BAMBINOS
There was a day last summer when Meera met a girl named Brianne on the beach at Hunting Island. They were fast friends and ended up playing together all day. Brianne is a few years older than Meera, but they played so well together and it was clear that they had a real connection. At the end of that day, as they sadly said their goodbyes, their parents suggested to them that they say, “See ya next year!” as they hugged farewell. They did, but nobody really thought they’d ever see each other again. (Brianna lives in Indiana; Meera lives in Pennsylvania; they each vacation in the area with their families for a short time each summer, spending just some of their time at Hunting Island Beach.)
Guess who — amazingly! — found each other today at Hunting Island Beach??!?
Today Meera and Brianne had a second annual fabulous day playing together all day long. They played in the waves, built sandcastles, shared snacks, and collected rocks and shells together. When they hugged goodbye at the end of the day they said, “See ya next year!”
If you had told me five years ago (or even one year ago) that my son, at age 10, would choose to relax by the pool in a chaise lounge reading a book… well… I would have told you that you’re nuts and that you don’t know my kid! But, there he is — Kyle — at age 10, chillaxing at the pool with his book. And it isn’t just a fluke. It is day after day after day. Dreamy!
Afternoon at the pool, ice cream break, boogying down to his own music. Owen is in his happy place. I’m taking his picture, through a reflection in the window, on the balcony of the pool snack bar. I’m in my happy place. Summer is short and life is too sweet to forget these moments.
Every once in a while we see somebody cast netting on Harbor Island. Kyle and Owen have been fascinated by it, and have really wanted to try it. Hunting Island’s Nature Center offers all sorts of classes for people of all ages, and I noticed that they offer a cast netting class for kids as young as six years old. I signed the bambinos up for it, and we had such a great time! The teacher was a kind and patient guy named Jim. It was an hour-long class, and Jim taught us all about cast netting at the Hunting Island lagoon. He was also an expert naturalist, able to teach us all sorts of stuff about all the things the kids caught (and they caught a lot!).
Cast netting is such a fun activity because it doesn’t require too much skill to catch all sorts of stuff. Meera was super excited that even she pretty quickly caught on and was able to catch shrimp and crabs and little fish. She even caught a baby flounder.
The boys, of course, picked it up ridiculously quickly and within 10 minutes looked like cast netting pro’s.
Many people use cast netting to catch fishing bait. But for the bambinos the fun is just to see what you can catch (we threw everything back in). In addition to shrimp and crabs, and all sorts of little fish, the big surprise was that Owen caught a Burrfish (a type of blowfish/puffer fish)!!! I think we’re going to be cast netting a lot in the next couple of weeks!
Owen, Jack, Kyle, Belinda, Meera
Braydon and I met our senior year of college. We went to Colby College, and as our class was planning to graduate in 1994, it seemed that everyone we knew was either: 1) going straight to Wall Street/big-time-right-out-of-college-jobs, or 2) going “out west” to become ski bums until they could figure their lives out. Neither was appealing to me, nor to Braydon; we both knew we’d be applying to graduate school but needed at least a year to do that; and we found ourselves — as sort of the two oddballs out — planning to find something to do, almost by default, together. As I look back on that, I can’t believe that we moved in together right after college. It was very unlike me. But he was my best friend, and we went for it.
We wanted to go someplace completely different than Maine, where we had spent the past four years of college. We were looking for the antithesis of where we were — someplace warm and sweet and right on the beach. We found a map of the eastern seaboard of the U.S., looked at the cities along the coast, and literally — like, literally — picked Charleston (pretty much randomly) off the map. And that was that — it was determined — we’d go spend a year in Charleston, South Carolina. Our plan was to get jobs and spend the year having some fun in a new place and applying to graduate school.
I really wanted to work in a flower shop. I wanted to do something totally different than academia, and I had this romantic notion of the loveliness of being surrounded by flowers, arranging bouquets all day long. This was before the internet really hit, so job-hunting was done via newspaper “Help Wanted” ads. Braydon quickly found a job in IT (which was just hitting as a booming field then)— but I had a lot of trouble with the flower shop idea. There were plenty of flower shop job openings, and I applied to every single one of them, and was rejected from every one. Over and over I was told that as a person with a college degree from an elite northern school I was “overqualified for the job.” Eventually I gave up on that idea. In the “Help Wanted” section there were a few law office openings for paralegal-type-work. I didn’t know anything about legal work, but I had done quite a bit of very abstract studying of law-related stuff in college (because for most of my college career, before I decided I’d pursue a PhD in sociology, I had planned to go to law school). So, I applied to two of these law jobs — both law firms in downtown Charleston. And, much to my shock, got job offers at both. One was a larger firm, and one was a private practice with just one lawyer. I said no to the larger firm, but the private practice guy seemed interesting. His name was Jack Cordray, and he took a chance on me, and I took a chance on him. He offered me his job as a legal-assistant-paralegal, and I took it.
