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Sharing a Memorable Christmas

My most memorable and coldest Christmas was spent on guard duty as a young soldier in Thule, Greenland. I was only 400 miles from the North Pole but I never did get to see Santa’s sleigh or any Female Elves for that matter.

Standing in the cold, lonely shack staring at the bleak tundra for hours on end makes your mind do strange things. It kept wandering back to that little house back home in Pennsylvania where Mom was making her usual Christmas dinner. That special Christmas Day smell seemed to linger at my nose. For the first time ever I was not there and I really missed my family.

An arctic fox runs by and breaks my thoughts. Cute little devils, those foxes, friendly and looking for a Holiday handout.

I am back home again and my Grandma stops over like she always does (that’s when Grandmas lived next door). She always brought her special German homemade bread right out of the oven. The fun was stealing a hot bun before dinner and smothering it in butter.

The noise of the relief trucks wheels making that cold crunching sound on minus 30 degree snow brings me back to reality. The coffee is old, dark and thick but tastes great as I take a quick break in the truck cab and share the special bond that young soldiers away from home seem to have.

As the taillights disappear into the frigid distance I gather my thoughts and stare at the stars and God’s Northern lights in the crystal clear sky. Total and absolute silence remains. I think again of my family but realize that even though I am not home this Christmas is special. I have learned a lot about myself and that family, close friends and warm experiences are what life is all about.

My replacement arrives and I stare into youthful eyes almost totally covered by a furry parka. Merry Christmas I say…Merry Christmas he responds….

*A special note…….I wrote this story many years ago, but I must say,  I still get a little misty as I reminisce about those days when I was alone and so far away from home. But it seems that the more things change, the more they stay the same. This Christmas a young soldier will be standing guard and staring over a vast desert, not bleak cold tundra. This Christmas a young soldier will be brought  old dark coffee and share a special bond with a fellow soldier. This Christmas a young soldier will shed a private youthful tear as thoughts about his Mom and family back home permeate his soul.  This Christmas a young soldier will wish a fellow soldier Merry Christmas. This Christmas a young soldier will learn that family, close friends and warm experiences is what life is all about. Please remember them in your thoughts and prayers

My most memorable and coldest Christmas was spent on guard duty as a young soldier in Thule, Greenland. I was only 400 miles from the North Pole but I never did get to see Santa’s sleigh or any Female Elves for that matter.

Standing in the cold, lonely shack staring at the bleak tundra for hours on end makes your mind do strange things. It kept wandering back to that little house back home in Pennsylvania where Mom was making her usual Christmas dinner. That special Christmas Day smell seemed to linger at my nose. For the first time ever I was not there and I really missed my family.

An arctic fox runs by and breaks my thoughts. Cute little devils, those foxes, friendly and looking for a Holiday handout.

I am back home again and my Grandma stops over like she always does (that’s when Grandmas lived next door). She always brought her special German homemade bread right out of the oven. The fun was stealing a hot bun before dinner and smothering it in butter.

The noise of the relief trucks wheels making that cold crunching sound on minus 30 degree snow brings me back to reality. The coffee is old, dark and thick but tastes great as I take a quick break in the truck cab and share the special bond that young soldiers away from home seem to have.

As the taillights disappear into the frigid distance I gather my thoughts and stare at the stars and God’s Northern lights in the crystal clear sky. Total and absolute silence remains. I think again of my family but realize that even though I am not home this Christmas is special. I have learned a lot about myself and that family, close friends and warm experiences are what life is all about.

My replacement arrives and I stare into youthful eyes almost totally covered by a furry parka. Merry Christmas I say…Merry Christmas he responds….

