May 30-June 3
We haven’t been to the Carolinas in a while. We bypassed them on our trip west last winter. We were following I-81 then, and it goes directly from Virginia into Tennessee.
I had told Joanna about the swans and irises in Sumter, South Carolina, so we decided to go there.
It’s getting late in the Iris season. Many of the irises in Joanna’s backyard have already bloomed and faded. So we wanted to get to Sumter fast.
We took Interstate 95 South. Unless there’s a pressing emergency that forbids it, that means the first stop is North East, Md.
It’s a couple of hours and change from Montclair and has two great restaurants, Steak and Main, and Woody’s Crab House. We usually opt for Steak and Main, which was introduced to me by my sister Jamy and her husband, Bob, when they lived in Havre de Grace.
This time, though, we went to Woody’s, just for the change.
Joanna went Maryland all the way and opted for the house crab cake.
That’s always a gamble. There’s no telling about crab cakes. Too many places cheat by using a nasty glop of finely ground crab meat with an overload of binder. It lets them skimp on the meat.
I tried a sample from Joanna’s plate. Oh, this was the real thing, now, with big lumps of crab meat and nothing mealy about it.
I had oysters for dinner — seven on the half shell and five stuffed. That is, topped with crab and broiled. They went well with the two great ales on tap.
One was unfamiliar to me, Big Oyster Hammerhead IPA, which was mildly fragrant, adequately bitter with lots of flavor.
The other was an old standby, Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA, one of the best.
Both ales are made in the same neighborhood: Big Oyster in Lewes, Del., and the Dogfish Head a few miles from there in Milton.
Next morning we had about a hundred miles of Maryland left. We crossed into Virginia on the drawbridge that skirts the District of Columbia.
Joanna likes to catch photos of the state welcome signs. It can be difficult on the interstate highways. I guess you could pull over to the shoulder and get out to shoot a picture, but it can’t be a recommended practice. Besides, there’s really no shoulder on the bridge.
This time, Joanna only caught the “nia” on the welcome sign.
We hit some backups here and there, but for the most part it was clear sailing.
I did notice one thing that had changed since my last run through Virginia.
It’s a good thing that I’ve been this way a few times before, because it gave me the opportunity to visit the Stonewall Jackson Shrine. I wrote about this before. I’ve always been fascinated by the Jim Crow propaganda glorifying the Rebels.
Stonewall Jackson, it seems, was elevated to a sanctity rating roughly on a par with the Virgin Mary.
There used to be a white-on-brown sign on I-95 telling you that the exit for "the Stonewall Jackson Shrine" was coming up next.
Not anymore. Now all you get to visit is “the Stonewall Jackson death site.”
There’s still a U.S. Army post called Fort A.P. Hill, named for a Rebel general killed at Petersburg. But the way things are going, though, I’m going to run out of Jim Crow propaganda to make fun of.
I couldn’t find my North Carolina road map when we left. It may be stuck in the trunk under the box with my shirts and ties.
In any event, I needed to visit the North Carolina welcome center after we crossed the state line.
It came up sooner than expected so I missed the turnoff. Had to try again: Next exit we turned around and Joanna got another shot at catching the Welcome to Virginia sign.
Again, I couldn’t stop or even slow down too much because of traffic. I did let up on the accelerator for a few seconds. Joanna got “Virg” this time.
We made it to Petersburg in about four and a half hours. We didn’t go into town, but stayed in a Comfort Inn just off the highway.
We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant called Arriero, which was theoretically within walking distance of the hotel. “Theoretically” because there was no crosswalk, no light, no sidewalks.
We could see the place across the road, but there was no way we were going to try hoofing it across that four-lane country road where nobody expects anyone on foot.
This wasn’t the only time when we’ve had to take the car to cross the street.
I had a margarita and a dish made with pork and chicken, mainly because it came with refried beans and rice. We had considered a couple of places but once we decided on Mexican I started to develop an overwhelming appetite for refried pinto beans. The margarita was on the weak side, but the food was great. I wasn’t disappointed.
Neither was Joanna, who had grilled tilapia, rice and a mix of vegetables. Give her fish, rice, and choi, and Joanna’s doing fine.
