Bloom Where You Are Planted
The outlines of Weehaw Plantation date back to the Lords Proprietors, English nobles who were granted the land “Carolina” by King Charles II. No one knows who settled the site, who drew the diagrams of rice fields along the marshy coastline, who oversaw the work of slaves to dig pluff mud trenches in the blistering heat, who reshaped part of our entire landscape into a haunting web of creeks and marsh grass that can still be seen today.
Since the 1600′s, both Europeans and Africans have weaved in and out of the place. Plowed the sandy soil. Built structures out of clay bricks that have been carbon dated from sites all over the Lowcountry. Planted a Victorian garden of camellias under the shade of swirling live oak trees. People touched the land for a season, or they expired in a soggy field under the baking sun.
When Alice took me to Weehaw, the site of one of her last firm design projects, nothing proved more mysterious than one tree. Amidst the gnarled live oaks and Southern pines, a behemoth shot up from the ground, its wispy green tendrils casually scraping the sky. Its reddish bark reminded me of the towering redwood trees of Northern California. Surely our hellish climate could not support such a tender planting and nurture it to gigantic proportions in over three hundred years?
We made up stories for the origin of that tree, resting like sissies in its sprawling shadow before heading out for a walk around the sunken rice enclosure. Fish jumped at the sun as we passed along a narrow strip of land between pond and creek. At a rickety dock, we stopped and photographed the cloud-strung blue sky reflected in the waters of the creek and stepped over a disturbed patch of dirt in our path. Alligator tracks. From the width of its sliding belly, it would be a scary one to meet.
When we dragged our sweaty, sunburned selves back to contiguous earth, we happened upon Tom, the handyman. Come on in here and I’ll show you some of the latest stuff we’ve found. He dragged out shards of broken pottery and regaled us with the stories embedded in the bricks he dug up around the property. This one came from way up the Wando. This one from Beaufort. See the thumbprint, right there? Somebody long gone made that.
Clearing his desk, he opened a black ringed binder and pointed out a faded article. I always wondered about that tree. Says here its a Chinese fir tree, and over here in this one, a Lebanese cedar. Who in the world came all the way over here and planted that thing in the 1600′s? I’d sure like to know his story, divine what he was doing here.
On our way out, we stopped along the washboard dirt road. A couple of new outbuildings broke the skyline, their clean lines imprinting another story on the spellbinding landscape. The story of a woman with thick hair and weird glasses, who juxtaposed her modern aesthetic upon eons of history.
And it worked.
This post is part of a series that celebrates my friendship with Alice Guess as she moves to Baton Rouge, LA. If this is your first visit, please click here and read forward. Thank you for reading and sharing your stories here.
Here’s to Alice and friendship…..and strange trees in weird places..
http://img.izismile.com/img/img3/20100204/strange_and_funny_trees_01.jpg
It was something to see it there, Lou. Weehaw is probably a far trip for your boat, but it would be pretty to approach from the water.
Andra, I’m really liking the new slideshows. And that is quite the tree.
This series is conducive to slide shows. Many others are not, unfortunately. I don’t use that feature a lot on WP because it doesn’t always work. I am glad it is cooperating this week.
Is that a lizard in the gator tracks? I imagine him sitting there thinking reptilian thoughts, imagining himself the gator who made the tracks in the first place.
That would be something, Jessie.
Andra,
Absolutely beautiful writing. The trees and architecture make Charleston come alive! Thanks for sharing. xo
Thanks, Laura. The Lowcountry gets under the skin, doesn’t it?
Andra, your writing is so descriptive – for a minute I thought if I slipped my arm off of my desk it would splash on the water and make ripples. Very nice!
Aw. That’s a great compliment, Neeks. I wish I could conjure my own cooling pool by writing. It’s flipping hot today.
This is lovely on so many levels. I like the idea that we can, Indeed, “bloom where we are planted.” Friendship blooms in that way, and I have a feeling yours and Alice’s will stand the test of time and distance.
I’ve always liked that saying, Lisa. Thanks for adding to this series.
What a rich thought: Leaving a “living legacy” of friendship, like the tree.
That tree was pretty awesome.
Only southerners, even early settler southerners, would name a plantation “WeeeeeHaaaa!!!” And right after that they said, “hey y’all, watch this”, and went an pissed off the alligator.
Oh wait, I was suppose to leave some touching sentimental comment wasn’t I? Oh well, too bad.
I think that area was called Weehaw on old maps. There’s a creek, too. Perhaps it is an old Native American name.
What I can’t imagine is having to dig all the places for rice paddies in the marsh, only to encounter a gator……..
….and which of your friends is the orneriest? My money’s on Carnell!
Fodder here for a different kind of series altogether, my friend! This one’s been very sweet thus far.
Hey! Wait! I am so maligned….
He’s just trying to lighten it up. He knows I’m sad.
just started reading Nausea by Sartre…it seems the main character has an existential epiphany after staring at a tree. Upon thinking about it, and reading your post, our existence can be nothingness compared to nature’s endurace ~
Staring at an old tree does reinforce the finite nature of human life.
I love your tree! And I definitely see why you thought of a Redwood. I have a Redwood in my front yard, only 20 years old, not hundreds!, but there is a similarity! I think you’ve made a wonderful post about lasting friendship and I’m so glad to have the opportunity to see one of Alice’s creations! Your chronicle of friendship is such a tribute! Debra
How big is a Redwood at 20, Debra? I could wander amongst those trees for hours and hours.
Have I told you lately that I love your writing? Have I told you lately that I love your photographs? Consider yourself told.
It’s good to have you back, Lori.
Thank you.
It is a wonder, isn’t it, the hows and whys of trees and such that made it to our soil? At Quincy, John Adams home and farm near Boston, there is a chestnut tree from his childhood. I rescued a fallen nut and brought it home, hoping that it would grow. It didn’t. Sigh.
Penny, it’s a shame that trees are so hard to start, and that your John Adams tree did not make it. That would’ve made some story.