Grace on the Ashley
Up a winding road, lined with Oaks; On the edge of a river, gushing by; In the center of land, marshy and wet; Between rows of crops, sustaining a way of life; there was a house. A house that was one of many, yet not enough. A house that survived war, earthquake, burning, occupation and drought. A house that was a home and is now a place for history, a place with a story to tell. This house, stationed along with others on the Ashley River in Charleston, fueled the rapid growth of the South.
This plantation, built in the 1740s, passed from generation to generation, holds within its walls the tales of what once was, the truth of the process that built the South as it stands today, memories of beauty and livelihood, social structure and economy and the darker side of slavery and agrarian life.
The landscaped gardens hold very little as I walk the paths and wander the maze of trees and shrubs on this early fall morning. The too-bright sunshine beats hot and heavy on my head, causing sweat to trickle down my neck. The glare off anything with a reflective surface stings my eyes. And it's not even 10 o'clock. I walk as quickly as I can from shade tree to shade tree, stopping only if something catches my eye, already realizing that this $25 foray is rapidly becoming a sweaty jaunt more than a photographic gem. I visit the key spots - the ruins of the main house, the marble figure ("Wood Nymph", carved in 1810), the sundial and rose garden (devoid of roses), and the main grounds sloping gently from what's left of the house to the river that sustained life.
Indeed, water is everywhere - stagnant pools and slow flowing mudflats giving way to hidden deep tides of the Ashley - but deceptive for its lack of beauty. I know that without this water, there would have been nothing - no world for the planters, no growth for the rice, no power for the mill and no transportation and trade. Gazing out over this unimpressive expanse I wonder, how much has it changed in 250 years? The rice fields have flooded, the main house has burned, but the spirit of the place is still tangible, though possibly overpowered today by the humidity. But if I squint a bit and shade my eyes from the sun, through the haze of heat I can see what once was, and perceive this bit of grace on the Ashley that speaks strongly of things I learned in history class and softly, unintelligibly of things I cannot hear that are best left forgotten. This is the story of Middleton Place.
the winding way up
the gentleman's guest quarters, all that remains of the main plantation
the view towards the river
the gate to the ruins of the main building
the sheep that still graze the land
the transportation
just a bit of the 1741 gardens, the oldest landscaped in America
the "Wood Nymph" from every angle. Work the subject!
the sundial
one thing was in bloom- and the butterflies found it!
Some of the uncultivated acres near the water
a spot of fall color
This plantation, built in the 1740s, passed from generation to generation, holds within its walls the tales of what once was, the truth of the process that built the South as it stands today, memories of beauty and livelihood, social structure and economy and the darker side of slavery and agrarian life.
The landscaped gardens hold very little as I walk the paths and wander the maze of trees and shrubs on this early fall morning. The too-bright sunshine beats hot and heavy on my head, causing sweat to trickle down my neck. The glare off anything with a reflective surface stings my eyes. And it's not even 10 o'clock. I walk as quickly as I can from shade tree to shade tree, stopping only if something catches my eye, already realizing that this $25 foray is rapidly becoming a sweaty jaunt more than a photographic gem. I visit the key spots - the ruins of the main house, the marble figure ("Wood Nymph", carved in 1810), the sundial and rose garden (devoid of roses), and the main grounds sloping gently from what's left of the house to the river that sustained life.
Indeed, water is everywhere - stagnant pools and slow flowing mudflats giving way to hidden deep tides of the Ashley - but deceptive for its lack of beauty. I know that without this water, there would have been nothing - no world for the planters, no growth for the rice, no power for the mill and no transportation and trade. Gazing out over this unimpressive expanse I wonder, how much has it changed in 250 years? The rice fields have flooded, the main house has burned, but the spirit of the place is still tangible, though possibly overpowered today by the humidity. But if I squint a bit and shade my eyes from the sun, through the haze of heat I can see what once was, and perceive this bit of grace on the Ashley that speaks strongly of things I learned in history class and softly, unintelligibly of things I cannot hear that are best left forgotten. This is the story of Middleton Place.
the winding way up
the gentleman's guest quarters, all that remains of the main plantation
the view towards the river
the gate to the ruins of the main building
the sheep that still graze the land
the transportation
just a bit of the 1741 gardens, the oldest landscaped in America
the "Wood Nymph" from every angle. Work the subject!
the sundial
one thing was in bloom- and the butterflies found it!
Some of the uncultivated acres near the water
a spot of fall color
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