Holy City
The old port cities of the American south are mysterious places. New Orleans and Savannah wear their cloaks of charming intrigue proudly. Perhaps surprisingly, the use of this unusual spiritual atmosphere in visitors' bureaus advertisements doesn't seem to weaken the feeling that other dimensions are closer to the surface there than elsewhere.
I've just realized that maybe that is what I have been missing as I try to understand a little of another southern port city, Charleston.
For some reason Charleston always feels just out of reach to me. It's only 300 miles from Atlanta to Charleston, and we've spent a few long weekends there through the years, but I don't have a sense of the place. My glimpses of specific places just haven't formed a picture of the city as a whole in my mind.
My impressions of cities often change as I get to know a place better, but the more times I visit Charleston, the more uncertain of it I feel. I've always enjoyed seeing it. I've had many great meals there. I just can't seem to find a frame for the separate images and impressions.
Our primary reason for visiting in July 2023 was to celebrate the anniversary of Holy City Brewing in North Charleston, which is owned by family friends. Charleston is nicknamed the Holy City because of its abundance and diversity of historic houses of worship, but the only church I'd ever visited was Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal--"Mother Emanuel," the oldest AME church in America. (We were in Charleston not long after the horrific massacre at Mother Emanuel and went by to pay our respects to those killed.)
This time, I went into historic downtown Charleston by myself one afternoon while Randy worked and the dogs slept. I hoped I would be able to get a better sense of the city with no distractions. I was driving our truck so driving on the narrow streets and maneuvering into a parking space was stressful. (Charleston actually has great parking in its historic center, but I don't like driving the truck in parking garages.) Once I did manage to park I realized I had forgotten to bring my hat and the sun was blazing. Things weren't looking good for my day.
I didn't have a plan, so after I parked I just started walking down King Street. Charleston is beautiful, but it was a bright, sweltering day and I realized quickly that I wasn't going to be up for much exploring. Just ahead of me, I saw a couple with a stroller stop to admire a garden gate and realized they were looking at the entrance to an old church cemetery.
One of the signs by the gate told us this was the Unitarian church built in 1774 and the second oldest church in Charleston. Since I love old cemeteries, and there was shade, I followed the young family through the gate.
Neither the church nor the cemetery itself was visible from the gate. A brick walkway lined with shade loving plants led between two buildings to the other side of the block.
The cemetery itself was unlike any I'd ever seen. Instead of a field of newly mown grass, exuberant plants grew everywhere. If I wasn't from the south, I may have mistaken this for neglect, but a neglected cemetery would have been completely overgrown. This had to be a deliberate choice. And the effect was spectacular. I felt the mystery of life and death and history.
I didn't do much else that day. I found a spot for a simple lunch and finally saw the Charleston City Market.
The cemetery stayed with me though in the best possible way. We have another trip to Charleston planned for March. This time, I'll go having glimpsed behind the formal surface at the mystery within.