*A special note…….I wrote this story many years ago, but I must say,  I still get a little misty as I reminisce about those days when I was alone and so far away from home. But it seems that the more things change, the more they stay the same. This Christmas a young soldier will be standing guard and staring over a vast desert, not bleak cold tundra. This Christmas a young soldier will be brought  old dark coffee and share a special bond with a fellow soldier. This Christmas a young soldier will shed a private youthful tear as thoughts about his Mom and family back home permeate his soul.  This Christmas a young soldier will wish a fellow soldier Merry Christmas. This Christmas a young soldier will learn that family, close friends and warm experiences is what life is all about. Please remember them in your thoughts and prayers

"Life After People"

Few TV series have captured my attention more than the History Channel's "Life After People". For those of you that have all but given up on TV broadcasting as a method to while away your evenings, let me provide a brief synopsis. The series provides us mortal humans with a futuristic glance at how our world would look like should all of us simply disappear, except that is, for animal life. Intellectuals from the scientific field as well as engineering, botany and geology gathered around their respective computers and with the help of the History Channels computer graphic gurus show our respective worlds simply deteriorate right before our very eyes.

Now any other time I would simply watch because I felt like being a couch potato and dismiss the whole lot as passing fantasy. But as the critters and foliage of the world inhabited what humans had savored for themselves, it struck within me a weird sort of sensitive chord. A walk outside during one of the commercial breaks brought my unique world into simplistic view....a world that had changed dramatically and drastically in the last twelve months. Due to what I have often called Daufuskie Island's version of "The Perfect Storm", "Daufuskie Island Clubs demise and a living version of the USA's "Great Depression",   I found myself peering out at at the entire front nine of the Bloody Point Golf Course without a soul in sight. Once bustling with well heeled humans chasing around and hitting a little white ball with a stick, all that remained was nature in its purist and most basic form....and yes, the ravages of only one years time were surely taking their toll.

At first blush, my natural instinct was to feel seriously disturbed and sorry for what is literally and figuratively my back yard. I have walked Bloody Points fairways when they were at their "pinnacle'", when "caddies only" were the rule of the day and where the sign of a lowly weed making its presence known was treated with disgust. But after spending the last few months strolling alone amidst towering lob-lolly pines and ancient live oak trees and  listening to the winds softly whisper to me through their boughs I knew they were at peace.  The land revered by the Yemassee Indians had been given, by the selfishness of humans, a second chance, a unique short reprieve...if you will...to return to what it was. Nature without human intervention was gloriously returning. Thousands upon thousands of white ibis, wood storks and pied billed grebes make the lagoon along the sixth fairway their rookery. Ponds with their silky black waters cleared of chemicals spring to life with glorious bright green algaes and tall brown topped cattails. Birds of every persuasion sing their melodies and the symbol of America glides and circles gracefully as if to oversee and approve.

But unlike the History Channel, the compositions on film will not prevail. Soon, and with the Heavens  ultimate approval, Bloody Point will once again return to what its position in the earth's grand cycle should be, a truly wonderful and unique golf course. Mortal humans will traverse the fairways and putt  its manicured greens. But make no mistake, in the vastness of time, Bloody Point will once again with the blessings of the Yemassee's return to "Life After People".

Crossing The Sweet Waters Of Calibogue Sound

It's 7:15 AM .....Waves crash over the bow of the Palmetto Peddler and Captain Richard is kind enough to pour me a hot fresh paper cup of boat coffee. My Bride, securely situated in the passenger lounge breaks out her newest  Dean Koontz novel and I make my way to the open upper deck. The early December air feels unusually fresh and brisk as I make my way aft.  Stiff winds out of the North forecast tonight's Nor-Easter and I gaze over the choppy waters. Taking in the awe inspiring crisp beauty that the Sea Gods and Mother Nature have offered without giving nothing in return seems sacrilegious, so I look to the heavens for inspiration. Opening my arms and extending my hands to the crystal clear blue sky, I reach out from my spiritual  inner self and offer my thanks for giving me this opportunity to be truly blessed. Yes, blessed at the opportunity to begin another day over the sweet waters of Calibogue Sound.

