Traveling back from Fripp Island this weekend, I exited Highway 21 onto Highway 17 North to Charleston. And somewhere around there (you know what I’m talking about?) there’s a stretch of marshland that hugs both sides of the rural highway and extends almost as far as I can see. Each time I drive across that piece of road, I feel like I’m crossing some imaginary threshold. It tells me I’m almost home.
I get the same feeling on I-26 East, when I pass Exit 199.
And when I’m on the Ravenel Bridge.
And I felt it years ago, when I was a student at the University of South Carolina, and I crossed the Congraree River and entered Blossom Street.
And when I lived in Portland, Oregon, and the Burnside Bridge escorted me to the west side of town. Portland never felt quite like home, but something about driving across the Willamette River was familiar to me. And that familiarity provided a sense of comfort.
When you’re traveling, do you cross thresholds like these? When and where do you feel the shift?
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When the lovely Miss TK and I go to Ohio for our annual football frenzy trip, we celebrate 2 points where we’re “almost home”. The first is going across the big green bridge over the Mighty Ohio River and passing the “Wecome to Ohio” sign as we enter Marietta, Ohio. TK always does a little jig in her seat and an O..H..I..O with her arms. The second is when we turn left off of Rt 77 onto Rt 70 heading West towards Columbus and see the sign for New Concord, Oh, the birthplace of John Glenn.
Now that we consider Charleston “home”, we get the home sign when we get out of Columbia and on the way down Rt 26, from the west, it’s seeing the Ravenel Bridge in the distance, always a stirring sight.
No matter the geographic marker, “home” always feels so good when you can almost feel it in the near distance.
You may have just made me an Ohio fan. Great story!
it is so sappy, and I really am not trying to suck up, but reading words from talented writers that reach out and touch my soul…. an people who do the same. You are becoming part of my “home”, just as Ken Burger enriches our lives…. you and Ken notice, and recognize and verbalize parts of us that we do not always take the time to surface. Before your time, but Barbara McKie was a gifted journalist. She could take a simple story and put her heart into it…. but HER heart was never apparent… as she brought out those little pieces of others that would make them interesting…. She was SO observant. Anyone better at sensiing the pace and soul of a city than Ken? And Bruce Smith/AP would make intelligent observations…. like Joe Riley mentioned Hurricane Hugo in 179 straight pressers….
I think the best journalist learn to step back and let the story unfold…. they learn that their opinion and point of view is NOT the story… We have a lot of reporters in Charleston, but not many journalist. Some of our smaller papers have terrific writers, and often overlooked journalist are the photojournalist of the Post & Courier. For many decades Tom Spain, Brad Nettles, and Wade Spees have observed and documented the lowcountry’s golden light and and angles the rest of us miss. They add to the mustic of Charleston. And of course, Pat Conroy captures Charleston in a manner that is unmatched. He writes Love Stories to Charleston.
Each of you help to capture the spirit, scenes, and moments, that those of us caught up in the hustle of life do not take the time to “lock in”. I have driven over the causeway that you first mentioned, and it is beautiful, but it will now be a permanent memory instead of a passing thought. Thanks for sharing and adding to the beauty of our special place on earth.
PS If you have not had the treat, go out to Kiawah and walk The Ocean Course at sunset. I don’t think there is a more beautiful place on earth…. Golden Marsh on one side and the calm blue ocean on the other, with egret and gators and strips of manicure grass encompassed by an enormous amount of sand and sea oats and…….. so much more…
I’m honored you would put me in a group with some of Charleston’s favorites… and for validating the power of a story.
It’s interesting how bridges are often the threshold. Bridges, and water. There’s a bridge here that crosses the Connecticut River, and when I cross that bridge to the eastern side of the river, though I still have miles to go, I feel home.
I noticed when I wrote the post, I mentioned three bridges. It is interesting, indeed. Thanks for the visual… I imagined you crossing the Connecticut River, homeward bound.
In college, when I got to the big Tiger paws on I-85 at the Clemson exit, my whole body would just smile…. I was almost home! Now, those paws are gone, but I still get the same feeling whenever I take that exit.
And I agree with you about Exit 199!
What happened to the Tiger paws? I used to be a Tiger fan (don’t tell anyone) before I decided to major in Journalism. Clemson has such a fun, inviting atmosphere. I used to have a key chain that played the Tiger Rag.
I feel like I’m almost home when I smell the pluff mud. I don’t know why it is a smell (and a stinky one) that does it for me.
I love Fripp!! I hope you had a blast.
Stinks Like Home. That should be Charleston’s tagline.
I find my comfort of almost being home when I reach the familar surroundings of my neighborhood street. I am blessed to have many parks around my home. Funny, when I am traveling and I enter an area that has numerous trees that remind me of home, I can achieve that same feeling. So I guess what I am trying to say is, I find that home is within and I find that “peace of being home” when I am in in nature and taking a moment to be in the present and just “be”.
Hi Kellie, thanks for stopping by! I feel the same way about bridges and water… Water views always help me shift to the present.
I-75 North, about an hour or so outside of Atlanta when I can see hills in the distance, which become mountains in the distance, which become home.
I know how you love Chattanooga! It’s nice to find a place were we connect, even if we can’t be there all the time.