It was one of the best things I’ve ever done.
He taught me how to bring in cases, work the cases, and — quite often — get the cases settled out of court. As it turned out, we were a pretty awesome team. And before I knew it we were racking up the cases and the settlements and things were really clicking at The Law Offices of Jack Cordray.
But then, after about a year of pretty extreme success for our little team-of-two, I had to tell Jack that I had gotten into grad school and I was leaving. You know, there are moments in life when you find yourself standing right at a fork in the road. And this was one of those moments. He did something pretty incredible: he suggested a plan to me — he’d put me through law school, and we’d continue our operation, and I’d work for him/with him for the long-term. He painted a pretty clear picture for me of what my life would be like: a warm breezy beautiful Charlestonian life with all the trimmings. I could see it and I knew he was right about it. I had a good sense of what it would be — and it was extremely appealing. I mean, extremely appealing. Or, I could go back up to the cold hard north, go through many years of grueling drudgery as a PhD student in sociology, and pursue a career the dry colorless cut-throat world of academe.
For better or for worse, I chose the road to academe. But I’ve always known that it so easily could have gone the other way. I don’t have regrets, but I do often imagine the life that Braydon and I would have if we had stayed in Charleston. And I know it would have been a very good life.
Over the past twenty years I’ve stayed in touch with Jack and I’ve always thought of him as a far-off, but very real, pillar in my life. I learned so much from him. I learned so much about working legal cases (of course), but I learned so much about the South, and about life, and about me, from Jack. He’s one of those people who will always be in my heart and mind.
Although we’ve come back to the Charleston area a whole bunch of times, Braydon and I never got together with Jack. This is mainly because when we’ve been in the area it has been very explicitly and very purposefully to be on a vacation/break-from-reality, and we are people who very much do not want to socialize — at all — when we’re trying to get away from our very social life.
But, after twenty years, it was time to see Jack. And it was definitely time to have him meet my bambinos, and have my bambinos meet him.
And so, on Sunday, we J-Ms went to visit Jack and his smart-and-beautiful wife, Belinda.
Jack and Belinda were such a pure joy to spend the day with, and they gave us such a very special day. And more than anything, I remembered the feeling of what a special treat it is to be around people who really “get you” and know you in an unusual and true way.
We visited them at their house on Kiawah Island. Jack and Belinda were so generous to us as they hosted us at Kiawah — which is such an exquisite place to visit.
They took us to lunch at the clubhouse at The Ocean Course at Kiawah. We sat on the veranda (photo at top of post), and had a lovely lunch, and this was our view overlooking the 18th hole~
Kyle and Owen and Meera, at ages 10 and 6, really have no idea what it means that they had lunch there, at that place, with Jack and Belinda. They don’t understand how famous that golf course is, or how exclusive of a world they had entered when they were brought there by the Cordrays. All they knew was that they were instantaneously embraced by Jack and Belinda, and they instantaneously adored Jack and Belinda. But someday something will click and they’ll “get it” and they’ll think to themselves, “Oh! Yeah! Wow, so one time we had lunch at The Ocean Course at Kiawah Island with my mom’s old boss!”
Jack really wanted the boys to have Ocean Course hats, so he treated them. And Meera picked out a stuffed sea turtle, who she named Pearl, and who she’s been carrying around non-stop ever since Jack bought her for her.
We spent the afternoon at the ocean and the pool being spoiled by Jack and Belinda. It was sweetness.
Kiawah is gorgeous, and there is wildlife everywhere. The kids were thrilled when we spotted a dear in Jack and Belinda’s yard~
They were even more thrilled when they spotted a snake in the woods and Jack went after it, trying to catch it for them. He told them that if he caught it for them he’d let them keep it as a pet. Jack got big points from the bambinos for that move! He got big points from me for not catching it after-all (phew!!!).
It was a very special day.