Now my plans were to pontificate further about our somewhat precarious docking at Salty Fare Marina and my enlightening conversation with a Canadian couple over a McDonald's "senior coffee". But something deep inside seems to entice me to end this oratory and disregard my Acer's blinking light edging my anxious fingers on. Strange as it seems,  the new age music streaming from overhead speakers full of light flute melodies draw me back to Calibogue Sound,  a body of water I have crossed hundreds of times before. A body of water the Yemassee Indian tribe called "sweet water". A body of water revered and worshiped by shamans.  A body of water that inspired Pat Conroy in his epic novel "The Water is Wide". A body of water that soon will show its ornery side,  tossing and churning in gale force winds. A body of water that each day offers up to all that cross the opportunity to begin to understand the true meaning of life. A body of water that seems to say "gaze over my sweet waters, let my spiritual energy enter your soul, let me help you understand".

Hilton Head WineFest, looking for "legs" and "tasting rain off a slate roof"

Cant believe it but once again, Hilton Head WineFest is happening this Saturday. It is billed as the largest outdoor wine tasting event on the East Coast and it marks the heralding of Spring in the Carolina Lowcountry.....

I have been a "Fest" purveyor of sorts of the grapey concoction for many years and have poured many a "taste". And to me, that is where the fun came in...watching the taster as they picked up their commemorative glass cleansed with water from one of my crystal pitchers and put it to their lips. The drinker that didn't have a clue about wine but was having fun would simply would "down"  the sucker and say "Man this Daufuskie wine sure is good, smile kindly and ask for a refill.... at which time I would fill the glass to the top and say "bottoms up" which they would cheerfully acknowledge and go on their merry way. Now that was my kind of wine taster and quite frankly my kind of guy/gal.

And then there were the wine writers that have received some sort of paper called a master sommelier certificate and are working toward a Certified Wine Educator Degree or whatever. Even more interesting to watch are the Judges of the event that wear these little tags around their neck that simpy say "Judge". When they walk up to the booth they kind of have an "air" about them and even without their wine tags bobbing about I can spot them three booths away. Now they take this taste of "The Dew" from South Carolina's first licensed winery serious, to say the least,  but it is in my personality to have some fun with them. Sooo, rather than putting a small taste of wine in the glass I fill-er to the brink. Ya see, this hinders them from the first stage of tasting, swirling the wine in the glass to see if it has what they call "legs". Now if they wanted to see legs they should of stayed home and watched old Tina Turner re-runs. Now this lack of being able to oogle the wines legs throws them all of kilter, but they will prevail in their predetermined task. With fingers placed strategically on the glass's stem they raise "The Dew" to their discretely puckered lips  and with distorted faces that remind me of sucking a lemon they gently seem to inhale the poor grape right out of the glass....and then comes the awful sucking swirly sounds  that remind me of emptying the bottom of a chocolate milkshake with a straw as they whisk the wine in their jowls....now If this sound were to occur from the human anatomy anywhere else in the public domain they would be surely be arrested for disorderly conduct....And now comes the much awaited comment we have all been waiting for. From the mouth of the sommelier that just "Tasted The Dew" I hear pontificating blurbs such as this....Ahh... this wine has all the flavors of a classic Cabernet Savignon full of zest and clean slate rain....Say what...clean slate rain...now this is where I am holding back folks...you know from one of those belly laughs where you slap your leg...when is the last time you tasted rain runoff that came off a clean slate roof...but the best is yet to come...Ahhh the aroma fills the nose, and sommeliers always seem to have superb ones, and the flavors come in waves like an oncoming Spring tide....flavors that are sweet and tart with herbaceous "notes"...and here is where I though I was at a wine tasting and not a music concert...silly me. So with the job at hand done, they make their way to the next booth  looking for those legs they have so surely missed.

Sadly, this year I will not be in my allotted booth to pour a taste of "The Dew".....and yes, I will miss my wine fans that faithfully search out the Silver Dew tent knowing their glass would  be filled to the brim. But if you happen to see me laughing hysterically somewhere  in the Lowcountry on Saturday for no apparent reason, its not because old LCJoe has gone off his proverbial rocker. Its  only because I have visions of a Judge seriously telling me my wine somehow has the tatse and zest of clean slate runoff  rain.

