Posts Tagged With: South Carolina

Homeward Bound

Having been in New England for ten of the past sixteen months, I’ve thought a lot about home.

With respect to Robert Frost, home is the place where they’re glad to take me in.

Sally, Jenna, and Julie are home to me, wherever they are.

Home is sleeping in my bed with my wife.

Home is our cat, Caesar, loving me as if I’d never been gone.

Home is grilling salmon on our patio. Home is our bright red Japanese Maple tree.

Home is a hug from the lady at the dry cleaners who missed me. Home is friends at Kathwood Baptist Church welcoming me back.

Home is my Grandson Lake showing up at our house at 6:45 a.m. wanting blueberry muffins on Thursday morning.

Home is my shower, my pillow, and my favorite coffee mug. Home is iced tea with mint freshly picked from our garden. Home is my bookshelves with my books with my favorite passages underlined. Home is being surrounded by memorabilia from Charleston, Cooperstown, Scotland, Italy, Turkey, Kenya, and Romania.

Home, for me, are tigers, tigers everywhere.

Home is driving on familiar roads and walking on familiar sidewalks.

Home is my Dad’s picture on the wall and my Mother’s baking sheets (which we still use to make chocolate chip cookies) in our kitchen cabinet.

Home is my back porch where I eat breakfast and drink coffee as many days of the year as possible, January through December. I love it, especially the sound of the birds singing, the toot of the railroad train not far away, and the kids waiting for their school bus. When Sally, Jenna, Julie, sons-in-law Thorne and Tom, or friends join me, there is no better place in the world.






Categories: Faith/Spirituality, Family, Health, Holiday, South Carolina, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

The Swamp Fox: How Francis Marion Saved the American Revolution

The Swamp Fox: How Francis Marion Saved the American Revolution by John Oller

Book Reviewed by Marion D. Aldridge

In my high school graduating class (North Augusta High School—in South Carolina, across the Savannah River from Augusta, Georgia) of 222 teenagers, there were at least three male Marions, maybe more, and at least one female Marian. You don’t get those percentages in Minnesota or New Mexico.

Because of South Carolina’s most prominent Revolutionary War hero, Francis Marion, “Marion” became a popular regional name for all children, especially boys.

My parents considered putting Francis Marion on my birth certificate, but to honor an uncle on each side of the family, I became Marion Douglas Aldridge.

My ears always perk up when I encounter the name of Francis Marion. During my Junior High years, Walt Disney produced eight episodes of The Swamp Fox, starring Leslie Nielsen. I watched them all. I read Francis Marion biographies. Later, in 2000, when Mel Gibson portrayed the Marion-based character in The Patriot, the elusive hero was nicknamed “the Ghost.”

One of the traditional difficulties of getting to know Marion better is the mythology that surrounds his life. The first biographies were pure hero-worship, as much fiction as truth.

So, when a new, better biography of Francis Marion was published in 2016, I bought and read it immediately. John Oller delivers the goods. Well-researched, footnoted thoroughly, yet very readable, Oller has given us a book we’ve needed and wanted for several decades.

South Carolina has been so enamored with the Civil War, we’ve pretty much ignored the Revolutionary War which happened, to a great extent, within South Carolina. Why haven’t our state and national park systems done a better job of paying attention to the sites of Francis Marion’s skirmishes? Why aren’t the students of West Point sent to South Carolina to study the military tactics of the Swamp Fox? Why hasn’t South Carolina’s Department of Parks, Recreation and Tourism created billboards at every I-95 exit pointing to the small but significant locations of these South Carolina battle grounds that were vital to our nation’s independence? I would love to go to Snow’s Island, Marion’s Headquarters/Retreat, but I’ve never figured out a way to get there.

Readers with a knowledge of South Carolina geography will have an easier time with some of the obscure battle sites than those with no previous knowledge of South Carolina’s rivers, marshes, and towns. That many of the important locations are now under massive lakes doesn’t help. The volume contains a map of “The Principal Theater of the Campaigns of Francis Marion” which demonstrates the scope and shows the exact localities of Francis’s military activity. I suspect the fact that Marion didn’t venture into neighboring states has muted his national reputation somewhat. But the subtitle of the volume is true: “How Francis Marion Saved the American Revolution.” I’d always heard, and Oller verifies, “More places have been named for Marion than any other Revolutionary War figure, excepting Washington. According to a current memorial project in the nation’s capital, Marion has lent his name to twenty-nine cities and towns and seventeen counties across America, not to mention a four-year university, a national forest, and a small part on Capitol Hill that cries out for a monument in his honor.”

