Sasee Magazine - July 2023

“Summertime brings with it a sense of adventure and possibility.”

-Invajy

A Place Where You Belong

About the Cover Artist: Twelve years ago, during a stay in Chile, Sharon Holzer experienced a period of mental, artistic, and cultural flourishing alongside a 40-year-old crisis that led her back to her passion for painting. Her artistic message voices the importance of how art is a safe and useful place for uniqueness. She believes that the creation of art does not have to adhere to any agenda or pattern because beauty and perfection are obtained from a mixture of parts. The artist attains her inspiration from her heart as well as the complexities of life. As she creates, the paint and the brush are therapeutic tools for expressing a storm of emotions while her guiding hand is optimism. All her creations are one of a kind, but each piece of artwork shares the same purpose: to provoke wonder, thought, and a smile.

IG: @sharonholzer_

FB: Sharon Holzer – Artist

Email: sharonholzer2@gmail.com

“Summer Senses”

July

2023

Contents

Volume 22, Issue 7

July Berry Picking

by Glenda Ferguson

Summer Souvenirs by Kathy Boyle Fremuth

The Fern Getaway: Relax & Revive by Sarah Elaine Hawkinson

Sasee Gets Personal with Erik Hanson: The Mole Hole of Myrtle Beach Owner

High Art in the Lowcountry: Muzika! by Sarah Elaine Hawkinson

The Mermaid’s Inn by Paulette Julian

Heirloom or Junk? by Erika Hoffman

from the Editor

The senses of summertime are quite sensational, especially when you enjoy the season near the coast. Okay, maybe not the hefty traffic or buzzing mosquitoes, but I choose to focus more on the delightful aspects. It’s no surprise that growing up along the Grand Strand has shaped my perspective to appreciate the raw beauty of the outdoor world.

I have always loved being by the water. Whether it be boat riding on the river leading us to trails on Sandy Island, lying in a hammock on the dock next to the marsh accompanied by whiffs of pluff mud, or becoming one with the sea as I float the day away, being near water has always felt peaceful. I spend the most time by the ocean connecting with its enormous energy and letting it wash away my worries with the tide. Did you know that over half the oxygen we breathe originates from the ocean? No wonder we as humans are naturally pulled toward its restorative benefits - when water calms, clarity comes.

As I make my way down the beach’s shoreline, I always admire the simplistic wonders surrounding me. I listen to the soothing sounds of crashing waves and signals spoken by the seagulls. I recognize the sights of the deep blue sea and the creatures that inhabit it like dancing jellyfish, strolling crabs, and if you’re lucky, frolicking dolphins. I take in the scents of nutrient-rich seaweed and various sunscreens. I taste the salty-sweet flavor of mineral-filled air mixed with coconut SPF balm slathered on my lips. I notice the sun’s warm touch on my sun-kissed skin and feel the sea-shelled treasures weighing down my pocket. One of the best senses is feeling the soft sand between your bare toes. Just as our lungs absorb the ions in the air, our bare feet soak up the free ions on the earth’s surface. This grounding practice of exchanging electrons with the planet awards us with quality health benefits. I have learned to highly respect nature’s medicine.

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”

-W.B. Yeats

Publisher

Delores Blount

Sales & Marketing Director

Susan Bryant Editor Sarah Elaine Hawkinson

Account Executives

Erica Schneider

Gay Stackhouse

Art Director Patrick Sullivan

Contributing Photographer

Chasing the Light Photography

Web Developer

Scott Konradt

Accounting Gail Knowles

Executive Publishers

Jim Creel

Bill Hennecy

Suzette Rogers PO Box 1389, Murrells Inlet, SC 29576 fax 843-626-6452 • phone 843-626-8911 www.sasee.com • info@sasee.com

Sasee is a Strand Media Group, Inc. publication. Copyright

July Berry Picking

by Glenda Ferguson

Recently I cleared out my mom’s shed. There were so many memories in that little building. On a shelf, I discovered the best memory of all. I found two handmade buckets fashioned out of tin cans. Each can had two holes punched near the top and inserted with a sturdy wire handle.

