We’re ready for the snow!
(Grandtwins Matthew and Madison)
Tag: Nature
September Oaks Revisited
Last Saturday I revisited September Oaks Vineyards— a small but incredibly beautiful boutique winery in Ridgeland, SC. On my first trip to SOV about a year ago, I fell in love with the place–as well as the fun and friendly folks who work there, especially Nikki Davis …
… a kindred spirit, who at the time of my first trip (and the above pic) worked part-time at September Oaks and taught high school English in Ridgeland. Thus, we hit it off as fellow English teachers right from the start. Nikki has since become a faithful blog follower and happiness promoter.
For this second visit, good friends Robert and Edward (such strong, classical names–who names their child “Neal”? And with an “a”?) accompanied me along lazy U.S. 17 on the forty-five minute trip from Savannah.
The entrance to September Oaks is as beautiful as the place itself.
So I motored down the old oak-lined entryway and parked Skedaddler. (My little car’s name. What? You don’t name your vehicles? Well, why not? And, what? You think “motored” sounds a little silly and pretentious? Well, I would too under normal circumstances, but those ancient oaks and the incredible fall weather made me want to talk British-fancy.)
A special event was going on that day: A Novel Wine Tasting & Literary Festival, featuring readings and book signings from over two dozen authors. Such fun! (More about that later … with a Princess Diana twist.)
So we sauntered (there I go again) into the tasting room, paused just inside the door because the place was booming with folks at the counter, and glanced around. But not for long–because suddenly I heard a hooting and hollering, and saw Nikki rushing toward me and giving me a big hug, as if I were, oh I don’t know, a World Famous Blogger or something! It was so cool to see her again.
We waited our turn for the tasting and then belly-ed up to the beautiful new counter …
… which is made from crushed wine bottles poured in layers to give the appearance of a flowing river amid vineyards. WHO thinks to do creative stuff like that?! When I think of crushed bottles, I always remember the time as a kid when I stepped on a broken Coke bottle and had to have a terribly painful and tear-producing tetanus shot. And let’s be honest, nobody wants to see THAT scene worked into a wine tasting counter!
Anyway, we met our pourer Annette (delightful), who led us through three whites and three reds, from dry to sweet. We were asked to score each wine on a scale of 1-5 points. And I probably don’t need to tell you, but wine has alcohol in it! Edward and Robert were SO much better at the taste scoring than I. Really. They swirled the wine around, smelled it deeply, commented on its color, and even had exaggerated expressions on their faces after each tasting which somehow seemed to register their definite approval or casual dismissal. They even made comments such as, “Oh yes, I would serve this one with fruit and chocolate” or “This white would pair perfectly with fresh, local seafood.” Me? What was I doing? Well, before I answer, look at the picture below. Although the photo is a bit dark, here I am with Edward and Robert.
My biggest concern during our tasting was not wine aroma or pairing possibilities … but that woman in the right edge of the picture. See her? You can’t tell from the pic, but she’s really close (too close in my opinion) to the two heavenly smelling featured dishes at the tasting–southern seafood gumbo, and shrimp and grits–and she’s actually somewhat blocking my path to the food. All through the tasting I kept glancing over my shoulder and worrying about how I could get past her.
Here’s a lighter picture of Robert and Edward. I took it mainly to get a better perspective on how to get past that lady.
I did it!
Here’s Nikki with Evie Woods, wife of September Oaks owner Grady Woods:
And here I am with Evie:
And here’s Evie between two wine bottles:
And here’s Evie eating gumbo:
And here’s Evie feeding me gumbo:
After the wine (and food) tasting, Annette asked if we would like a tour of their new barrel room. Well, who’s gonna turn that down?
On your visit (and of course you’re going to visit soon), look closely and you’ll see my shadowy spirit protectively overseeing the oak barrels.
Oh my gosh. Look what showed up next in the warehouse area:
A set of drums! So of course I had to play a while.