You don’t have to be named Marion for this biography to be significant. Oller provides a grand overview of the history of South Carolina during the Revolutionary War years. An example that caught me by surprise was how fluid was the movement between the American Patriots and the British Loyalists: “Several Tories captured by Marion at Black Mingo took an oath of allegiance and joined his brigade.” Wow!

Unfortunately, I was taught very little American history in high school or college, a deficiency I regret.

The Swamp Fox, by John Oller, is helping me catch up.



Categories: Book Review, South Carolina, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Hillbilly Elegy by J. D. Vance, reviewed by Marion D. Aldridge

Hillbilly Elegy is a “New York Times #1 Bestseller,” and, according to all accounts, an Important Book, meaning, we should probably read it. Written before the 2016 election, it explains a lot about the perceived disestablishment of older white men throughout much of the country, the formerly powerful feeling powerless, and even the rise of Donald Trump. Hillbillies never had much clout, but Vance argues that, previously, they could at least make a living for their family.

Vance subtitled his volume, A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis. His roots are the mountains and hollers of Kentucky and sections of Ohio to which the economically depressed people of Appalachia transplanted themselves.

My dad’s family came from the Horse Creek Valley in the sand hills of South Carolina, in many ways similar to Vance’s Appalachia. My granddaddy and daddy were mill workers. My dad’s nickname was Rube, which means country bumpkin. The great difference in Vance and me appears to be that he blames his culture for the slights he’s endured in his thirty-one years of life, while I credit my family, as deprived economically as his, for providing a solid foundation of core values.

He writes, “Yes, my parents fought intensely, but so did everyone else’s.” I don’t believe that. It’s not even true of the other members of his extended family. Vance falls victim to universalizing his own experience. It makes a good story, but it ain’t necessarily so.

He bemoans his mother’s alcoholism and drug addiction, and I can feel his pain. He doesn’t burn with the anger of Pat Conroy who wrote creatively and passionately about his father’s abusiveness. But Vance writes well and interestingly about his family and culture. Yet, all the while, I kept thinking his issues were as much family as culture. After all, there are alcoholics and drug addicts in the wealthiest neighborhoods of every community. Maybe the numbers are disproportionately high in so-called hillbilly communities, but he didn’t convince me.

Obviously, culture affects us, whether we grow up with a military family that moves every few years, or in a Chinese neighborhood in San Francisco, or in an urban setting in Chicago, or on a small island in the Pacific.

Vance introduced me to a term with which I was not familiar, Adverse Childhood Experience (ACE), apparently a kissing cousin to PTSD, to explain symptoms in adults who suffered various types of emotional or physical violence in their childhood homes, e.g., a parent who attempted suicide. Such experiences are in no way limited to the people of Appalachia. Adversity also happens in Hollywood and Hawaii.

Vance’s anecdotes from his childhood are entertaining, but a few more statistics would have been helpful to make his case.

Vance comes close to being the definition of a “self-made man.” He quotes his sister Lindsay, “You have to stop making excuses and take responsibility.” After a rocky childhood, Vance joined the Marines, graduated from Ohio State University, and then finished Yale Law School. He has impressive credentials and is now, something of a media darling, a member of the Ivy League Elite. Upward mobility appears to be his mantra. He credits individuals within his culture and family system with being helpful but is openly disdainful of government involvement. Yet, public schools, the Marines, and the Ohio State University are all government entities.

I think both/and/and/and/and/and is more honest than either/or.

Family, local hillbilly culture, American culture, teachers, the Marines, personal decisions, intelligence, white maleness, dumb luck, grace, providence, and hard work are each a part of Vance’s success story.

I like this book. It’s easy to read and provocative. It’s one of the narratives of some working class white people, but not the whole story.

Categories: addiction, Book Review, Faith/Spirituality, Family | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

The Familiar

South Carolina is home. I loved my half-year in New Hampshire: new sights, new experiences and new friends. Moose. Live Free or Die. Minus seventeen degrees one Sunday. I enjoyed being close to my daughter Julie and her husband Tom for six months. I grew fond of the people at Trinity Baptist Church of Hanover.