Next day it was another five hours to Sumter.
On the way we stopped at the North Carolina welcome center, mainly to stretch. We picked up a couple of brochures about attractions that look interesting.
One is the Vollis Simpson Whirligig Park & Museum. There was a sample whirligig next to the welcome center’s parking lot.
The other is The Museum of the Southeast American Indian, which is part of the University of North Carolina.
We didn’t have time on this trip to visit either one, so we’ll catch them next time.
The hotel, Comfort Suites, is a hundred yards or so from an Outback Steakhouse. This time we could walk.
Outback is OK, but not great. They season the beef too much. Joanna can’t eat it at all, so she was still on a seafood diet, with a broiled salmon steak with no dressing.
I had a small sirloin. That’s a tasty cut, but the seasoning overshadowed the flavor of the beef.
The main draw for us in Sumter is the Swan Lake Iris Gardens, a public park comprising two private gardens that were donated to the city years ago by the families that owned them.
Irises grow in plots along the lake shore. Cypresses stand in the lake water and on the banks.
The temperature was in the 90s so we had to take it easy. We listened to a few of the talking trees in the arboretum. You press a button on a little kiosk and get to hear the bald cypress, the southern magnolia, and the sweet gum talk about themselves.
The park has representatives of the seven known species of swans. I don’t know all the names, but they include trumpeters, whistling swans, black swans, black-necked swans and mutes.
We sat on a bench in the shade for a while to listen to the trumpeter swans out on the water. At one point, a pair swam side by side playing a fanfare for two trumpets.
Another that I think is a mute swan—black mask, black fleshy bump between the eyes—paddled in our direction. Maybe it was posing for Joanna’s camera. It surely looked like it.
It came this way, that way, sat on the water, turned to show its best side.
At one point it came up onto the bank to preen. It shook its wings in a spectacular fashion and stayed in place till Joanna could get close and start shooting pictures again.
Sumter is near Shaw Air Force Base. When one of the jets flew low over the park, the roar was unmistakably military. They can’t sacrifice power by muffling the engines on a fighter.
The air shook. There were black swans, Canada geese, and what all in the air heading for cover or distance.
Joanna’s photo model, though, didn’t lift a feather. Even if it’s deaf as well as mute, it had to feel the vibration. If so, it didn’t trouble that creature one bit.
We passed a section of the park that was a butterfly garden, full of plants that draw them, and yes, there were butterflies in residence.
There is also braille garden. A lady, probably a volunteer, greeted us as we came to it.
She was working in the garden with a colleague. She took time out to explain that the garden got its start as an Eagle Scout project in 1964. It was the creation of an 18-year-old student at the local high school. His mother was blind, and his goal was to create a garden that she could enjoy.
Plants are chosen for their fragrance and texture. Some plants are thriving in boxes, but after almost 60 years the boxes are showing signs of age. So they are being replaced.
There are also plans to add more plants that will bloom to yield fragrance the year around.
There was more to see, but we were wiped out by the heat. We called it quits after the braille garden.
On our way to the park, we had passed Sambino’s Bistro, an Italian restaurant. We checked reviews when we got back to the room. They were mostly very good, so we gave it a try.
Joanna had spaghetti with sweet sausage. I went for the chicken Marsala. I didn’t sample Joanna’s dinner, but she said the sausage had lots of fennel, and to me that’s a good thing.
I’ve had better Marsala. The sauce was very thick and made me wonder if it was made in the kitchen or taken out of a jar. Probably the jar. There were lots of mushrooms, and considering that we’re a long way from New Jersey, I rate it as not great, not bad.
The Chianti was all right, but a little mild. It may have been an American-made copy. That doesn’t bother me, mind. My top drink at one time was Opici Chianti, which is made in New York State. I used to cook with it, drink it with meals, and get loaded on it.
We’re still at the Comfort Suites in Sumter. I booked us an extra day so we could do nothing—no driving, no touring. Just catching up and relaxing.
Which is exactly what we are doing.
Here’s hoping you take it easy, gang.
Love to all.
Harry and Joanna
No comments:
Post a Comment