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A Daufuskie Island New Years Eve........1884.........

 Happy New Year from  Daufuskie Island and the South Carolina Lowcountry.

 

 

Another year has passed quickly. It seems that just yesterday Mary and I went to Bloody Point’s beach to join with friends, toast smores and bring in the New Year. Distant Tybee Island fireworks lit up the old tall-standing Lighthouse and the smell of bonfire smoke mingled with the salty air.  

 

 

Yes,  New Years Eve somehow brings folks together….by the masses in Times Square and in small intimate social groups on Daufuskie Island.  But as one might expect, this is not a new phenomenon. Way back on December 31, 1883 a fine  Gentleman by the name of John Michael Doyle wrote in his diary vivid and colorful mental images of a New Years Eve past on Daufuskie  and his desire to have "true meaning" social interludes.  Mr. Doyle has won a special place in my heart even though he is long passed. You see,  he lived with his wonderful Family in what is now my home, the Bloody Point Lighthouse.  He originally was commissioned to build the back tower that once stood proud over what is now the Silver Dew Winery  but shortly thereafter moved his wife Phoebe and children  “Down South” and became Bloody Point’s  first Keeper. His writings reflected below show a lonely man…he truly missed his family back in Ohio but had to be “away” for the important task of finishing the light.

 

 

So without further ado, I present to you pages from the diary of John Michael Doyle. May the new year bring you health and happiness and may your presence be surrounded by white light. 

See Ya on the high tide....

 

LowCountry Joe, Bloody Point Lighthouse

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Sunday December 31, 1883 

This date I write for the last time..... 

I resolve to compensate myself some what for the lonely week I had passed, made my bed with more care than usual this morning, saddled up the old mule and struck out for Hagues Point Lighthouse. The day was very fine and I enjoyed the ride very much. Was very kindly received by Mr and Mrs. Comer and after we sat and talked for some little time, I was most pleasantly surprised by the entrance of a young Lady, Miss Maggie, the daughter of the old folks. On my visits to the Point before I had not met the young Lady and heard of Comer's daughters in only a vague sort of way and the pleasure  of meeting her was rather increased by the surprise. Well the day sped away only too soon and I was late getting to my quarters and feeling much better and happier for my visit by the sight of that young girls bright face. They asked me to come down and spend the New Year with them and though I wanted to awful bad I had to excuse myself for the flat was coming in with her cargo of shells and I thought it best to be on hand when she was unloaded. The men came up from the flat and spent the evening with me and we sat up till after midnight and as soon as the New Year was born we went out with tin pans and horns and gave some of the natives a serenade. After which the boys returned to their flat and I retired. 

Monday Jan. 1, 1884

The day was beautiful and bright and clear with just a nice breeze blowing and the sun so warm that I went all day without a coat. The men discharged the flat of her load of shell and I was putting in the time as best when we had the pleasure of a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Stoddard.  The Lady was very gratious to me and I had her to chat to all by myself for a little while too. She very kindly invited me to visit them at Melrose and asked me in my surprise why I had not called on them before.....and I told her that I had only been waiting for an invitation well said she had given a general invitation for all us Gentlemen on this work to call which was meant for me as well as Mr. Lacoste and Mr. Comers. Well I promised to visit Melrose soon and meant to keep my promise. Auntie said it was a good omen that I should have such a pleasant caller on the first day of the year and I was disposed to regard the matter in that light myself.

Here....Have One....