Thank you so much Jack and Belinda. You are loved and appreciated by five J-Ms. xoxo
Braydon and I met twenty years ago. It was just about half our lifetimes ago. The first half of his life — believe it or not (many people who know him today would have a hard time believing it) — Braydon was not a foodie. He had spent most of his teen years eating fast food (seriously. Arby’s! Taco Bell!), he had no bandwidth for anything out of the mainstream of the American status quo food of the time, and his favorite thing to eat was fried chicken fingers with honey mustard dipping sauce. He really, honestly, had no interest in food. And he definitely couldn’t have cared less about what he was drinking. He was one of those people who would sometimes “forget to eat” (something I never in a million years could relate to). He’d take forever to order off a menu — not because it was hard to choose, but simply because he really didn’t care. However, when he finally would pick something, I can absolutely guarantee you that he would never have picked a blackened mahi mahi sandwich.
Fast forward to now and Braydon is a serious foodie. He will try, and will enjoy, just about anything and everything. And he is all about the fine wine and rare-breed-small-batch-liquor. One of his favorite things to eat is blackened fish — preferably as a sandwich on a nice crusty roll, but blackened fish as a dinner entree with rice and veggies comes in a close second. And — if at all possible — he likes this best if eating it with his feet in the sand (or close to it) in some warm, tropical, beautiful place that is hard to get to. If he can have it with a cold crisp glass of a wonderful oaky Chardonnay… well… that’s just about heaven to him. My man has become quite the food and drink lover. I like how he’s changed.
We’ve had some incredible and memorable meals together in the past twenty years. In the category of “Blackened Fish” (we’ve eaten a lot of great blackened fish) two meals particularly stand out.
The first involved the best blackened mahi mahi sandwich that we’ve ever had. We were on vacation in Virgin Gorda (post is here); our best vacation ever. This was before Meera was born, and Kyle and Owen were three. We went for lunch one day at the Pavillion restaurant at a beautiful resort called Little Dix Bay. Lunch was an elaborate buffet with multiple stations with gorgeous and delicious food options. Kyle, Owen, and I were in dreamland as we explored the food and began enjoying it. Braydon, however, had a different idea. And what proceeded to happen was the singular moment at which I knew that my husband had become a fully certifiable 100% for real Foodie with a capital “F.” The server came to our table, and Braydon explained that what he really wanted was not on the buffet. He was hoping that he could get a grilled, blackened, fish sandwich, and he inquired as to if they had fresh fish and if that would be possible. He was assured, of course (this is a very nice place), that indeed they do have fresh caught mahi mahi, and they’d be more than happy to grant his wish. Shortly thereafter Braydon was biting into the most incredible sandwich of his lifetime.
The second involved a blackened grouper dinner. We were on vacation (non-coincidental pattern: most of our best meals are on vacation) in Sand Key, Florida (post is here). I was in my third trimester, pregnant with Meera at the time, and the boys were still little and going to bed around 7pm. In those days, whenever we’d stay at a hotel, after the boys were in bed, Braydon would go out to find a good restaurant and he’d get us take-out for our dinner. It was our first night at Sand Key, and Braydon came back to our hotel room with two white styrofoam take-out boxes in a plastic bag. He had found some local fish joint real close to the hotel, sat at the bar, and asked what fish was freshest. They said grouper, so he asked for two blackened grouper dinners. We took the food out onto the balcony of the room, and — overlooking the parking lot, squished together in two plastic chairs, me six-months-pregnant, and us eating with plastic forks — we ate one of the most delicious dinners of our lives. It was the grouper, rice pilaf, and some stir-fried veggies. It was so simple, but the fish was so fresh, and the flavors were memorable. Right now, as I type this, my mouth is just watering thinking of that dinner. We got that same dinner again each night of our stay.
Both of those experiences inspired me to try to master the art of blackened fish at home. As it turned out, it was not really an “art” at all, but a super simple, easy, quick thing to make. And — especially if the fish is nice and fresh — this makes my husband’s heart sing.
Mahi mahi and grouper are both great fish to use for this because they are quite firm. But really, any good, fresh, relatively firm fish will do. We are lucky here at Harbor Island because wild mahi mahi is caught right off these shores, so it is easy and relatively cheap to buy it fresh off the boat.
You’ll be shocked how good this is for something so quick, easy, and simple to prepare!!!
