See more photos of Charleston and Savannah in my SmugMug Gallery
Although we were never asked for our passports, or crossed any international borders, Charleston is as foreign as any European city. We found ourselves mystified my the foods listed on menus, asking the waiters, "what are those mixed up beans?" (answer, succotash) "what's in the has I just ate?" (answer, don't ask.) The houses were built differently, and in a rainbow of colors. Social rules and local wisdom are unique to the South. The trees and flowers grew differently, the flowers bloomed with brighter colors, the sky was bluer. Perhaps not a foreign city, but definitely one in Technicolor.
Our first day in Charleston was the coldest day I had ever felt. Only 62 degrees, but with the wind whipping off the water, it felt colder than the Tetons in the winter. The sun warmed us somewhat at midday, but it was getting later, and the sun was starting to fall as Margie, Deby and I drove to the Battery, where Charleston’s wealthiest kept grand mansions for the social season.
We parked by the row of houses that faced water. The houses face a park studded with mossy oaks, and on the other side of the park, the Ashley River and the Cooper Rivers meet. We marveled at the homes, they were like nothing we had ever seen. The sun was low in the sky, and the three of us walked around the area, taking pictures of ourselves, the houses, the river.
As usual, I wandered off on my own. A place reveals itself to you, but first you must shut off the voices of your friends and listen quietly before you can see what is there. I walked over to take a picture of some interesting stairs that lead to a path where you could view the river. Turning around, I looked through the field of trees toward Charleston harbor, and knew the sun was setting quickly in that direction. It was about to make its biggest show before disappearing for the night. So I ran.
I ran through the park towards the sunset. I wanted to catch the most magical time of day, no glaring shadows or harsh flat light, just the low sun casting a golden glow on everything it touches. Or maybe I just wanted some of that golden light to fall on me.
Whatever the reason, as I raced through the park under the dark canopy of oaks and silvery glistening moss, the light beyond beckoned. I remember my heart racing - I had to get to the sunset. Its glow fanned out onto the grass through the trees and I snapped some pictures while running.
I made it in time to see and photograph the sunset, and those pictures of the sunset over the river are beautiful, but the one that strikes me the most is the one I took while running through the park. Its colors are more vivid than any other picture I took on that trip. The golden light of the sun’s rays fans out onto the electric green of the grass, all converging on the shadowy oaks.
When I think of Charleston, I remember that magical moment in the park on the Battery, running towards the light of the sunset, but finding the real magic in the shadow of the oak trees. The beauty of Charleston was revealing itself to me in the rays of the sun, in the glowing green of the grass, in the silvery moss.
I know now that the thing I was supposed to see was not what I was running towards, but what I passed along the way.
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