See ya on a warm Spring tide.

LowCountry Joe

Paul Harvey

 

It was a cold late afternoon in Erie Pennsylvania, the kind they poke fun at when they talk about Great Lakes weather. But there was excitement in the hearts of my young business fraternity brothers as we waited “all decked out in our suits and ties” in the lobby of the historic Warner theater. You see, in an attempt to raise funds for an upcoming fraternity convention in Dallas,  we, along with a local professional business group,  had been able to somehow convince Paul Harvey,  an up and coming broadcaster and commentator to fly to what has been called “the mistake on the lake” and share with Erie Pa. his unique form of commentary.

As the theater’s side door opened a stately man walked in followed by a whirl of snowflakes and a gust of cold air. But this did not seem to deter Mr. Harvey, bundled up in a long dark overcoat,  from walking directly to me, shaking my hand and  as the fraternity's President and evenings designated presenter,  given the opportunity to welcome him to our fair town.

 

As the lights came up and I greeted Mr. Harvey on stage, he was welcomed by a small but appreciative audience. The commentary thereafter  was classic Paul Harvey, spellbinding is his presentation, bigger than life, with no one daring  to cough or sneeze  and muffle the spoken word.

And then, when one was just beginning to be enamored by his unique style and commentary his oratory was over and he graciously departed the stage. An appreciative applause followed and what was to become  one of the most gifted and beloved broadcasters in our nation’s history would soon depart Erie and begin the first year of twenty of  National syndication for “Paul Harvey Comments”.

At this point you might ask, “Well Joe, what is the rest of the story?” Well in this case there isn’t any. I was able, however, to  catch his eye as he was surrounded by well wishers and departed the old theater. In that brief split second in time I felt the warmness of this fine gentleman and his respect for a young up and coming businessman that would never cross his path again. His presence in my life, no matter how brief, had made me a better man and I thank him for that. God Bless you Paul Harvey.

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.   This year we will once again fire up the old golf cart and join friends and neighbors at Haig Point’s beach. We have been promised by Jeff Morgan and Family that he will provide enough smores for everybody and it seems that sticky tasty fingers will be our New Years Eve fate.

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

 

***************************************************************************

 

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.

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

"History Is Made".....History is Made"

December 20^th has come and gone. Empty Silver Dew Cab and North Carolina’s Duplin Winery Scuppernong bottles  that  provided traditional  “tastes”  have  been tossed randomly in an old bushel basket waiting for disposal in Daufuskie’s “trash retainment area”and  remnants of  opened Fuskie  oyster shells picturesquely lay piled against the base of a large palmetto tree. The first ever wine tasting and oyster roast  at the Winery made famous by Papy Burn and Pat Conroy is history….and Papy would have been proud.

You see Papy, the first licensed vintner of wine in South Carolina never made a penny selling the fruit wines he produced. But his beloved Silver Winery  finally,  after fifty eight (58) years  produced income. That specific time came just after noon when Maree Hanson, a Melrose homeowner and dear Friend, said “Joe…I would like to buy a bottle of Silver Dew Cab….and a bottle of Duplin Scupp too. I was waiting patiently for that moment and  began to screech and holler proclaiming to the small assembled mass that “History was made…History was Made”. As you might imagine they thought old LCJoe had finally gone off his proverbial  rocker but nodded in quiet approval as I  explained how Papy would have so loved to see this special exact moment in time.

So my lovely Bride broke out the camera to capture  pics of “the moment” , that would be passed down to future Silver Dew Winery owners and lovers of Daufuskie history. But it seemed that Maree “imagined” she was having a bad hair day….would have none of that….and opted instead to have  her other half, Pat, the fine Canadian Gentleman that he is, share in the Kodak moment. And share we did as portrayed in the included pic with Pat’s stylish new punked hair doo standing tall and old LCJoe’s hat kind of kaddywhompis and tilted in disarray. 