It would have been so much more enjoyable for myself and the others if I knew how to play drums. Oh well, we moved on to the big steel barrels.
Next, we ventured outside to the vineyard and the literary reading.
Here’s Jack and Robin Firestone, authors of Chasing Diana. The Firestones were in Paris on the night of Diana’s fatal car crash sixteen years ago … and were in the tunnel … and saw the wreck! Chasing Diana is their fascinating story. Here they are reading excerpts from the book.
And here I am harassing them.
Evie and Grady, SOV’s gracious owners and hosts.
What a joyful Saturday afternoon. I hereby declare September Oaks to be the Official Winery of NealEnJoy.com!
A special thanks to Robert Smith for taking most of the pictures in this post.
Read the blog post about my first visit here: SOV 1.
Sunday Afternoon Adventure at Bonaventure: A PhotoJournal
I spent an incredibly warm but wonderfully interesting couple of hours this afternoon at the historically magnificent Bonaventure Cemetery here in my beautiful Savannah. The day might have been heavy and muggy, but my time there was anything but–cooler than Leopold’s! It seems that every second Sunday the Bonaventure Historical Society offers free guided tours of the cemetery, so I showed up thirty minutes early with a big water bottle and wearing my thinnest t-shirt.
Before leaving my air conditioning, I checked out the cemetery’s website and learned that …
Though not Savannah’s oldest cemetery, Bonaventure is certainly its most famous and hauntingly beautiful. Quintessentially Southern Gothic, it has captured the imaginations of writers, poets, naturalists, photographers and filmmakers for more than 150 years. Part natural cathedral, part sculptural garden, Bonaventure transcends time.
Military generals, poet Conrad Aiken, Academy Award-winning lyricist Johnny Mercer and Georgia’s first governor Edward Telfair are among those buried at Bonaventure. The approximately 100-acre cemetery is also historically significant as a reflection of changing views on death and dying in the Victorian era. As death became more romanticized and ritualized during this period, cemeteries became lush, beautiful “cities of the dead.”
Another reason behind Bonaventure’s popularity is John Berendt’s book, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, which featured a cover photo of the now-famous “Bird Girl” statue, formerly located in Bonaventure. The statue has since been moved to the Telfair Museum of Art, founded through the bequest of Mary Telfair, also buried at Bonaventure.
Our tour guide, the vivacious Ms. Elizabeth Ford …
… oozed Southern hospitality and a spoke a delicious Southern dialect. (After the tour, I wanted to go home with her just to hear her talk some more. But I didn’t really know how to ask.)
Elizabeth led us around the hauntingly beautiful Gothic graveyard, along the banks of the lazy Wilmington River, regaling us with stories of the history of the place and showing us gravesites of some of the more prominent folks buried there. But what I loved most of all was the simple interplay of a deeply Southern voice leading me, slowly, on Sunday afternoon time, through such beauty.
(In the above pic, I was aiming for a cemetery facial expression. Did I get anywhere close?)
(I wish I had a ponytail like that guy to my left.)
My parents taught me to love cemeteries. As friendly places, reservoirs of wonderful memories. To this day, when I return home to visit them, we usually end up at one of several cemeteries in or around my hometown of Ball Ground, Georgia, where close relatives are buried. Granny Nix and Veto. Mama and Papa Saye. My brother Jimmy who lived only one week. Old Doc Saye, Ball Ground’s first doctor. Pulling weeds around a headstone, or straightening flower arrangements, we get caught up in “Remember when’s” and “She was a pistol!” and “I still miss him so much.” They taught me that I am standing tall today because of all of them who came before.
Bonaventure: an afternoon of warm joy.
Repost — September Oaks: A Midsummer Afternoon at a South Carolina Lowcountry Vineyard
It seems that some of the pictures from yesterday’s vineyard posting did not show up! Uh oh. So being the tech-savvy blogger that I am, I’m reposting them all just for you, faithful blogosphere residents. Thanks.