But I’m clear, even in 102-degree heat, I love my home state and my home.

I believe in travel, and I believe in getting to know other cultures, other histories, and other ways of thinking.

But I missed the familiar. I missed my wife Sally and my cat Caesar. I missed Sunday night supper at our house with my daughter Jenna, her husband Thorne, and my grandson Lake. I missed old friends who live near enough to see frequently. I missed my church. I missed our back porch and Sally’s garden. I missed the American flag in front of our house (occasionally replaced by a Tiger Paw flag). I missed being surrounded by my books. I missed walking in our neighborhood. I missed the pictures on the wall of my study and the mementos I’ve collected from around the world. I missed our shower. I even missed our dishwasher.

The familiar is seductive. It’s tempting to stay there and never leave, never experience the unfamiliar. I’m glad I resisted the comfort of my nest and ventured out.

Even more, I’m glad to be home.

Categories: Faith/Spirituality, Family, Holiday, South Carolina, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A New Hampshire Transplant Reflects on Spring in New England

Spring does not startle in New Hampshire the way it does in the Carolinas.

In March and April, my South Carolina home is set ablaze with the yellows of jasmine (and pine tree pollen) and the pinks and reds of dogwoods and azaleas across the landscape.

If you’re walking, the sweet aroma of honey suckle may cause you to stop in your tracks. If you step aside to sniff it up close, you’re likely to swoon. Spring in South Carolina is sensory overload—wisteria, dogwoods, magnolias, blackberries, cornflowers, sweet peas, irises, daisies and day lilies. Sunflowers! Morning Glory!


You’d better not stand too long in any one place or the flowers in your garden may shoot up so suddenly they slap you for getting in their way. Sometimes we forget we reside in a tropical rain forest. There is nothing slow or subtle about Spring near my home.

The bluebirds, goldfinch, cardinals, woodpeckers, bumblebees, and butterflies put on a dazzling light show that makes Disney jealous.

New Hampshire’s Spring is slower to arrive. No surprise there. The colors are muted. The landscape stays brown and grey through the April mud season, then beige begins to appear, then a soft golden color. Persevere. Be patient. Spring does not hurry here. After the gold comes pale green which contrasts handsomely on the hillsides with the dark emerald of the evergreens.

Flowers appear, but they are tiny, blue, purple and pink treasures to be relished for their rarity. I don’t know their names yet. Gradually, the greens turn darker. Lawns appear where there was mud. I passed a bush two days ago burdened with heavy purple flowers. I stopped to smell it. Heavenly. I was told it was Lilac. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen or smelled Lilac before.

The past two days outside the back window of the house where I’m living, I’ve seen tom turkeys and hens doing their courtship dance. I’ve watched a fox unsuccessfully chasing the turkeys. Any day now, I’m waiting for a fawn to step out of the woods to check out this new, lovely world.

Welcome to Spring, wherever you are.

Categories: South Carolina, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Comfort Zone

A little more than halfway through my New Hampshire adventure, and during a two-week visit home, now seems like a good time to reflect on what I’ve been doing for the past three and a half months.

Thanks to all who have been following and encouraging me in this venture, an undertaking unlike anything I’ve ever done before. Your comments on my blog and Facebook page have been a hoot. My life has not been in danger in the great frozen Northland. Some people actually live in New England and survive. However, Monday, April 25, when I flew home for two weddings and a two-week break was a study in contrasts. It was 27 degrees and snowing in Hanover, New Hampshire. It was a beautiful 63 degrees in Columbia, South Carolina. Color has not yet arrived in New Hampshire, but our South Carolina garden was an explosion of flamboyant fertility—greens, reds, yellows and purples. On the front porch was a Clemson flag which rounded out the color spectrum with a bright orange. I haven’t seen that in New Hampshire.

Trinity Baptist Church of Hanover called me to serve as an Interim Pastor and Baptist Campus Minister to Dartmouth after the retirement of Ken (Pastor) and Sandy (Campus Minister) Hale. Our goal is to have a new Pastor/Campus Minister in place when I leave in late June, after six months. We have made strides, receiving excellent resumes, and having a few fine interviews, in spite of being able to offer only a part-time salary of $25,000 per year.