Blackened Fish
- You can make your own blackening seasoning, but really: who has time for that? Instead, just buy a good one. I really like this one: Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Magic Seasoning Blends ‘Blackened Redfish Magic.” You can usually find this in the spice section of your food market.
- Pat the fish dry, and rub a nice thick layer of the seasoning mix onto one side of each piece. Be sure to make extra so that you’ll have plenty of leftovers.
- Get a good pan heated up well on medium-high heat. Once it is really good and hot, put about two tablespoons of butter into the pan and — very quickly, before the butter can burn or get really dark — swirl it around. Note: if you don’t do this fast, the butter will burn. Don’t let that happen. If that does happen, wipe it all out with paper towels, and start over. Don’t ruin the fish with burnt butter.
- Place the fish pieces into the pan seasoned-side down to start. Let them sit (don’t move the pan around) so that they can get a nice seared blackened ‘crust.’ This should only take about 1-2 minutes because the pan should be quite hot.
- Once a nice seared crust has formed, carefully flip the fish over to cook on the other side. Drizzle fresh lemon juice on the fish and remove the pan from the heat to let sit for a few minutes (probably no more than 3-4) to cook through. The entire process should take more than 5-6 minutes (you want to avoid over-cooking and drying out the fish).
- Serve with rice and veggies. ~AND/OR~ make into sandwiches right away. If you eat as a dinner entree, be sure to save extra for sandwiches the next day. This keeps well in the fridge overnight. Just heat up the fish a bit in the microwave the next day, and place on nice crusty roll with lettuce, tomato, and mayo. If you have some mango salsa, you can put that on there too. But Braydon and I are purists where the blackened fish sandwich goes, and we prefer it plain and simple.
This is a hard topic. And these days, I must admit, I find it hard to blog about hard topics. I think this is mainly because — in the past — I’ve been so burnt, so many times, by very mean people who troll the internet harshing and hating on bloggers like me. I wish I could say that those incidents of blog-related-painful-experiences (people harassing me via the blog and/or simply just drive-by bombing me with hateful comments) haven’t impacted my blogging. But, alas, I’m only human, and, no, I’m not that strong, and yes, sadly enough, they have effected me and what I’m willing to put out there.
These days I’m much more careful about posting raw, truthful, deep, transparent posts. Simply because I just hate to have to brace myself for the potential onslaught of hating-on-me. After a few times of that happening to you, you sort of build up a resistance to wanting to open yourself too fully (or, at least, I have). And so, often, I — lately — try to keep it relatively surface-level.
Anyway…. having said all that… here goes…
So— you know, I know, and my boys know, that they were starving in their first part of their life. In their first months they survived life in a Haitian orphanage. Which was, by no exaggeration, not easy. When we got Kyle and Owen, at age 8.5 months old, they were severely malnourished. They had distended bellies, they were anemic, and they had lots of side-effects of starvation. What we focus on, most of the time, is the miraculous gift of the fact that they were and are alive. We focus on the fact that they were kept alive by human people on the ground in Haiti who did the hard job of making sure they didn’t starve to death. We focus on the beauty that is their resiliency and their life story. But at the core of it all we always know the truth. And that truth has core consequences all the way through every thread of life that is woven from past to present to future.
Kyle and Owen, despite the fact that we got them at such a young age (particularly for Haitian adoption), have ripple effects of this reality. A lot of this goes into territory that I see as private and too intimate to share here. But I have posted a little bit about it before.
Today I just want to say just a little something about a subject that has been big on my mind lately. That is, the Foodie that my son Owen has become. And the joy and gratification I find in feeding this particularly special little soul of a person.
Owen has a high-octane personality and persona. He’s also a high-octane energy kind of guy. He is non-stop, all the time, every day. Anyone who’s ever known him will tell you that. His energy is off-the-charts. I am sure he burns more calories every hour than most of us burn in a day.
It takes a lot of food to fuel that kind of charisma and enthusiasm and zest for life.
There is something really incredibly life-fulfilling and deeply joyful about feeding a kid like that — and I think, in this case, it is especially pronounced because of his history and how I play a role in that. I know that it is because of Braydon and I that he ate for the first eight months of his life. We paid money to have him fed (and I don’t want to get into it here, but we also paid to have his birthparents fed too) for those months that he and Kyle were in the orphanage. I loved him, and was feeding him, as best I could, from a distance. I think for a mother, especially, the feeding thing can feel really profound, and for me it most certainly did, and does.
