named the ‘devil’s elbow cottage,’ our sweet, abode is nestled among 300 year live oaks.

we watch over the marshes and waters of the pinckney island wildlife refuge, in what’s called “low-country;” a snippet of south carolina’s most beautiful and historical land.

for one week, we have made merry on this 150 acre private island.

from hour one we were in deep smit.

with a front porch made for afternoon, sipping of sweet tea, we spy on baby dear and a neighborhood of great egrets play in the bog.

tea for him, coffee for me; a screened porch for us both.

scrambled eggs and a smile every morning for the boy i adore.

early mornings {when the temperature is in the cool 90’s} we meander through different parts of the quag; a hose down at our dock is always our final stop.

late-afternoon cocktail hour adjourns under the palmettos and myrtle oaks.

i really don’t see the need for a car.

yes, it is hotter than georgia asphalt, but i can always nose out a breeze.

my husband disagrees vehemently with these statements; the only fight between us concerns the use of air conditioning.

if i had my way we’d eliminate it completely.

i swing for hours.

and we find a church so stinking adorable, i become a believer right there on the spot.

south carolina’s history is inescapable.

even in the 19th century, the people of low-country revered their pets.

in this building i have the meal of a lifetime: an endive/arugula salad drizzled with black truffle vinegarette, a cheese plate so good i ask for smelling salts, and a blackberry cobbler topped with homemade brown butter ice cream that will haunt my culinary dreams for years to come.

i make a friend.

 reading spots, with every possible view, are uncovered each day.

there may have been some pampering.

the look of not wanting to go home.

the seduction continues for one more day.

i don’t know what i’ll miss most about this trip.

the night-blooming jasmine providing a sweet, fragrant balm from sunrise to sunset?

the surround-sound sonata of cicadas harmonizing within the live oaks, heavy with spanish moss drapery?

i’m already yearning for more thunder and lightning storms who show up unannounced, smack in the middle, of a sunny, hot day.

and i regretfully admit to my new attachment to this salty, muggy air that has transformed my hair and skin back to a shiny, dewiness i haven’t seen in 20 years.

but most of all i’ll miss this time with my man. we hardly get these long stretches together, and i’ve bottled these memories up to last me until next time.

so….until next time.