel it is appropriate for me to thank a very special person for putting my on this new path in my life. His name is Peter Llewellyn and he resides in Georgetown, Prince Edward Island, Canada. Besides being the dynamic mayor of a "True working fishing village", Peter is a classic wire wrap artist, sandstone sculptor and dreamer. Red sandstone is plentiful on the Eastern coast of PEI along with some of the finest sea glass to be found anywhere. Peter brings it alive using his skilled hands and creative imagination. If you happen to find the home of fabled Anne of Green Gables in your travels, a stop at Peter's seaside shop is a time you will always cherish.

In closing, I would like to share one of my favorite quotes from Christopher Reeve that epitomizes my dear friend Peter and gives me the strength to push forward every waking morning.

"So many of our dreams at first seem impossible.....then they seem improbable.....and then when we summon the courage they become inevitable"

See ya on the high tide........

Thank You PGA Tour

Ya know.....somtimes It is just best to let the someone elses  writings fill a blog other than yours and the included article is one such case. Many thanks to John Maginnes, PGA Tour contributor for the included fine article. I have spent thirty years at "The Heritage"....thats what the Locals call it......and could not have written a more compelling narrative.

See Ya on the High Tide

LC Joe

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Apr. 16, 2008
By John Maginnes, PGATOUR.COM Contributor

HILTON HEAD, S.C. -- Everything about the Verizon Heritage is unique. You see and hear things this week that you never experience at any other golf tournament. You can spot Tom Lehman riding a bike in shorts along the bike path with his kids. Stand at the 18th green, and you can hear laughter rising above beach music only to be drowned out by the growl of the Daufuskie Island ferry.

You can even see players like Jim Furyk and Fred Funk in the trees at Harbour Town Golf Links. That is about as common as seeing Hillary Clinton drinking shots in a bar in Pennsylvania. Oh, wait a minute. That happened. The point is that the Pete Dye golf course is as unique as its surroundings.

Most players will tell you that this is one of their favorite weeks of the year. For families, it is a vacation at the beach with all the amenities that you could ever want. At sunset every night, Greg Russell plays his guitar and sings for the kids under the huge oak tree that bathes the harbor in shade. Just steps away is a huge sand-filled playground with tree houses, swings and slides.

As great as it is, the golf course is almost and afterthought for those players looking to blow off a little steam after the Masters. More than a third of the Masters field is here this week. When you consider the fact that there were more than a handful of past Masters champions -- think Champions Tour players -- and three amateurs in the field last week, that is an impressive percentage. There is no better place to unwind and have a week of normalcy for these players. Most rent condos near the course and walk to the golf course and the restaurants in the harbor. And if you are looking for fun on any level, the harbor is a sure thing.

Once the kids are safely tucked away out of earshot, more adult entertainment takes shape on the multimillion dollar yachts that have snuggled into the harbor for a week of fun in the sun and under the stars. It is not uncommon to see PGA TOUR players in shorts and flip flops soaking up the evening air and atmosphere around the harbor. On Friday night, you might even spot one or two of the unlucky ones who don't have a tee time Saturday spending a little more time seaside under the old lighthouse -- and there is nothing wrong with that.

There is a distinct sense of welcome here in the Low Country that rises to a crescendo this week. Boat people and golf people mingle topside on teak decks and patios without a care in the world. In many ways, time stops when you come through the gate at Sea Pines Plantation.

Everyone can shag dance this week, although for many it is ill-advised. Golfers tend to dance like golfers. It is not often pretty, but it is certainly a lot of fun. This time of year is perfect in the Low Country. The spring sunshine only hints of the summer swelter ahead. The fingers of northern cold that can venture this far south in winter have been shooed away for the season.

There is a general gaiety in the air. For many fans who make the pilgrimage to the barrier islands, this is their first trip of the year. Christmas bills have been paid, and taxes have been filed. Truth be told, though, the atmosphere is more festive than party. This is not the 16th hole at the FBR Open; this is a seaside picnic with a few thousand of your close friends. Obviously, a champion will be crowned this week, and if the past is any indication, it will be a great champion. And hopefully he will have enjoyed the Low Country, come of his self-imposed diet and eaten some shrimp and grits. If not, that leaves more for me. Don't worry. I plan to dance off those extra calories at the Quarter Deck because after all, "I love Beach Music" -- the Embers saw to that.

Springing to Myrtle Beach

Actually I could have named this pontification "Springing to Columbia" or "Springing to Macon" but it was a country road called 378 in South Carolina that captured my senses one recent late morning and compelled me to write "Springing to Myrtle Beach".  Circumstances had put me on this back roads highway from I-95  to Myrtle Beach. Spring had already sprung on Hilton Head, the trees had transformed almost overnight from budding to fresh green leaves but just one hundred miles North in rural South Carolina  Mother Nature was still working her magic.

And magic it was, but not the kind you would expect when you hear the word Spring. A front was moving through and dark low ominous clouds filled the Jeeps front window as I headed North East. I could just as easily been on a Pennsylvania farm road in late November but dilapidated faded wood  tobacco sheds with with their rusted tin roofs tilted precariously  towards God's good earth reminded me that I was indeed in the South.

The six cylinder drowned out any outlying sounds so the experience was purely visual and even more intense. Fields of bright purple plantings spread far and wide down the hedge rows and melted into distant dark green lob-lolly pines. Interspersed was patches of bronzy reds and as the breeze blew over they seemed to melt together in a slow moving tide.  This mosaic would appear and then fade into freshly plowed fields as the odometer clicked higher. I was awestruck by this purple beauty and just when the view could not get more delightful a stream of sun broke through the clouds. Like a Kincaid painting the fields turned alive, brimming with fiery life, as if to say the earth is alive and  so pleased to present you with its vision.

Road signs warn me to slow as I approach a small village accentuated with a white  cross topped pinnacle symbolic of Carolina churches. Red Azaleas and white dogwoods proudly adorn the small homes and streets and daffodils haphazardly sprout on fresh cut yards. It was enough to make me wish I was a painter so I could stop right there, put up my easel and somehow pull the vision onto canvas. But such is not the case  and as I approach the aforementioned church the streams of sun and light so prevalent before suddenly disappear and I am suddenly reminded of my mortality. There on my left on church grounds a worker was erecting a small tent over a just dug grave. The vision only lasted a moment but as my accelerator sped me on my way and the vision passed, I couldn't help to feel a sense of deep compassion and reverence. It just seemed so sad that a mortal person that surely would have loved this glorious day had been taken from this earth and would never experience the freshness of another Carolina Spring.

I pass a small gas station and county store and once again I am greeted with rural South Carolina. Off in the distance streams of light pierce through begrudging clouds signaling yet another sun filled warm South Carolina Spring day. My feeling of well being begins to return, my Bride of many years senses it, searches out and inserts a CD into the player. The sounds of "I love beach music" given by a dear friend fills the canvas topped interior. I hang my arm out the open window and with the Jeep in "cruise" tap my free foot, hum the words and envision writing "Springing to Myrtle Beach".