My old friend Edisto

I had the chance to spend last week in South Carolina.  It was a lovely little getaway with an old friend. 

Ahhh, SC, I oft struggle with my affinity for thee.  While I’m embarrassed of your norms and find it difficult to tolerate your politics - Appalachian trail adventures are just the tip of the iceberg, let me tell you - oh, how I love that warm salty air that sticks to your skin like an involuntary perfume the moment you cross the border into the Lowcountry, leaving a sweaty sheen and sparkle in your (now burning) eye. 

I miss the weather.  That’s a fact.  I don’t miss the stinking cockroaches.  Also a fact.

But what else is it that makes me long for that strange little place called Edisto Beach, SC?  It is truly a fascinating destination when you take a moment to stand back and look objectively.  And by fascinating, I mean Rocky Horror Picture Show fascinating… that moment when you’re not sure whether to gasp, laugh or just stand agape.  Beyond the distracting idyllic scenery is one of the most unique communities I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.  

My intention, however, is not to get sidetracked with stories of all the various and sundry characters that call Edisto home... like the drug lord restaurateur or boat captain with his own ‘commune‘ of women, or maybe the Episcopal organist who tends bar at the local watering hole.  I digress.  It’s so very tempting.   You really can’t make this stuff up.

If I’m completely honest, I think part of me misses being a big fish in a small pond.  I’ve never really thought of myself as a small town girl, but I have been raised in those types of places, so it's part of my patchwork.  I love New York City for many many reasons, but I found it to be one of the loneliest places I’ve ever lived.  That sounds like an oxymoron when you’re surrounded by 8 million of your closest friends, but my sense of community was severely lacking. 

By default, small towns like Edisto, on the other hand, place your choice of comrades in the dozens, so inevitably you all kind of end up hanging out together.  (This can be quite annoying when it becomes abundantly clear how quickly everyone knows that you went to the doctor or had a fight with your boyfriend or picked your nose…)  But it’s a blessing when it leads to a weekly jam session with earlier referenced cast of characters at said watering hole.  An assortment of folks from all walks of life who stumble together because they just want to play some music.  

Whalin’ at Whaleys – our self-appointed title for the event – didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.  It was winter, the tourists were long gone and we didn’t have anything better to do.  I wasn’t the ringleader.  In fact, I didn’t have much experience playing outside of church prior to this.   And it drew me in like a drug.  I couldn’t get enough.  

True community, true musicians, and a true desire to do nothing but share and play great music.  No pretense, no politics – just pure unadulterated joy.  I think I’ve spent most of my music career since then trying to recreate that magic.