Once I had those babies, though, feeding took on a whole other layer of meaning for me. We used bottle feeding as our major form of attachment bonding. With Owen, especially, it was challenging. This was a baby who did not want to attach. And if we hadn’t worked our buttooskies off, for a long, long time, we would have had a serious mess on our hands. We had to force him to let us hold the bottle (he’d fight us to hold it himself); we had to practically force him to lock eye contact with us (by taking the bottle out of his mouth if he would look away— which he tried to do incessantly); and we had to feed him and feed him and feed him and feed him and feed him (because he’d scream and rage and throw the empty bottle across the room as soon as the last sip had been sucked out of it). He had to learn that we would feed him and feed him and feed him and feed him.
For me, and maybe for him too (?), the feeding was symbolic. We had to teach him (and teach ourselves) that we were not going to give up on him, that we were there for good, and that we were going to keep at it and stick with him and love him unconditionally and endlessly.
We had to attach ourselves to him so that he could attach to us. And the feeding — and the food — became a primary mechanism through which that process became tangible for us and for him.
We went through many bottles. Many, many cans of formula. Many, many, many trips to the store to ensure that we would never run out of that very specific type of enriched and fortified formula that our pediatrician insisted we feed them so that we could fix their anemia and all of their other vitamin and mineral deficiencies.
I can’t say that we “fixed” it all. But we sure as heck made a good dent in it.
Over time, my boy has come to flourish. We have our moments, oh yes we do. But he is alive and kicking and we are in this for the long haul. And Owen is, truly, my heart’s love and joy. He is the most unique and amazing gift to me. And I will forever and always adore this child of mine unconditionally and endlessly.
One of the many things that Owen has become is a Foodie. A Foodie after my own heart, this boy can eat. And he can eat all sorts of things with the very best of them.
He is unafraid to try anything, anytime, anywhere— particularly if it is exotic, ethnic, and/or authentically unusual. The other day, on the beach, he managed to catch a small fish with his hands (he is, like many Haitian boys, fast like that). He ran to me to show me the fish, flapping away, cupped in his bare hands. He said, “It looks like a sardine!” I said, “It sure does!” He said, “Can I eat it?!” I said, “Sure!” That took him aback. He thought about it for a minute and asked me, “Are you sure? Like, just raw, like this, I can just eat it right here, right now?” I said, “You know, most people wouldn’t, but if you were stranded on an island somewhere and you needed protein, I’d guarantee you’d eat it! So, why not now?” He thought long and hard about that, and for a while there I was pretty darn sure he was going to do it right there on the spot, but then he decided against it. He threw it back into the water and said, “Nah! I’m not going to. You know why? Because on the way home we’re getting stone crabs and I want to save my appetite!” And off he ran for more catch-and-release hand-fishing.
That’s my boy!
I bought him a couple of pounds of stone crab claws on the way home from the beach that day. And I delighted in watching him crack them open with enthusiasm, dunking them in melted butter and cocktail sauce so that they were decadently dripping as he dropped the beautiful pieces of crab meat into his mouth.
For breakfast these days he’s been a big eater. Like I said, it takes a lot to fuel this kid. For Owen, a typical breakfast at the beach house is two fried eggs, two waffles, and a big ‘ole smoothie (1 banana, 1/2 apple, 1/3 cup whole milk Greek yogurt, protein powder, 1 cup frozen strawberries, 1 cup orange juice). Yes, folks, that’s a lot for a 10-year-old to put down. As just his first meal of the day. There is nothing that gives me more gratification that watching him eat that nourishment.
Nourishing him is my joy and my pleasure.
My son is a miracle and I am proud of it. He knows his story. And so do I. There is no shame in it. He is a healthy, thriving, tremendous powerful force of a soul and he is on this planet to move mountains and shake valleys. He is my son, we are hard-core attached, and I will feed him happily until the day I can no longer fry an egg.
Last summer Kyle and Owen were exposed to ocean fishing. Prior to that they really didn’t know anything about it; it just wasn’t really on their radar. But here — especially in this part of the Lowcountry — ocean fishing is a big thing. There are lots of people who come here, in fact, just for the ocean fishing. Deep sea fishing is a big deal here. But perhaps just as much of a big deal here is surf fishing. We’ve met many people who come to Harbor Island specifically for its prime right-off-the-beach ocean fishing. The folks who come here to fish are a very different crowd than the folks who come here for tanning, eating, history, or all the many other reasons people choose to vacation here.