Yesterday afternoon I ventured off the too-beaten trail, heading away from hometown Savannah across the Talmadge Memorial Bridge on US 17 into the South Carolina Low Country. My destination: September Oaks Vineyards, a small but incredibly beautiful boutique winery hidden in the midst of towering, ancient live oak trees, just outside Ridgeland, SC. September Oaks welcomes visitors along a magical shaded drive, reminiscent of an antebellum plantation approach. I’m 99% sure that the Spanish moss tentacles waved a Southern welcome especially for me as I drove onto the property. (And I hadn’t even tasted any wine yet.)
Before meeting a soul, I did a little exploration of the grounds.
The muscadine vines looked in excellent health, grapes drooping heavily and bountifully in the July heat.
I was transported back …
… quite a few years (don’t ask!) to my North Georgia upbringing in Ball Ground near the foothills of the Appalachian Trail, and my father, “Tub,” making muscadine jelly from the grapes we picked along area streams. I closed my eyes, and Dad stood before me in our little blue-curtained kitchen as he measured grapes, sugar and Sure Gel to create the heavenly treat. I blinked and there was my mom, “Neever,” pulling hot golden buttermilk biscuits from the oven. My biscuit, halved and steaming, centered on green Corelle. The butter melting and glistening. The minutes-new, still warm jelly spread. Little Neal smiling in edible joy.
Okay, for goodness sake, let’s get back to the winery tour! I thought I rested secure in my world famous blogger stature until I stood next to this tree. It cut me down to size.
Finally I saw the sign to the wine tasting, so started to mosey over that way.
Got sidetracked.
Find Neal:
The rustically beautiful tasting room.
And here’s Nikki, the wine tasting hostess/teacher. (She’s also an English teacher, so a kindred spirit.)
I know next to nothing about wine, so the experience was fascinating. According to their website, September Oak’s “goal is to create unique and high quality wines, specializing in wines made from muscadine grapes (vitis rotundifolia). We’ll also be developing a variety of wines from different vinefera grapes as well as blending the merlot and muscadine grapes” (SOV Website). The tasting included seven wines: a Chardonnay, SOV Family White (made from the muscadine grapes you saw earlier, and whose aroma reminded me of my dad’s muscadine jelly), White Merlot, Kiwi Gold (yes, with locally grown kiwi), Crescent Moon, SOV Lenoir (“a dry red that brings history home with the Lenior grape that originated in the Low Country in the 1700’s”), and SOV Family Red. Some of these wines have already won prizes. Congrats!
[Do you KNOW that at a wine tasting you actually DRINK the wine?! Glass after glass. Like SEVEN glasses. Isn’t wine alcoholic?]
Here’s another wine-taster, Damon from Hilton Head. (I asked him for a recommendation for a great HH restaurant, and he immediately said, “The Sage Room, on the south end. Tell them I sent you.” So I plan to, soon. I’ll keep you posted.) Damon knew SO MUCH about wine that I felt like one of the Kardashians trying to talk to Einstein.
I mean, he asked questions about grape growth patterns and parent vines and bouquets. The foremost, burning question on my mind was, “Yall think I shoud buy this? It’s so cool!”
It was my lucky day …
… because after the tasting, I ventured behind these doors (Wizard of Oz-ishly) and met the September Oaks owner Grady Woods (cool and appropriate last name, don’t you think?) and his polite son Kent, as they were working.
Grady showed us some of the equipment and explained about plans for expansion of the winery.
I stood behind a barrel and made the announcement that maybe I would just start up a winery/vineyard. (As some of you know, I have frustratingly abandoned my desire to be a tugboat operator.) I thought that perhaps I could call my winery something like NealNowReallyEnJoysWineTastings. But I got no respect at all from Nikki and Damon:
But I got even by confiscating a big ole barrel of wine. “I gotta load this by myself?!”
What a great Low Country afternoon. I will definitely go back one of these days. You go with me!