I remember the summer I drove from Indiana to Mom’s home in rural Missouri. Mom made me aware that we would be getting up early the next morning. That time of day was the coolest temperatures for blackberry picking.

After our quick breakfast of toast with sweet jam made from last year’s berries, Mom advised me on what we should wear. She said, “Here is one of my long-sleeved shirts. And wear your jeans with a belt.” I had enough experience with the berry bushes and thorns to know why this was the best attire.

“Why wear a belt?” I said.

Mom said, “You’ll see.” She doused me with a generous amount of bug spray for the biting critters we would encounter.

Then my creative Mom showed me her handmade shiny buckets.

“Why can’t we just use the plastic pails we used last year?” I asked.

Mom said, “You’ll see.”

She drove us to the outskirts of town and turned onto a gravel road behind the state highway department. The single lane ran along the railroad tracks, which was the same location as the berry bushes we visited the previous summer.

Mom said, “Remember picking last year?”

Did I ever! The bushes were thick with the juicy fruit. Each berry was the size of my thumb. I would carefully grab with one hand and hold the plastic pail with the other. Mom and I were constantly picking and transferring them to the pails.

“This year I have a system. My dad made buckets like this when I was growing up,” she said. Mom instructed me on how to loop the handle onto my belt so that the bucket hung in front of me. “Now we can pick with both hands.” When those tins were full, Mom brought along the largest pails for transferring the berries.

We laughed the entire time while grabbing handfuls and listening to the first ripe fruits hit the tin. But also having a taste more than once in a while. We picked in one spot for 20 minutes before moving on to another bush. This was the biggest haul of berries ever. The sweat and smears of juice we cleared off our hands and faces were well worth it.

We froze most of the berries so that we could enjoy them in every season. That evening we enjoyed bowls of warm cobbler with melted vanilla ice cream while sitting on the patio in the cool night air.

For the next two mornings, we repeated our routine. Same outfits, same tin buckets, and a huge haul of berries. Each morning, we heard the train whistle and waved to the workers in the engine and caboose. Even the hot breeze as they sped by felt good. On the last morning, the highway workers in their trucks pulled up to visit. Mom offered them some berries.

The following year, Mom called me with the bad news. The railroad and highway crews had cleared the land along the lane. They had also mowed down the prized berry bushes.

That summer, we settled for a cobbler from the frozen berries. The smell of the baking dessert was the same, but the entire experience had changed for both of us. We rationed out those small frozen packages for the next two years until the harvest was all gone.

Mom passed away seven years ago. Her shed has been cleared out, except for those rusty tin buckets. Perhaps the new owner and her children can create new July memories with those handmade creations.

Glenda Ferguson is published in Chicken Soup for the Soul and numerous publications. She volunteers with Indiana Landmarks. Tim and Glenda have been married for 38 years.

My name is Megan, and I am 34 years old and originally from Florence. I moved away for about 15 years but my husband and I moved back to Florence about 2 years ago. I have never been a small girl. I grew up an athlete so I was always active but I never really felt comfortable with my appearance. After finishing my career as an athlete in college, I stopped being so active, however, I did not stop eating whatever I wanted. Over the years I continued to gain weight. I would fluctuate 10-15 pounds every now and then, but always thought if I became more active, I could lose the weight.

When I got engaged, I wanted to look great in my dress for the big day as most brides do. I worked out every day in the gym for 9 months and lost maybe 10 pounds. It was extremely difficult to find the motivation to go everyday as I wasn’t seeing the weight come off or any improvement in my appearance. After the wedding, I stopped working out and the weight came back along with another 10 or 20 pounds. After a few months of wearing nothing but loose, black clothing, I decided I had to take action. A friend of mine at work suggested that I try Dr. Sattele’s Rapid Weight Loss Plan. I started in July and in the first week I lost 14 pounds! I know some of it was water weight, but it kept me motivated to stay on the plan. I now have lost 65 pounds!! Prior to the plan, I was wearing a 14/16 womens pant size and I am now in a 6. I honestly never thought it was possible for me to fit into a size 6 pant. Losing weight has really made a big impact on my life. I have more motivation to get out and be productive. I still work out some but only because it isn’t as difficult since I am carrying less weight. I find running to be much more enjoyable than it was before. The motivation I gained has carried into my job, my hobbies, and my overall outlook in life.