For the most part, the people who come here to fish are real (stereotypical) ‘Guy’s Guys.’ They are (generally) men, from the South (South Carolina; Georgia; Alabama), and they have their fishing equipment, they have their beach chairs, they have a cooler of beer, and they enjoy themselves.
Last summer, very quickly, K & O became extremely interested in these Guys-Who-Fish. It seemed like everyday K & O had made best buds with yet another guy fishing off the beach. For the most part (somewhat surprisingly, I’ll admit — all things [especially race and The South] considered…) these Guys-Who-Fish seemed to genuinely embrace K & O. It appeared that many of their own kids weren’t exactly thrilled about their dads’ fishing hobby… and here are two boys who are, most definitely pumped up about it, excited to absorb any and all information provided, wide-eyed and idolizing these Guys-Who-Fish… and — wammo! — you’ve got some Guys-Who-Fish who are very happy to take on some Young-Apprentice-Fishers. Very often these Guys-Who-Fish would offer to let K and/or O hold their fishing pole, or — even — reel in a fish for them. And before I knew it, these guys had — one by one — very quickly — indoctrinated my impressionable young sons into the ways and means of surf fishing.
I have to be honest: Braydon and I were not thrilled about this. The whole prospect of purchasing the necessary equipment — let alone actually baiting the hook (because in this case, it is a huge hook and it is something like a six-inch SQUID that has to be threaded onto it, and there is absolutely NO WAY that Braydon is going to have anything to do with it)… well this just was not something we had prepared ourselves to include in our sweet little family excursion to South Carolina. But our boys are nothing if not determined, and so… much to our surprise… we found ourselves as a novice ocean fishing family last summer.
Over the winter, as we were planning our 2014 trip to South Carolina, it was made quite clear to us that K & O were fully anticipating ocean fishing as being at the top of the agenda. We had learned quite a bit last summer about what was involved. And like many people, with many things, we often learn the hard way (i.e., cheap equipment breaks easily; squid really is the best bait; bringing Clorox wipes along for fishing excursions is absolutely critical). So, this year, we were quite prepared.
Kyle and Owen are (perhaps like their sociologist mother?) very good observers of people. And they let it be known exactly how it would go if it were to go the way that they would like for it to go— basically, we’d do it the way the Guys-Who-Fish do it: we’d lug our equipment onto the beach, we’d set up our beach chairs, Braydon and I would drink beer from cans, K & O would drink soda from cans, Meera would drink whatever-the-heck-she’d drink, and we’d enjoy ourselves. This would be “relaxing” (Kyle’s description).
They were very specific about the beer part: it had to be beer, and it had to be from cans. Kyle told me repeatedly, “Mom, I’ll tell ya one thing — fishing at the ocean is not a wine kind of thing, it is a beer kind of thing. And it can’t be from a bottle or a cup either. The beer has to be from a can when you go fishing at the ocean.” Alrighty then.
We’ve been fishing a few times since our arrival here this summer. But the other day we made real the dream. We stopped at a roadside stand for beer. K & O went with me to buy it. They were ecstatic when they saw me buy, for Braydon, one of the “big ones” that they see the Guys-Who-Fish drinking. It was a sort of joke, and Braydon definitely got a kick out of it (I had the normal-size can of Bud Light). I don’t think the boys had ever seen us drink beer from cans, and they were in their glory.
We sat on the beach, in our chairs, ocean fishing, and “relaxing.” And for just a little while… all was right in the world-of-our-10-year-old-Guy’s-Guys-ocean-fishing-loving-boys.
P.S. Check out the middle photo below. Kyle’s expression cracks me up. He’s taking this fishing-and-relaxing VERY seriously!
Yesterday was a record-breaking day for us! Kyle and Owen and I found 121 shark teeth on Hunting Island Beach! (I wrote about shark teeth hunting on the blog last year; click here.) This is a huge number of shark teeth (our previous record was 37 in one day, and that seemed like a whole lot). Yesterday it seemed like they were scattered by the handful everywhere. Today we only found 2. I am wondering if it was some sort of after-effect/ripple-effect of Hurricane Arthur? Unbelievable!