The furnace at the church is on its last leg, and I’m trying to raise $18,000 to replace an over thirty-year old antique before I leave. Otherwise, the church facility is in good shape. If you want to participate in this fund-raising effort, send your check to

Trinity Baptist Church of Hanover

Box 5079

Hanover, New Hampshire 03755


Any help will be appreciated. And tax-deductible.

The church, being small (an average of ten people in worship every Sunday), has not required my full-time attention. As those who’ve read my Facebook and blog posts know, I’ve had fun.

  • I’ve been able to see my Boston-based daughter Julie and her husband Tom about ever other week. That has been a great gift for me.
  • I’ve taken two writing classes Dartmouth provides for senior adults in the area. As surprising as it may be, I qualify as old enough.
  • I’ve taken walks throughout Vermont and New Hampshire in some beautiful villages. My favorites are Walpole and Orford, NH, and Woodstock and Norwich, VT.
  • I drove up to Montreal, Canada, for two days and two nights, a lot of walking (ten miles each day) and some world-class meals. I might as well admit that I’ve eaten a lot of amazing food on this adventure (including local cheeses) and gained some weight.
  • My cousin Yvonne, who lives in Vermont, along with her husband Hal and daughter Stormie, picked me up and drove us to Portland, Maine, for a two-day and two-night mini-vacation there. I ate lobster.
  • Gerald and Kari Aldridge and Frank and Susan Broome came to visit on occasions when it was important to see familiar faces. Speaking of friends and family, I am grateful for the phone calls of folks who checked up on me. Sally and I talked almost every day.
  • I haven’t watched much TV, but I’ve read a lot. I’ve written less than I’ve read.
  • I’m enjoying preaching every Sunday and doing the tasks necessary to help this congregation move to its next chapter. That is why I went to New England. It has been fulfilling to watch the church transition after the Hale’s leadership there for 32 years.

After two weeks in my South Carolina comfort zone, which I’m loving (though it is also filled with doctor, dentist, and other appointments), I’ll head back to Trinity and New Hampshire for my final two months there.

In June, Sally will fly up to visit Julie and Tom in Boston, then come over and see where I’ve been living, preaching, walking, and eating. She will meet the good folks at Trinity. Then, we’ll drive back to South Carolina.

That’s the plan. Keep the church and me in your prayers. Thanks again for your interest. If you’ve read this through to this last paragraph, you are a friend indeed.


Categories: Faith/Spirituality, Family, South Carolina, Travel, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Mud in New Hampshire? Mud in South Carolina? Beauty in the Eye of the Beholder…

Dirt, water, pebbles, rocks, and minute quantities of organic material, along with random muck.

In New Hampshire, during March and April, that grayish brownish wettish combination culminates in what is affectionately known as Mud season. The affection may be mixed with hostility depending on the exact composition of the miry bog as well as its relative location to your feet or your vehicle.

In South Carolina, we are proud of the pluff mud in our marshes, and we want to keep it there. A low country brewery produces a Pluff Mud Porter, but they market their beer based on lovely images of the Carolina coastal marsh, not because the beverage contains mud.

Scooped up in a clear glass container, mud is not pretty. It could have been named Yuk because the mixture of these common materials into a muddy consistency is a mess.

Winter snow is beautiful. Spring flowers are lovely.

Mud season is a different matter. Houses in New England are constructed with mudrooms to keep the grime out of the living areas of the house. Mud mats are required. Automobiles are made filthy by the accumulated grunge. Muck is the enemy. Pets that get caught in the quagmire are disgusting.

Mud, however, may be highly valued in health and beauty spas as a type of therapy for skin problems. Some mud formulas are used to soothe aches and pains deeper within the human body. Minerals in some soils, containing ash, for instance, are said to provide healing for various physical maladies. You can buy a Borghese Mud Mask “sourced from Tuscany’s volcanic hills.” You can purchase Dead Sea Facial Mud or Seaweed Mud. These products are not cheap. They are also not for the sane.

Mud can also be redeemed as a structural aid. Malleable when wet, mud, when dried, can seal cracks in the joints of construction projects, or make bricks for building huts.