In sharing my testimonial, I want people to understand that changing your lifestyle and eating habits is not always easy. The body is getting used to the changes in your appetite. However with Dr. Sattele’s program, he gives you an easy plan to follow and makes you very aware of the foods to stay away from. The weekly visits also motivate you to continue losing the weight and help you stay accountable.

Thank you to Dr. Sattele and his team for helping me reach beyond my weight loss goals.

Summer Souvenirs

by Kathy Boyle Fremuth

When I was in elementary school, the thrill of the last day of the school year wasn’t ever about the last day of school. The excitement wasn’t about time away from homework, books, tests, and the wool skirts we had to wear year-round, although those were great bonuses. The real prize was only one sleep away. And that was summer. An astronomical event on a calendar didn’t mean a thing. SUMMER began the day after the last day of school.

The freedom we had in the summers of the ‘60s was seductive, in the most innocent way. Hours felt like days, and days were endless; time was longer then, and we filled every moment with exuberance and adventure. It was simplicity married to imagination and spontaneity. Gulping a mandatory breakfast and scrambling to get out the door, we’d throw an over-the-shoulder shout of “I’m going to Meg’s/Mary’s/Paula’s house” and clamber over the fence to start knocking on doors.

Some days, we’d ride our bikes to the nearby lakes and laze in the shade of enormous trees, planning the day. Sometimes, that’s as far as we got. On days when we had some change in our pockets, we’d race to the Ben Franklin Five and Dime, which housed the most glorious smorgasbord of penny candy, each different goodie inhabiting its own square wooden bin. In the sultry Baltimore summer, wafts of sugar met us a block from the store, beckoning. Pixi Stix, candy cigarettes, root beer barrels, swizzle sticks, paper candy dots, circus peanuts, wax coke bottles; we were a dentist’s dream. Even if you only had a quarter, the bag was brimming. Most of the confections were unwrapped so, despite the amount of sugar consumed, we strengthened our immune systems immensely - often several times a week. If our parents had only known.

Heat and humidity baked the asphalt into shimmering waves, curled our hair into tendrils, and enhanced the dimensions of every scent. Days at the pool were punctuated by the aroma of french fries from the snack shack mixed with the unmistakable incense of Coppertone. The peculiar but agreeable odor of hose water was welcome when you needed to cool off on a scorching afternoon but didn’t want

to go inside. Air conditioning was a luxury no one had, so we fell asleep to the sweet potpourri of honeysuckle and grass drifting through the screen.

Nearby neighbors owned a fenced-in acre behind their house that was undeveloped and left to nature, and we had permission to cavort as we wished. Overgrown, laced with vines, cooled and dappled by scraggly treetops, and crawling with life underfoot, it wasn’t simply an untended lot – it was kid paradise. One day might be a jungle expedition, where we intrepidly fended off predators. Another time the trees became ships and we swung from their masts and swayed over the ocean. The next visit could find us lurching from rock to tree to avoid the blazing lava that only we could see. Other times, it was simply Soller’s field - but always deliciously enchanted.

Around mid-afternoon on most days, happiness on wheels rolled through the neighborhood. The bells of the Good Humor truck could be heard a block away and hollers of “The ice cream man is here!” went up on every nearby street. The truck was an icon of summer, the ice cream man exalted to hero status in his crisp white uniform, peaked cap, and oh-so-cool change belt. Kids sprung from every corner and sprinted to get in line for a chocolate eclair, toasted almond, firecracker pop, or some other icy ambrosia on a stick. Sometimes, especially late into the summer, your favorite flavor might be sold out and you had to stand to the side while you agonized over what other delicacy to choose. And that second choice was never quite as satisfying.

Summer storms were spectacular. We’d watch a gray-black sky barrel in, percolating with the scent of impending rain, and we’d play chicken waiting out the initial random sprinklings. But when the fat, pelting drops started and the cloudburst began to unfurl, we’d bolt for home. Harpoons of lightning split the sky, and thunder blasts shuddered the house; it was a sound and light show. Finally, the storm would peel away leaving the air steamy with the smell of washed earth, and the ground dappled with puddles that required feet. We happily obliged.