Our girl, perhaps more than any of us, adores South Carolina. Meera is not a fast-paced, rat-race, harsh-life kind of girl. From her first days on this earth we knew from the start that she is a slow-and-steady, easy-does-it, sweet through-and-through, soulful and big-hearted, gentle and kind, warm and sugary girl. She didn’t take long to let us know, too, that she’s a proud-as-can-be Girlie-Girl. She likes to wear her hair down, with a dress everyday. She likes her ocean water warm and salty. Even on the beach, she has a strong preference for the skirted swimsuit. She likes her shrimp dunked heavily in warm melted butter (and has no problem with double dipping). She hums non-stop, smiles pretty much constantly, and enjoys life without a hint of competition or aggravation. Pretty inside and out, Meera is a dreamy, laid-back little soul who loves nothing more than: 1) her family, and 2) chillaxing.
If you think about it (and if you know the South at all), everything above is a pretty much a perfect stereotypically positive description of the south. I’ve come to realize that Coastal South Carolina is pretty much Meera’s dream world. She exists in great harmony with the place, the people, the culture.
On Sunday afternoon Meera announced to me that when she gets married someday her wedding will be in South Carolina. Somehow I wasn’t surprised by that at all.
Meera is having the time of her life these days. Monday evening she said to me, very thoughtfully and sincerely: “Today has been the best day of my life.” I believed her. Yesterday, as we were driving back to the beach house from the pool she said, “Today was the second best day of my life Mama. I mean it. The second best day of my life! These have been the two best days of my whole entire life!” Sweet Carolina Girl.
(All pics in this post from the past few days~)
Braydon took the photo above on Sunday afternoon. I think it is one of my favorite photos of all time. It turned out amazing. If you know the Charleston waterfront, this photo will speak to you. Notice, especially, how the boy has his hand on the dollar bill he’s slipping into his pocket.
If you don’t know Charleston— here’s a tiny tidbit: the “Palmetto Rose Legend” says that during the Civil War, confederate soldiers were sent off with palmetto roses given to them by their sweethearts. Today, around the Charleston Marketplace, and around the Charleston waterfront, boys sell these palmetto roses to tourists. They are handmade from palmetto palm fronds. Green when first made (from the fresh palms) and beige once dried, they are a lovely and lasting souvenir that is hard to resist. Meera, for one, loves them. So do I.
On Sunday we bought a couple of them for Meera. I also asked one of the boys if we could strike a deal: we’d give him one dollar if he’d let us take a photo of his bouquet. That’s the photo above. I love it. I might need to get it framed.
Anyway….
Charleston. What can I say about it that I haven’t already said? See here (from 2011). And see here (from 2012). And see here (from 2013).
This year I’ll just say this: Charleston has truly become a love of not just Braydon and I, but of all three of our kids as well. Meera, Owen, and Kyle have fallen head-over-heels in love with Charleston, South Carolina. There are certain things that we all look forward to now. Like, Sticky Fingers~~
At Sticky Fingers this year, Owen ate an entire slab (yes, a full slab) of ribs. By himself. If you’re interested: they were Sticky Fingers’ Carolina Sweet ribs. This boy can eat some ribs.
And then we walked down to Market Street Sweets for pralines for dessert. Owen had been waiting all year for that. We bought him a two-pound box of pralines to bring back to the beach house. He’s quickly working his way through that box.
The fountains are always a Must Do.
The rest is just wandering the streets, taking it all in, and thoroughly enjoying the slow-paced, splendid, southern charm of that beautiful little city.
Kyle is developing (or has developed?) a serious interest in U.S. History — specifically, African-American History — and even more specifically: the Civil War. At first we thought this was an intensive obsessive interest (he tends to fixate on specific topics for stretches of time, but then he usually moves on). This interest, though, seems to be sticking. It has been growing and rooting for a few years now. And instead of phasing out, it seems to be deepening and strengthening. At this point he already knows far more than I ever knew about the Civil War. Once we saw that this interest was not just a passing phase, we began to help foster it a little bit — the real start of that was when Braydon took him to Gettysburg for a weekend, which was (truly), for Kyle, a top highlight of his life to-date.
There is something about being in the South — or maybe it is specifically the Lowcountry?, or maybe it is the summer’s time to decompress, and open up mental space, and create space for continued conversation about topics-outside-the-realm-of-the-daily-grind?, or maybe it is something else entirely? or maybe it is, as I believe, some combination of all of those? — well, there is something about our time here that seems to noticeably intensify Kyle’s passionate interest in history. To me, it is intuitively understandable why this is, but I think it would be hard to understand it if you’d never spent time in this very specific and very unique part of the country. Here there is history all around us, it is just oozing out of every pore of the place; it almost feels like if you are open to it, you’ll absorb it through osmosis; we are — quite literally — at the epicenter of African-American history. We’ve brought the bambinos to the Lowcountry for the past four summers in a row, and it is remarkable to me how much just being here stirs and rejuvenates and fuels Kyle’s interest.