Here.....Have One

Here, have one…. Steamed Oysters…..just the thought of them make some folks lip curl up. “Yuck” ….has also been uttered as I eagerly invade the oyster’s shell in search of that fine and usually slimy juicy morsel. So, with that remark in mind, I proudly display my next find as if to taunt the unbeliever, before I down another small sample of the ocean’s salt laced bounty. Now I have to admit that I, over forty years ago, also turned my head in disgust as my Uncle John said “Here, have one…at Pittsburghs once famous Down-Town Oyster House. It was always our last stop, making the daily rounds at the cities best restaurants picking up the used produce and foodstuffs for his nearby hog farm. Well, after being taunted with remarks like “don’t be a little wimp….real men eat them” did I finally succumb…..keeping a manly smile on the outside , but soon after, making an unnoticed but hasty retreat to the ‘Men’s Room”. It wasn’t until many years later, when my Bride Mary and I “found” the Lowcountry did I again run into my old nemesis, the lowly oyster. We were invited “the invitation said casual” by one of my BEST clients to what I was later to find out, was a South Carolina Lowcountry tradition. ….an oyster roast. “Surely they will also have some Southern fried chicken” I anxiously commented to Mary as I navigated my trusty 74 Chevy pickup down the narrow live oak canopied dirt roads to the May River. Upon arrival we were quickly directed to the main attraction “the roast”. People of all descriptions, dressed in their Levis and sweatshirts congregated around this big old table with steaming oysters piled high in the center. Smoke from the wood fire permeated the cool Spring air and a truly festival mood was prevalent. Right in the middle of all this merriment was Moultrie our host and he didn’t waste any time making room for us. After a few short pleasantries he picked up one of the biggest oysters on the pile and uttered those ominous words “Here, have one…..” It was Pittsburgh’s old Oyster House all over again but this time there could be no excuses…..no place to run. So with unbridled confidence I grabbed that old oyster and with the skill of a surgeon, inserted that oyster knife, cracked open that shell and displayed one of the finest, juiciest oysters I have ever seen. Without dipping it into the available drawn butter I drew it to my lips and with no hesitation, it was down the hatch. What happened in the next few moments, it is said, is when I was truly transformed into Lowcountry Joe®. For some unknown reason, I actually like it....my childhood memories were only a dream and with Mary looking at me as if I had lost it all grabbed another one from the pile. “These May River oysters are the saltiest and best I have ever had”, I told an appreciate Moultrie. I had somehow been reborn. Since then I have been on one of the largest supporters of the camaraderie and hospitality of the traditional Lowcountry oyster roast. Up North I used to crave that first glass of Spring Bock beer….now I crave that first steaming hot oyster washed down with a cold Budweiser in the fellowship of my neighbors and friends. And I am not the only one. Noted writer Pat Conroy, of “Prince of Tides” fame wrote a marvelous article about the “South Carolina Oyster Roast” in a recent edition of Gourmet Magazine. He’s quoted as telling a Daufuskie Island “Local” that “eating a Lowcountry oyster is like tasting heaven”. I wholeheartedly second that Pat, and “Here have one…..”

A Different Sort of Sleigh

The shrimp boat looked like a Currier and Ives print with a single strand of white lights outlining the fifty three year old hull. The bulbs sparkled and reflected in the calm waters of Skull Creek and the beams of a mostly full moon silhouetted this soulful white vessel against the weather beaten dock. All was quiet on this special Christmas Eve, but that wasn’t the case earlier.

 

During the day all sorts of items were being delivered to Hudson’s dock…..sacks of corn, bushels of apples, bags of assorted nuts and even blocks of salt. The Captain was taking on special cargo under the request of a very special guy, St. Nick. It seems that over the years the “Rotund One’s” sleigh had been overloaded because of a larger Island population. Golf clubs had squeezed out goodies for his special friends, “The Island Critters” and he felt guilty. So this year was “make up” time.

Santa’s arrival was shaky at best, as Rudolph’s crew banked left and made a precarious landing in the tiny parking lot. The “old boy” made a bee line to the oyster bar for a quick bowl of his favorite chowder….and with Rudolph along for the ride, they were off.

 

Escorted by a family of smiling dolphins by water and a flock of gulls by air the entourage began their Intra-Coastal Holiday voyage. Santa rode at the bow looking like a masthead of an eighteenth century schooner. What a sight he was, with salt air blowing through his long white locks and laughing heartily as a gull made a circus type shrimp catch. Even brown pelicans got into the act showing off their dare devil dives, resulting in a hearty applause.

 

At every stop he was greeted by families of masked raccoons, possums, squirrels and deer. Proud parents would provide loving encouragement as the little ones shyly accepted their precious gifts. Loving hugs were also plentiful, even to a cute baby skunk.

 

The hold was empty, the makeshift sleigh headed for home and a bright star suddenly appeared above. It illuminated Santa’s face and guided them through the tricky waters of Calibogue Sound. Santa’s deeds, it seems, had been appreciated by more than the Island Creatures he loved so much.

 

May God’s light shine on you this Christmas and throughout the New Year.

