On a Sunday walk I spotted a splash of blue. Blue wildflowers. They say blue flowers are sometimes difficult to grow in gardens. “They say.” That was Dad’s go-to validation
On Nov. 15, my father will have been gone 20 years. Twenty years. Seems like yesterday when he lay in a bed at MUSC in Charleston. Seems like last night
Highway 34. It’s my route east to places like Ninety-Six, Abbeville, and Greenwood. When I drive Highway 34, I’m in my element — the back roads, but some back roads
Being a native Georgian, I didn’t grow up reading South Carolina writers. Nor do I recall reading Georgia writers, but I read a lot. Hemmed in as I was by
My dream has long been to quit life and join the band. While I’ve taken up music lessons in recent years, this book allowed me to vicarious- ly live out