Now which way is Savannah?
See you next time.
September Oaks: A Midsummer Afternoon at a South Carolina Lowcountry Vineyard
Yesterday afternoon I ventured off the too-beaten trail, heading away from hometown Savannah across the Talmadge Memorial Bridge on US 17 into the South Carolina Low Country. My destination: September Oaks Vineyards, a small but incredibly beautiful boutique winery hidden in the midst of towering, ancient live oak trees, just outside Ridgeland, SC. September Oaks welcomes visitors along a magical shaded drive, reminiscent of an antebellum plantation approach. I’m 99% sure that the Spanish moss tentacles waved a Southern welcome especially for me as I drove onto the property. (And I hadn’t even tasted any wine yet.)
Before meeting a soul, I did a little exploration of the grounds.
The muscadine vines looked in excellent health, grapes drooping heavily and bountifully in the July heat.
I was transported back …
… quite a few years (don’t ask!) to my North Georgia upbringing in Ball Ground near the foothills of the Appalachian Trail, and my father, “Tub,” making muscadine jelly from the grapes we picked along area streams. I closed my eyes, and Dad stood before me in our little blue-curtained kitchen as he measured grapes, sugar and Sure Gel to create the heavenly treat. I blinked and there was my mom, “Neever,” pulling hot golden buttermilk biscuits from the oven. My biscuit, halved and steaming, centered on green Corelle. The butter melting and glistening. The minutes-new, still warm jelly spread. Little Neal smiling in edible joy.
Okay, for goodness sake, let’s get back to the winery tour! I thought I rested secure in my world famous blogger stature until I stood next to this tree. It cut me down to size.
Finally I saw the sign to the wine tasting, so started to mosey over that way.
Got sidetracked.
Find Neal:
The rustically beautiful tasting room.
And here’s Nikki, the wine tasting hostess/teacher. (She’s also an English teacher, so a kindred spirit.)
I know next to nothing about wine, so the experience was fascinating. According to their website, September Oak’s “goal is to create unique and high quality wines, specializing in wines made from muscadine grapes (vitis rotundifolia). We’ll also be developing a variety of wines from different vinefera grapes as well as blending the merlot and muscadine grapes” (SOV Website). The tasting included seven wines: a Chardonnay, SOV Family White (made from the muscadine grapes you saw earlier, and whose aroma reminded me of my dad’s muscadine jelly), White Merlot, Kiwi Gold (yes, with locally grown kiwi), Crescent Moon, SOV Lenoir (“a dry red that brings history home with the Lenior grape that originated in the Low Country in the 1700’s”), and SOV Family Red. Some of these wines have already won prizes. Congrats!
[Do you KNOW that at a wine tasting you actually DRINK the wine?! Glass after glass. Like SEVEN glasses. Isn’t wine alcoholic?]
Here’s another wine-taster, Damon from Hilton Head. (I asked him for a recommendation for a great HH restaurant, and he immediately said, “The Sage Room, on the south end. Tell them I sent you.” So I plan to, soon. I’ll keep you posted.) Damon knew SO MUCH about wine that I felt like one of the Kardashians trying to talk to Einstein.
I mean, he asked questions about grape growth patterns and parent vines and bouquets. The foremost, burning question on my mind was, “Yall think I shoud buy this? It’s so cool!”
It was my lucky day …
… because after the tasting, I ventured behind these doors (Wizard of Oz-ishly) and met the September Oaks owner Grady Woods (cool and appropriate last name, don’t you think?) and his polite son Kent, as they were working.
Grady showed us some of the equipment and explained about plans for expansion of the winery.
I stood behind a barrel and made the announcement that maybe I would just start up a winery/vineyard. (As some of you know, I have frustratingly abandoned my desire to be a tugboat operator.) I thought that perhaps I could call my winery something like NealNowReallyEnJoysWineTastings. But I got no respect at all from Nikki and Damon:
But I got even by confiscating a big ole barrel of wine. “I gotta load this by myself?!”