 

Joe and Mary

The "Golf Channel" Tees it up with LowCountry Joe and "Spirits"

Years ago as a very young man, Tiger Woods and his foursome stepped up to the back T-Box of Bloody Point's sixth hole and gave the little white ball a whack. It is ironic that last night golf students of Hank Haney, Tiger Wood's current coach, stood on that same T-Box and also gave it a whack with probably the same amount of success as Tiger....Hooks, big time fades and yes, "tops". You see...the T-Box seems to be haunted with some sort of spiritual being and straight shots are not what the spirit  has in mind. Some say its Papy, Bloody Point Lighthouse's owner in the 30's and 40's and 50's making the ball go "hither and nither". Some say he never forgave the folks that bought his beloved home, turned it into a Pro Shop and erected aT-Box in what formally was his front yard. I was told that "belief"  when I bought the Lighthouse and yes...the back T-Box in question. Needless to say I was a naysayer, until late one afternoon after playing a round of golf on Bloody Point I sat my clubs in the corner of the den. Somehow the bag fell over, my seven iron flew out into the air and slammed into the wall. Someone or some thing  was trying to tell me something and I quickly turned into  a "believer".

It is with this scenario in mind that I can relate why students of Tiger Woods coach were T' ing it up with me last night on the back T-Box as the setting sun cast long ominous shadows over the front nine. I was approached a few months ago by a producer from the Golf Channel and asked if I would help with filming of a special show featuring students from the prestigious Hank Haney International Junior Golf Academy. Eight segments would be produced and they wanted one to feature the kids just having "fun" in a spooky kind of way.  The "sinister golf T immediately came to mind" and after considerable planning the filming was done.

The show does not stop at the T-Box , however, and as darkness falls over Bloody Point with only a finger nail moon providing illumination  we made our  way to Bloody Point's cemetery. With respect for the "passed" foremost in my mind I tell the story of Blood Point's historical bloody past and how many an Indian and Islander alike lost their lives in violent turmoil.  Needless to say it was a "chilling experience" for me, as the kids huddled together and the assembled cadre of camera men and sound specialists so professionally captured the moment. 

I will have to wait till this Fall to turn on the Golf Channel and witness for myself what film technology has captured. But even if "Spirits" somehow made images on the film disappear, I will always have implanted in my mind the "special experience" of that night. For you see, these young men and women depicted in the filming were not just some of the best "players" in the world attempting to hit a little white ball off an ill fated T-Box.  They were good,  well mannered educated kids just having fun, the way it should be and I was blessed to be a very small part of their life.

See Ya on the "High Tide".

Lobsters, May Poles, Loggerheads and Weddings

What do May Poles, Lobsters, Loggerhead Turtles and Weddings have in common?......Not much....But as we turn our calendars to May, interesting and fun things begin to happen that brings them into the forefront of folks lives from the Carolina LowCountry to Prince Edward Island in the Canadian Maritimes.

There is something about our only three lettered month  that is very special. Mother Nature has made it through April, the transition month of good and questionable  weather existing in any given day to guaranteed days of sunlight and warmth spiced with low humidity. In the LowCountry,  today marks the day years ago when I first witnessed my first  May Pole dance by the children at the Daufuskie Island elementary School. The lovely school marm assembled the children around the traditional pole dressed out with brightly colored ribbons.  As the interweaving commenced  kids and adults alike laughed, giggled and danced alike under clear Carolina blue skies. Of all the fun things I have ever experienced in my twenty three years here, the May Pole dance "takes the proverbial cake". 

On our shorelines other incredibly things are beginning to happen. Loggerhead turtles are making their way to our sandy beaches and laying their eggs like they have done for centuries. We are reminded to keep our dogs off the beach, turn our lights off at night and give these creatures a wide berth. I have been blessed to experience this continuation of a species with my Bride and am pleased to share my feelings in the pontification that follows. 

Up North on my beloved second Island home of Prince Edward Island in the Canadian Maritimes May 1'st takes on a very different meaning. It signals the time when the ice has melted and lobster men like my dear Friend Perry Gottel head for the fishing grounds like they have done for generations. Picturesque lobster boats are loaded to the hilt with hand made wooden traps and the hard and sometimes dangerous work begins. On the Eastern shore Mother Nature still hasn't got "things" settled down "on the water" even though Lucy Maud Montgomery's Island made famous by her portrayal of Anne of Green Gables is friendly in spirit and bursts alive with welcoming "eye candy" colors of green.