Children spontaneously make art with mud. If the dirt contains kaolinite, it’s called clay. Potters use sophisticated formulas of mud and/or clay to produce magnificent pots, plates, chalices, and sculptures.

If the proportions of the primary ingredients within the recipe are altered, our experience can be transformed. Dirt, water, pebbles, rocks, minute quantities of organic material, along with random muck, may still surround me, but it doesn’t always result in unsightly mud. Instead, I can enjoy a flowing river and marvel at the deep gorges as I raft with my grandson on the whitewater of the Chattooga River. The same materials as mud, but comprised by different percentages of each ingredient, make for outdoor beauty that has little to do with ugly and unpleasant muck. Instead, the landscape bursts with color, a Garden of Eden.

As a hiker, my favorite destinations are waterfalls. Water is even in the name. A stream of mud and water flows over miles of rocks as it searches for lower ground and, ultimately, the sea. Lots of muck is stirred in the process, as creek banks cave in, but the water continues its meandering journey, pulled by gravity down, down, and farther down the riverbed. Photographers flock to these picturesque sites to capture images of beauty. International tourists travel to mammoth cascades listed among the natural wonders of the world—Angel Falls in Venezuela and Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe.

Yet what is a waterfall but dirt, water, pebbles, rocks, and minute quantities of organic material, along with random muck?

“God saw everything he had made and, behold, it was very good.”

Categories: Family, Humor, South Carolina, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

My Favorite Place in New Hampshire

My Favorite Place in New Hampshire is not, technically, in New Hampshire. It’s in Vermont. Hanover is on one bank of the Connecticut River, and my favorite hangout is just on the other side.

(I understand the importance of rivers separating states. I was born on the shore of the Savannah River, in Savannah, Georgia, but grew up and went to high school in North Augusta, South Carolina. In-state tuition for Clemson was on the South Carolina side of the river. Rivers make a difference. But I digress.)

My faithful blogosphere friends understand that I am in New Hampshire for six months. That doesn’t keep me from slipping across the Connecticut River to walk in Norwich, Vermont. While that’s a beautiful village, with an interesting store called Dan and Whits (“If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.”), that’s not my favorite place either.

My Favorite Place in New Hampshire is King Arthur Flour. My favorite bakers in South Carolina, Mark and Angie Lowrey at Crust Bake House in Columbia, told me about King Arthur Flour before I came up here. Others did as well, then, I forgot its name. But if you settle in the Upper Valley of the Connecticut River, you will soon hear about King Arthur Flour.

The residents of the area seemed to be inordinately proud of King Arthur. I was told you could take tours there, but you can’t. That’s because, actually, it’s not a flour factory. That part of the business is in Kansas where the wheat grows. They cultivate Maple Trees in this part of the world. Are you following this? My favorite place in New Hampshire is on the Vermont side of the Connecticut River where they celebrate wheat harvested and processed in Kansas.

What King Arthur Flour does extremely well is bake bread and pastries. I’m eating a sticky bun right now. They teach baking to amateur chefs and professionals. This is where Mark and Angie ((of Columbia Crust fame) learned to bake. Since I began visiting Crust Bake House and spending approximately $50-$100 each week on bread, raspberry muffins, cookies, scones, biscuits, and assorted pastries too numerous to catalog, I say these King Arthur folks taught Mark and Angie well. Crust Bake House once posted a notice that they were looking for part-time help to wash dishes. I considered applying, but the notice required that the employee have a good attitude. I decided my best option was to remain a faithful customer and not complicate our lives.

After arriving in New Hampshire and exploring a variety of bakeries, coffee shops, and restaurants, I decided to search for King Arthur Flour. (My favorites on the New Hampshire side of the river are Umpleby’s, Lou’s, Market Table, and the Dirt Cowboy, all excellent options. Serious question: Why would anyone ever go to Starbucks and purchase one of their recently unfrozen cardboard concoctions when there is a local bakery nearby? Human behavior puzzles me.) I found the King Arthur Bakery and discovered why it has achieved cult-like status. It’s a bakery on steroids. They have every pastry and bread imaginable, more even than Crust. I’ve had chocolate croissants in Belgium and raspberry croissants in Paris, but at King Arthur Flour you can buy a chocolate raspberry croissant. King Arthur sells soups and sandwiches. They sell pizza and salads. They have a gift shop where you can pay way too much for King Arthur pancake mix or vanilla from Mexico.