What a great Low Country afternoon. I will definitely go back one of these days. You go with me!
Now which way is Savannah?
See you next time.
Five Friday Happy Bringers (7/13/12)
It’s lucky FRIDAY the 13th!* And here are Five Happy, Happy Bringers.
* From now on, Friday the 13th is going to be considered a very lucky day filled with all good fortune. Okay? Good. It is now so.
1. Enjoying a fire in July (!)
2. Elephant Ears and other Joys of Nature
3. The Cross
4. Hanging these pics correctly the first attempt.
5. Always having the right tools.
Joyful Weekend!
Welcome to My Backyard, the Alley of the Angels
Welcome to the alley of the angels
Hey, they say your eyes can gleam
When you can a just tell the truth all night
(And you can chase them dreams all night)
Welcome to the alley of the angels.
— John Cougar Mellencamp
Places–I love the poetic resonance of that word. Some places are special; you had them growing up, of course you did. And do now. Magical places. Special because of their cocoonishness, or their broad openness. Their smell, or their connection to friends or family. Their lightness, or darkness. Their safety, or risk.
So I was aghast a few years back when I attended a writing conference at the Sea Turtle Inn in Atlantic Beach, FL, and one afternoon decided to skip the meetings and drive down memory lane. I headed south to Jacksonville Beach to find the motel where my family and I vacationed from about the time I was six or seven till I went away to college. It had those wonderful beds where you inserted a quarter into the headboard, and the mattress vibrated! For fifteen minutes! My mother, father and brothers would all hop on. Who needed the Ritz?
I knew exactly where the Horseshoe Motel stood. I had been there SO many times as a kid. But I started to doubt myself when I passed the lifeguard station and came to the ridiculously sharp turn in the road far beyond my memory motel location. I can be dense, so it took me at least three to-and-fro trips before I realized (admitted?) that the place had been demolished for a condo. Sad. A childhood place gone for good.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************
I live in beautiful downtown Savannah, smack-dab in the middle of the nation’s largest historic district, to be exact. I can hear the huge freighters blowing their bass notes at night …
… as well as the clatter of horseshoes as carriages tour past Colonial Park Cemetery across the street.
I love walking the Savannah streets, breathing history.
*********************************************************************************************************************************************
I don’t really have a backyard, in the traditional sense of the word. But, boy, do I have a backyard! It’s really a small alley, which runs behind the building where I live.
Even though it is communal, and somewhat small, there are hidden crannies where one can sit and read, or laptop, or daydream. It exudes a trace of otherwordliness, a fragrance of excursion. I step into my “backyard,” and suddenly I’m in Europe–Florence, Italy perhaps, trying to decide on which trattoria to frequent. I sit to read in its botanical wealth and am lost, not just in the book’s maze, but in the place, the green, the leafyness, the nowness of nature.
This place calls me to look up, to pause and see.
To view from unfamiliar perspectives and angles.
A tremendous perk of having place appreciation is that windows appear, and open (or shut), and allow you to see just what you desire to see. Or simply, and deliciously, to dream.
There’s power in place.
Both growth and potential growth. Both static and kinetic.
Sometimes sitting is all that’s needed in life. To embrace “is-ness,” accept “am-ness.” Breathing in, breathing out.
A sense and celebration of place, our place, they gift us with calm assurance that we are where we are, for good reason. That rhythm and movement take us (or keep us) where we need to be.
*
My backyard invites me to …
And such encouragement affirms the heart of this attempt at blogging.
