South Carolina haunts. Those trees. Those tabby edifices. Some of these trees were planted with great purpose over 200 years ago and I can feel the history hanging down in the Spanish moss. But it is not fear inducing. It is just heavy with something not quite gone. The photos worked in black and white and take on a far more ominous tone than the actual space. The alley of trees is gorgeous, resplendent, the ground carpeted with bright green grass. The tabby building is a reminder of a different kind of grandeur, but also of the doubtless unpaid hands that must have gathered and worked the oyster shells into walls. But the land is lush and full of animals and wildness and color and beauty. The black and white makes an image that I like a great deal. But it doesn’t capture the story of the place fully. But then again, such a history couldn’t be summed up with a photo. That is where the thousands and thousands of words become necessary, and from someone far more knowledgeable than I.
Texas is so big, and so few things stay in one family for many generations that you don’t get the same sense of the residual fragments of other lives and histories running over the same soil you occupy. I get that on the Red River, thoughts of pioneers or Wichitas or Commanches who might have stood where I stand on any given evening, watching the sun go down. But it is a feeling of individuals, fleeting ghosts riding past on their way somewhere else. In South Carolina, it is as though people and carriages and wars and toil and slaves and a whole host of more modern ghosts are moving around in the shadows. It is noisy. It is rich with lives lived. It is also rich with the living…good, solid, lovely, kind and generous people.
Enough, these are just some photos I took last week that I like in black and white.[Click on any photo for a larger image.]