Last summer we took a trip to Magnolia Plantation, which was, for Kyle, a pivotal experience. We wanted to do something like that for Kyle again this summer, and we knew — months ago — what it would be. He had a burning desire (seriously! an obsessive need) to go to Fort Sumpter. So, just a week into our stay, as our first big day-trip in the Lowcountry, we all headed out on Sunday for Fort Sumpter National Monument.
The bambinos have been sleeping in until 8 or 9 each morning, but on Sunday, Kyle was up at 6:10am, ready to get the day started, too excited to sleep. We were on the road to Charleston at 7am, and got there (with plenty of time!) to make it on the first boat of the day at 9:30am.
It was good that we had left so early, actually, because we ended up needing to stop to run an errand — before we had even left the beach house, Kyle explained to me how much he really needed a notebook and pen for this trip. So, we stopped on the way to buy a notebook and pen for him, which you’ll see Kyle holding and/or writing in when you look at most of the photos of our Fort Sumpter trip.
It was cloudy and threatening rain all day, but it never actually rained on us, and it made for a welcomed — relatively cool (instead of swelteringly hot) — summer day-trip in South Carolina. As we approached the island that is Fort Sumpter, Kyle was starting to realize that his dream of visiting Fort Sumpter was coming true in real time.
As soon as we were off the boat it was announced that there would be a “history talk,” which, of course, Kyle definitely wanted to attend (and in which, of course, Owen and Meera had zero interest). So, we split up. I took Owen and Meera to explore the fort and island, and Braydon took Kyle for the “serious stuff.” Kyle immediately got to work with his notebook, sitting within hearing distance of the expert/speaker/tour guide, listening with rapt attention, and taking notes in his book.
This (above) is my favorite recent picture of Kyle. I think this really shows his true essence. This (below) really shows his true essence too! He wrote in that notebook the entire time.
A page from his notebook~ (This page, below, is notes from the actual Fort Sumpter trip — since then he’s been working on turning all these notes into some sort of “draft”. A draft, of what, I do not know. But I do know that he spent an hour yesterday, while his brother and sister were swimming at the pool, sitting at a table in the shade working in his notebook.)
Owen and Meera, on the other hand, are much more typical kids — being dragged by their parents to a National Monument during summer vacation. The boat ride was fun, the first few minutes of exploring were fun, but they had exactly ZERO interest in the history of Fort Sumpter and spent much of their time either: 1) waiting to get back on the boat again, or 2) finding ways to entertain themselves.
Despite Owen and Meera’s lackluster enthusiasm, Kyle, Braydon, and I found Fort Sumpter to be so interesting. It is amazing to be able to visit a place like that.
Above: I, for one, as someone who isn’t originally from a coastal area, always find this sort of thing so incredible — the fact that they originally built the foundation from shells and mud. This — called “Tabby” — is something that has always fascinated me. You can read a quick little bit about “Tabby: The Oyster Shell Concrete of the Lowcountry” by clicking here.
Below: We, for obvious reasons, are particularly focused on the history of all of these things from an African-American perspective.
Once the boat got back to the pier, I took Kyle into the Fort Sumpter National Monument gift shop. It was a thrilling experience for him. As I told my mom the next day: Taking Kyle to that store was like taking Meera to the American Girl Doll store. We took this selfie just as we left the gift shop. He had just had one of the best experiences of his life (a trip to Fort Sumpter! a dream come true!), and was leaving with two new Civil War books and a Fort Sumpter t-shirt, that his mom had happily bought for him. He was on Cloud 9 and I wanted to try to capture that look on his face.
We visited “The Tree” (Angel Oak) yesterday, on St. John’s Island, on our way back to the beach house from Charleston. The photos do not do justice to how unbelievably massive it is. Angel Oak is famous for being the oldest Southern Live Oak tree east of the Mississippi. It is thought to be up to 15,000 years old. It’s area of shade is 17,000 square feet. The bambinos thought it would be perfect for a tree house (or a few). It reminded us of the “tree of life” in the center of Disney’s Animal Kingdom. Except… well… this one is actually real!
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