And last, but defiantly not least, May is traditionally a great month for love and, yes, to get married, tie the proverbial knot, if you will. Couples throughout the US and Canada will look into each others eyes and exchange vows.  That's what I did many, many moons ago when my lovely Bride Mary walked down a VERY long isle at an Erie, PA cathedral and said "I DO". Of all the pleasing May experiences I have had, surely that was the "best".

Have a great May and See Ya on the High Tide........

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The sun has just dropped behind the tall standing Carolina lob-lolly pines and the beach seems to take on a new mystical form. But as if Mother Nature wanted to remind us of her presence, streams of brilliant red and yellow light pierce through the boughs and envelope the early evening sky. Not to be outdone, the comforting slow moving velvety waves reach up and grab the sky’s essence, taking the last of the days light and transforming its surface into a glistening multi-colored sea.

Hand-in-hand, my bride Mary and I walk on the salt water’s fringe and take in the joys of God’s wonderful blessing. It’s one of those times when silence is really golden… when the soothing sound of the waves seem almost sensual and speaking would be like breaking a Monk’s silence. But out to the West, there are other humans that are yet to be blessed and slowly the sky turns darker and the moon takes over as the major source of light.

We are about to end our early evening’s journey when farther up the beach I notice a very large form emerging from the sea. Squinting hard to squeeze out the last bit of light, I try to make out this eerie presence but realize that "getting up close" is the only option. Silence is broken, I quietly mumble "what is that" and Mary steps up the pace and pulls me toward the vision. Now at this point you must understand this is the same Mary that has, all by her lonesome, subsidized Steven King’s existence and I am the one that still looks under the bed. So with manly pride I trudge ahead, knowing in my heart "flight" still might be our best bet. As we make our approach the dark form starts to take shape…the rusty brown carapace turns into a shell and appendages turn into flippers. Mary’s inquisitiveness and my courage have given us the unique opportunity to experience one of the ocean’s oldest and largest creatures…the loggerhead sea turtle. More importantly, however, we are about to witness the continuance of a species, the laying of eggs, the beginning of life.

As the moon brightens, this wandering giant named for its shell’s bark-like shields, patiently and ever so slowly makes her way landward. This creature, whose featherweight air-filled bones and large flippers enables her to effortlessly navigate at speeds up to twenty-five miles an hour at sea, now moves slower than a snail. Nothing will stop her, however, and she…like her predecessors over one hundred seventy-five million years ago…finds that special birthing spot in the sand. We watch in awe as flippers work in unison to shape the trench, as moonlight reflects off tired teary eyes…as ping-pong ball shaped eggs are deposited, as she gently covers them and makes her way back to sea.

A great horned owl hoots in the distance as we make our way from the beach and up the sandy lane. Once again silence envelopes us and I clasp Mary’s hand tightly. The moon rises higher, I am filled with a special "calm" and life continues on this very special Island we call Daufuskie.

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".

 

Men in Hats (A Conspiracy)

It's a hat conspiracy...that's what it is....Some writer from the Associated Press got almost a whole page in Lowcountry Life today about how "uncool" it is for men to wear a hat. At first I thought he was just talkin' about baseball hats but in the right column in bold letters it proclaims "MEN IN HATS". This AP "hat prognosticator" is tellin' us down here in the Carolina Lowcountry that when it comes to modern headwear it comes to three choices.

#1. Go Bearheaded.....Oh now that works out real well when temps in the Lowcountry are in the 90's and old Saul is attempting to blister your brain away...Come on down, Josh, and lets see how "dapper" you look after a day on the beach or on the water with no "lid".

#2. Switch to a grown up hat....OK ya got me on this one...what in the dickens is a "grown up hat"...do you mean like the top hats grown up President Lincoln wore....Ahh, can't you just picture it, teein' off at #1 at Harbor Town in a black top hat.....or better still, ridin' your bike down 278 in your flashy stovepipe and it's not Halloween.

