The sun is coming back out after having been obscured by severe thunderstorms 50 miles to our west. The green blades of grass are almost glowing in the low angle light. We are in Porcher Creek off Dewees Creek east of Charleston anchored amongst thousands of acres of marsh grass. Standing on the coach roof gives a view of sinuous and seemingly endless fingers of water reaching out to grab huge plates of grass. The view changes with the tide and the light.
And now the sun is going back into watery gray hiding. Today we timed our departure to arrive at Elliott Cut at slack water before flood. (Here, between the Ashley and Stono Rivers, the currents can rip at 6+ knots.) We arrived as planned and made a SECURITE (Se-cur-i-Tay) call to inform concerned traffic we were entering this narrow space. When we were half way in and committed — out of the radar shadow and trees comes a towboat dragging a barge and 500 feet of pipe (
3) — no response to our radio call what-so-ever (had he informed us, we wouldn’t have entered until he was through and clear). We edged up to the channel margins and he took the middle. We made it unharmed, but talk about a cardiac stress test. Thinking on it, we might have expected this. Slack water at this spot is desirable to all. Contrasts? The schooner ( 1) was in Charleston Harbor. The house trailer on a raft ( 2) in Dewees.
A butterfly who thought of a thousand hours as old age sat upon a branch of a thousand year old Sequoia. A bark beetle who thought of a thousand days as a full life scurried by. The butterfly popped its wings open to command the beetle’s attention and said, “I am so bored, doesn’t anything around here change?” The beetle, who wondered why she was being singled out for this verbal assault, said, “Well I’ve been here pretty much my whole life, and I can’t see any difference.”