It Was A Beautiful Day

Thanks all for the happy anniversary wishes. It made up for the fact that Carlos went ballistic when he saw his picture on my blog. Oh, not because he didn't think I should post his picture, it's because the little diva didn't like the picture. And I will have to say that since he cut off his hair and no longer has that curly mop, he is much more handsome.

We had a nice quiet anniversary. We haven't really had a full day off together in quite a while when we didn't have something to do, be it errands or hanging out with friends or yardwork or housework, so I was looking forward to a "Bob'n'Carlos Day."

On Saturday we visited Boone Hall Plantation, near Charleston. I had been wanting to see a plantation ever since we moved here and we finally made the trip. It wasn't quite what I expected, though. First up, the house was built in 1936--yes, NINETEEN-36. And I was pretty sure the Civil War was over by then. But then we discovered that the house was built on the site of the old plantation house that had burned down, many, many times since being built in the late 1600s. In fact, the property has been privately owned since 1680---I didn't feel so old after that.

It seems that plantation south of the Cooper River were not the grand estates we think of, but they were working farms, and the houses used sparingly in months that weren't too hot, humid and buggy, or too cold. They weren't the grand houses I was thinking about, although the house built in the 30s is quite large. And pretty. Filled with antiques. They tour only the first floor because the family still resides on the upper floors.

And we heard the story of the cotton gin. Eli Whitney and the cotton gin. Blibbety-blah-blay-blue history. Which I love, actually. Though I wasn't so in love with the cotton gin. I must have missed class the day they talked about how the cotton gin made life easier for cotton growers; how it quickly separated the fibers and the seeds. How it made it possible for farmers in the south to buy more land and grow more cotton to buy more land. And more slaves. How did I miss the fact that this invention, designed to make life easier, actually caused a boom in slavery. I guess life has always been about greed. More land. More cotton. More slaves. More prestige. Sad to say.

But it was the land and the live oaks that I loved. Some of the trees are almost 500 years old, and the live oaks lining the allee--the drive up to the house--have roots that meet and grow together underground and branches that grow together above ground so they are nearly hurricane proof.

Then there were the slave houses. Right alongside the driveway because they were seen as a sign of status for the slaveowners and all arriving guests would see them. These slaves houses at Boone Hall were made of brick because brick was one of the products, along with pecans and, of course, cotton, that the plantation produced. There are nine slave houses still standing of almost thirty that had been in existence.

Small, dark, drab, windowless buildings. in one, I heard a woman mutter something about how nice these houses were. I mean, they even had a fireplace. I reminded her that Boone Hall, at it's height, had over three hundred slaves which meant they slept at least ten people in these tiny brick houses with no windows, just shutters. It meant most slaves slept on the floor, or in the rafters, using a blanket they had been given by the slaveowner--every three years they got a new blanket. Still, she said, it didn't seem that bad.

Someone else asked her she might feel is she had been kidnapped from her home, dragged across oceans to a land where she didn't know the language or the customs or even the people, and then she were purchased by slaveowners. Forced to work; left uneducated; not allowed to worship in the manner she'd had in her homeland; and whipped, beaten or killed if she dared strive for freedom.

It doesn't seem that bad, does it lady?

See, believe it or not, there are certain areas of history that affect me more deeply than others, and as someone who believes completely in reincarnation, it makes me wonder if my extra interest in certain areas means I was part of that time. That's how I feel about slavery, and Africa, and China, New York City in the 1930s. There is a connection. It's like I know about those things. So, I was annoyed at this dimwit who wanted to suggest that slavery wasn't really so bad.

Afterwards Carlos and I went in to Charleston and had a lovely late lunch at a little French bistro and then strolled through the market and down several streets window-shopping and people-watching and just ::::sigh:::: having a good long relaxing day.

it was a nice anniversary. Just Carlos and me.

Peace. Full.