#3. Wear a "darn" baseball hat, which he says everyone is wearing anyway. Well now, I do take exception to that.....not everybody wears them. I have been wearin' my big old oversized straw hat for over twenty years. For one reason I look goofy in a baseball hat and second my ears stick out and at the end of the day they look like a couple of crispy critters and I got an appointment with the skin cancer guy.

Well now that I have unleashed my furor about "hat journalism" I follow with a "hat story" I wrote years ago. And if "Josh L. Dickey visits the Lowcountry sometime soon I'm going to present to him an authentic OKEY DOKEY LowCounty Joe straw hat. And then I will take him to Hudsons, my favorite bar in the whole wide world, buy him a beer and "spin" a hat tale. And who knows after that, a story about that venture will be printed and maybe, just maybe, we will start a "fad" and the next thing you will see is guys "sporting" LowCountry Joe Hats on the red carpet.

See Ya on the High Tide
www.WeBeBloggin.com

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Welcome Back "Old Friend'

Mary and I just left our floating home and walked through one of those conveniently placed straw markets in the Caribbean. "Hey Mon" a brightly dressed local said "You would look good in one of my hats". My bride gave a nod of agreement, and instinctively, the smiling peddler knew he had his man. Well that started my love affair with chapeaus and I have owned over fifty since that fateful day. This is really the story, however, about one of those hats, a Plantation Style lid that is my favorite.

A gale was blowing this early Spring day, and as I would soon find out, wind is the enemy of all hats. You see, they really have personalities and transfer their feelings to the wearer. I got particularly close to this one and you can imagine my dismay when a gust of wind took away a close friend. I was visiting Ralph, a shrimper friend, when like in slow motion it sailed into the air. I made a fateful grab, but all I could do was watch as it slowly settled into the glistening waters of Skull Creek. The strong river like tide did its magic, and soon the only thing visible was the red band as it floated into the famous Carolina sunset.

It was gone, but I could only wonder about its voyage. Surely it would have a wonderful trip as it made its way towards the ocean. Friendly dolphins might check it out and maybe even flip it about in friendly antics. Wonderful bright white boats cruising the Intracoastal would give it a fun ride as their wakes pushed it towards the shore. Pelicans, egrets, herons and ospreys would keep it company as they soared over searching out their fishy meals. It would be met by glorious bright sunrises and retired with brilliant red sunsets….and if it had to perish it would feel comfortable nestled against the Spring green colored spartina grass. Goodbye old friend.
Weeks later while having a brew at Hudsons, my favorite old pub, in walks Ralph with a big grin. From behind his back he produces, you guessed it "The Hat" with the red band still attached. He found it floating all the way out in Port Royal Sound. Nibbled on by fish and soaked with salt water it had miraculously survived its maritime ordeal. "Drinks are on me" I told John the barkeep, as we spun the yarn and amazed ourselves with the tale.

Welcome back old friend.

Wall Street Journal's Smart Money Magazine calls LowCountry Joe.....

That's right....They sure did, and not for a subscription either. It was for an article they were considering on Private Golf Memberships and they needed someone to quote. After quiet contemplation I "opted out". I was concerned in these "slow times" the complete article may not have reflected positively on our Local Market. But the fact remains. Smart Money Magazine did call, and they called me because of my Web Site.

Such is life in the new world of selling Real Estate. When I spend over an hour each morning doing my manual updates I sometimes wonder who is listening, but obviously someone out there is.  That also goes for my Blog. But a quick check of my view statistics and World geographic stats always makes me a true  believer. There is no doubt, a Top Notch Website and blogging on a regular basis makes the difference in being "successful" or being an "also ran" or in these days a "no ran".

But how does that success help you. If you have a listing with me the answer is fairly obvious. I owe it to my clients to present your listings first....and the more calls I receive the better chance I have of converting listings to a sale. If you are a potential purchaser, you can be assured I work diligently to present all offerings on a "fresh daily" basis. I also attempt to keep you current on local statistics and financing. This type of information is essential and invaluable in making an informed buying decision.

Oh, and YES, I did follow up with the fine folks at Smart Money advising them of my interest in future articles. And I did offer a free round of golf at Haig Point along with a tour of the LowCountry if they have an occasion to visit. After all, I didn't go to school to eat my lunch.

See ya on the High Tide.....LCJoe