You can eat three meals a day with King Arthur, not in the healthy way of a South Carolina restaurant where you can consume grits, sausage, eggs, and biscuits for breakfast, devour a meat and three vegetables for lunch, and enjoy a barbeque sandwich with French fries for supper.

At King Arthur Flour, you would eat a couple of sticky buns for breakfast, have a Rueben sandwich with bread made on the premises for lunch, then purchase soup, salad, a blueberry muffin, and cookies to take home for supper. I hate to admit it, but now I’m trying to get my King Arthur weekly bill down to $100.

My Favorite Place in New Hampshire: King Arthur Flour (and Bakery)


Categories: Diet, Humor, South Carolina, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Aging in New Hampshire

“My name’s Alexander Hamilton and there’s a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait, just you wait…” lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda

Friends and strangers are mystified by why I would abandon semi-tropical South Carolina in the dead of winter to freeze for six months in frigid New Hampshire. Minus seventeen degrees this morning! The lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda (above) are a clue. I have a lot of life yet to live. I’m still curious about a million things.

I don’t want to offend anyone who has chosen a different path, because there are a lot of fine ways to live a life, but I don’t intend to sit in my home slowly fading into death for the next twenty years.

Of course, I have no control over random disease or tragedy. But I do have choices. I can choose not to turn on the television during the day. Instead, I choose to stir around a bit and continue to meet interesting people in interesting places.

Just think of all the books I have yet to read, of the places I can visit, of the cookies and pastries out there still to be tasted. There are national championships to be enjoyed, waterfalls to find, a grandson to mentor, churches to help, jokes to hear and retell, and thoughts to think.

My wife shares my enthusiasm for life, though her interests don’t always coincide with mine. She loves to sew and I love baseball. But our lives do intersect in a hundred other ways—adoring our daughters and sons-in-law, dinners with friends, Thanksgiving, the occasional trip, and, not least, supporting one another when one of us is ill.

Last night, in a suburb of Boston, daughter Julie and her husband Tom hosted a Murder Mystery party for my birthday weekend. Great experience. Wonderful food. In what world would I rather vegetate in front of a computer than be surrounded by a host of young, new friends?

What’s next? Who knows? I would not have predicted Murder Mysteries for parties, or the Internet, or blogs, or Facebook, or Harry Potter, or Downton Abbey, or being a campus minister at Dartmouth.

Next thing you know, I’ll have a grandson driving… Oh, that’s next month.

Life keeps happening, and I love it.

Categories: Faith/Spirituality, Family, Health, Holiday, Quotations, South Carolina, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

Walking in New Hampshire—January 2016

“We humans are creatures of the last five minutes.  In one study, people who found a dime on the pavement a few minutes before being queried on the happiness question reported higher levels of satisfaction with their overall lives than those who did not find a dime.”  Eric Weiner, The Geography of Bliss

Most months, on Facebook, I give a simple account of my walking for the month, usually how many miles and how much money I found. Years ago, I began keeping a record of miles walked every day on a 3X5 card. It was too easy to kid myself without accountability. I might tell someone, “I walk two or three miles five or six times a week,” but it just wasn’t so. Since I have kept an accurate account, my mileage has gone up.

Somewhere along the way, I began to note how much money I found.

Finding money makes me happy.

I love it when somebody tells me, in person or on social media, “My husband and I found a $5 bill when we were walking yesterday and we thought of you.” Three times this week, someone Facebooked they found money while walking and thought of me. I love it. Keep it up. Pray for me while you’re at it.

Because I have been in New Hampshire for most of the month of January, I haven’t found much money. The snow has covered it. I predict a windfall when the snow melts. Three or four dollars! If other people don’t beat me to it.

The snow and cold has slowed me down some with regard to walking, but I’m doing better than I thought I would. This is a beautiful area, even when it’s cold. New Hampshire and Vermont (I am just a few miles from Vermont) keep their streets and sidewalks clear because people need to get around, even in winter.

Here are my January stats:

21 days

48 miles

4 states

7 towns/cities (from Edisto Beach, SC to Woodstock, VT)




Categories: Quotations, South Carolina, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Blog at