Yes, the day is over and as the discarded wine bottles make their way across Calibogue Sound to Beaufort County's landfill a new day dawns. A day when once again folks from around the world can traverse "the curve in the road" so elequently depicted by Pat Conroy in "The Water is Wide" and get a "taste of The Dew". Once again they can be cordially greeted, sit by the fire and feast on succelent Daufuskie oysters. Once again they can come together with visitors and "locals" alike and share in what is truly known as "The Spirit of Daufuskie....Papy surely would have been proud.

See ya on the high tide.

LowCountry Joe

Wreaths, Copperheads and Christmas

It’s almost Christmas in the Carolina Lowcountry and in keeping with the times I find myself walking the woods and gathering pine branches and cones for the wreath that will hang proudly on the Historic Silver Dew Winery. This pilgrimage  comes from my annual  tradition of  walking the woods on the hillside above our Pennsylvania log cabin, scraping away snow searching for long green ground ferns that made splendid Christmas garland.

Now up North the only sound to be heard was the crunching of the snow pack and the chirping of cute little nervous chickadees. And, except for evading the occasional limb made weak by layers of ice and falling on ones head,  this was a venture that was safe for “the person” and warm to “the soul”.   But down South, walking in the midst of tall standing  lob-lolly pines takes on a whole new meaning. On warmer than normal days like we have had recently,  all eyes are to the ground watching with careful eye for the beautiful colored Carolina copperhead that blends so magnificently with the gold and brown carpet of pine straw. Normally he/she would be taking a winters nap under an old pine log but with temps nearing eighty (80) this cold blooded creature finds solace in the warm Carolina sunshine.  I too, find that solace and at times stop my foraging and simply listen to the rhythmic sound of pine bough brushing against pine bough. Underneath that green canopy,  palm fronds, not to be outdone join the Southern symphony  along with sound of the oceans waves gently engulfing the sandy Daufuskie shore. It’s my very own “nature sounds” CD and  truly makes one realize how wonderful it is be alive.

 

With pine boughs to spare I load up my golf cart and traverse the bumpy root laden path that leads me from my forest enclave and to my Bloody Point home. Yellow fritterly butterflies awakened by nature’s abnormal  turn of events flit about in graceful escort and I feel engulfed with “white light” and peace. Soon the limbs so graciously given up by its parent trees will adorn and welcome all those that choose to enter the Winery’s  hand crafted old wood doors. Soon it will be Christmas in the Lowcountry.

See ya on the high tide….

LowCountry Joe

A "Taste of The Dew" and "Scuppernong Too" from LCJoe

Happy December from the Silver Dew Winery....

Well.....the license is on the wall....Vintner Papy Burn would have been proud....so now it's time for some fun and have  "A Taste of "The Dew". Next Saturday, Dec. 20. Rain, Snow or Shine,  I will have the Winery open from ten till six and offering "tastes" of my Hilton Head Island Wine-fest Award Winning Silver Dew Commemorative wines.  As an extra special treat and in keeping with Historic tradition,  I will also be offering "tastes" of a very fine scuppernong wine  from the  Fine folks at the Duplin Winery in Rose Hill, North Carolina. Scuppernong wine is made from  Scuppernong/Muscadine grapes and is the oldest wine in America. Scuppernong is "truely Southern"! This sweet wine  has graced many early Daufuskie and South Carolina Lowcountry Plantation tables.

 Also,  if you have a favorite wine, please give me a call.  I am establishing  contracts with all major South Carolina wholesalers and offering case prices that you will fine hard to beat anywhere. Call me before Thursday and I can have your wine available before Christmas.

Have a great day and please drop me a short note if you plan on stopping by.

LowCountry Joe

Owner/Silver Dew Winery Inc.

Listed on the National Register of Historic Places

Noted in Pat Conroy's book "The Water is Wide"

South Carolina's First Licensed Winery

Joe@LowCountryJoe.com

1-843-684-4445

www.SilverDewWinery.com

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