Posted with BlogsyWalking in Beauty
I spent my undergraduate years basking in the incredible natural and manmade beauty of Berry College in Rome, Georgia. I will never forget the JOY of studying on the world’s largest campus, surrounded by sites so breathtaking that occasionally, even as a green freshman, I would stop in my tracks on a journey across campus and stare, openmouthed, at the afternoon light shimmering off of Swan Lake or, on a cold February morning, gaze entranced out my Dana Hall second-floor, frosted dorm window into the ordered courtyard below and smile as deer delicately ate holly leaves and startling red berries in the snow. I can still hear my young footfalls on the ancient wooden floors of Berry’s gorgeous chapel (modeled after Christ Church in Alexandria Virginia). And here’s where I ate my meals, the Ford Dining Hall:
What fond and HAPPY Berry memories I have. Oh my gosh, that place was magical!
So, of course, I never thought that another school could compare with Berry.
But for the past twenty-four years, I have taught English at Georgia Southern University in Statesboro. When I first arrived, my limited vision focused, uncomfortably, on sand, 100 degree summers and beyond-belief pesky gnats. (Why is that “g” there? Why are gnats ANYWHERE?) “Who could live in this desolate place?” I wondered. But slowly the tall pines and the amazing spring azaleas and (inexplicably) even the hot, humid summers wooed me, and I gradually fell in love. As I adored beautiful Berry as a student, I came to cherish GSU as a professor. The school and the land have been so very good to me.
I have watched GSU’s campus grow and develop into an enclave of living beauty. But far too often, in my busy business of teaching and grading and conferencing, I would forget what thrived outside my office window. So recently I decided to take a leisurely walk across my campus home. Come with me.
Let’s begin at the Akins Blvd. entrance off Veterans Parkway:
The RAC (Recreational Activity Center) where I spent many an hour trying to hold back the belly bulge.
Let’s ride over to the two eagle statues.
Now let’s climb a tree.
Look, I’m an Olympic hero.
Did you know that the “S” in GSU also stands for my last name, Saye?
When I sit down and think about it, I realize how much I have loved this school and this beautiful land.
Georgia Southern University has allowed me to enjoy a great career of helping young people progress and mature into their greater lives. I’ve been involved in a wondrous building process!
I’m so happy that both Berry and Georgia Southern are part of who I am.
Some of My Favorite Trees — Updated
I love trees, always have.
Trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
— Joyce Kilmer
*********************************************************************
I’m going to share with you some of my favorite Savannah-area trees. (I realize that March is probably not the best time to be taking pics of trees.)
1. The I’m Still Standing Tree. This is probably my very favorite tree around.
It’s not the most beautiful by any stretch. It’s not shaped evenly, and it’s not full–there are large openings in the branch coverage. So why is it my favorite? Simple. It’s still standing. If you take a closer look at the views below, you will notice that the IST tree is still standing in the middle of the paved parking lot at Savannah Centre at the corner of Stephenson and Hodgson-Memorial. And it’s the only tree around. It exudes courage, independence, feistyness. It beat the odds. It simply IS. I want its is-ness and its determination.
2. The You’re-Right-Outside-My-Office-Window-and-I’ve-Watched-You-Grow-from-a-Seedling Tree. You know how sometimes you’re buddies with a person due to geography, because she or he is just THERE, like Kramer was to Jerry on Seinfeld? Well, that’s how the tree below and I developed our relationship. I might not have necessarily chosen it as an in-your-face friend but am now so glad we were put together.
3. The Fake-It Tree. I like this fake bonsai tree which sits on my desk at work. A student used it in a class project several years ago, didn’t want it, and I adopted it. Most folks ooh and aah when they first see it; they think it’s real. Bonsy has taught me that if you aren’t, act like you are anyway, and most people won’t know the difference.
4. Slim. Enough said.
5. I saw the coolest and tallest Christmas Tree last Christmas in Charleston. You could walk right inside it! It told me that I could be a bit more open to people.
6. And this Lighted Palm Tree (who lights palms?), must have been talking about me with the Christmas tree above because Palmy told me that it’s okay to show off and show out from time to time-and be seen.
7. And finally The Candler Oak near Forsyth Park in Savannah. It demands respect due to its age, its continued growth.
Ttyl. I’m gonna climb it.
