We spent three days with Eldest Daughter, catching our breath and wandering around Charlston. It is a lovely city and we both enjoy Olde Stuff, so we had a good time. We wandered the Central Market, ate lunch at a lovely little place, and generally enjoyed ourselves. The Central Market used to be called The Slave’s Market, but that gave the wrong impression, so the city changed the name. It was originally a place for slaves to sell things they had made, such as sweet grass baskets or produce. Our guide asked us, “When was the last time you went to a farmer’s market and brought home a farmer?”
Daughter and her husband have purchased a “cabin in the woods”, so we took a ride up there and Daughter showed us around. They have about 100 acres – most of it wooded, but she has a substantial garden. Daughter, like my sister, can grow cactus in a swamp. I have The Brown Thumb of Death. One thing they have lots of is hickory trees, and we collected a gallon bag of hickory nuts to bring back to the squirrels.
From Charleston, we drove up to Asheville to visit two of The Squire’s sisters. One of them had a meeting to attend, but we took the other sister out to supper at a Mexican restaurant and had a lovely time. From there, we scooted on up to Newport, Tennessee and visited another of the Squire’s sisters – it took me several years to get them all sorted out – and stayed overnight with some old, old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Rector.
We went to the same Episcopal church in Newport that we have attended for many, many years. They made some changes during Covid, as did we all, but the one that startled us most was during Communion. When we entered the church, the Squire and I both noticed what appeared to be small spittoons on either side of the opening in the rail. Hmmm. That’s odd. When it was time for Communion, the officiant distributed the bread and one of the servers followed with a large tray filled with itty bitty cups of wine. After you had communed, you dropped your empty cup into one of these buckets as you returned to your pew. C’mon. Covid is over, folks!
And then, life got interesting. The Squire claims my driving makes him nervous. Suits me, as I am able to read or sew in the car and take advantage of long drives to catch up on various projects. We were sailing up I-81 when we suddenly hit the rumble strip! Apparently, The Squire has become mesmerized by the hum of the drive and drifted off the road. Given the speed limit on the Interstate it only took a split second for us to fly a fair distance down the bank, which was a leetle bit scary. We had just passed a sign which advised us there was a rest area a few miles ahead. I informed The Squire that I was going to drive for a while, and there’d be no snide remarks about my driving. He allowed as how, given this stunt, he was in no position to say a word.
thisendoftheswamp 