The aroma of a charcoal grill, the puff of smoke and distinctly satisfying tang of a cap gun, or the cotton-candypopcorn-salt-spray-tar-and-hot grease spice of the boardwalk - every scent was magnified and etched into memory. The tiniest drift of these perfumes can fling me back to very precise and happy places in time as my ten-year-old self.

So many other small pleasures were woven into those seemingly endless hours…the simple fun of running through a sprinkler, wading in a creek, staying up late for a game of SPUD under a streetlamp, and lighting up jars with fireflies. But the days did begin to wind down, and we’d woefully reach the last day of summer, which was the day before the first day of school when we’d return to homework, books, tests, and the wool skirts we had to wear yearround.

Until next June.

Kathy Boyle Fremuth

lives outside Ellicott City, MD. She loves her job in the school system but also enjoys counting down to retirement. Her three adult children keep her young and laughing.

Lynn Golitz, Cactus Tree, acrylic, 48”x48” | Mark Golitz, Saggar Vase, 14 H”

The Fern Getaway: Relax & Revive

by Sarah Elaine Hawkinson

As soon as I stepped onto the beautiful seven-acre property, I instantly felt a sense of peace. I noticed the enchanted entrance to the wooded forest bursting with intrinsic character. As I made my way through the trails, guided by the solar-powered fairy-lit mason jars, I experienced many sensations. I saw cozy glamping options, a fireplace offering an inviting ambiance, and a considerable amount of blessed trees laced with hammocks imploring me to take a seat and be still for a moment. I quickly realized that I was surrounded by a magnitude of space naturally made for learning accompanied by a vibe that cultivates creativity and connectivity.

When I asked the co-owner why they chose this specific property in Loris, South Carolina, she assured me it was because of that same magical feeling she experienced when she visited the land for the first time. Alissa and her fiancé, Seth (and pup, Koda) lived at campgrounds for a few years as they drove their camper all over the grand strand area in search of the perfect plot to create their dream. In August of 2021, that vision began with a grand greenspace, and oh my, how it has grown.

The Fern Getaway’s mission is to help people disconnect from the modern world and reconnect with themselves and nature. “More than ever, we need to remember what is truly important in life and learn to support one another again.” Alissa continued, “Our society needs to feel a sense of community

and that’s exactly what we are building here.” Their intention has always been to create a communal living and event space for people to gather and connect with each other and with the earth. The build of everything is simply organic which is an exemplary representation of their purpose.

Respecting and working with the flow of the land was their initial goal. The pedestal bases of the smaller tables are tree trunks still connected to the ground where they grew from. The largest family dinner table I have ever seen is also made with refurbished tree wood. The outdoor shower was constructed between three trees that already existed as a perfectly shaped triangle. They even dug an onsite well to provide clean water. Although there is much to harvest from the land, they tread mindfully and focus on giving back to it as well. They keep up with clearing the forest underbrush and mulching in order to regenerate the soil and bring up new healthy growth.

Once they had created an exceptionally magical destination, they were able to phase into the next exciting step of inviting people to experience that magic. They collaborate with locals on events such as weddings, workshops, drum circles, soundhealing meditations, birthday parties, and private-chef dinner parties. They also offer the “Fern Sessions” where they combine a meal with a show featuring talented local artists. A majority of the décor for the events like the flowers and greenery is directly foraged from what is in season on the land.

The charming glamping options are available to rent on Airbnb and Hipcamp. “Bella” is their first masterpiece and is the biggest bell tent with a classic boho-eclectic style. Their other tent, “Frankie” is mid-century modern with a vibrantcolored Asian twist. “Winnie” is a 70s Winnebago renovated RV brimming with vintage maps, hand-painted art, and a bright, beachy aesthetic. This specific glamp spot was designed by local friends who own Fin First (finfirstmb.com).

When I asked why they named it “The Fern Getaway,” Alissa replied, “I’ve always loved ferns. They are actually one of the oldest groups of plants on Earth dating back to over 300 million years ago. When we arrived, we noticed there were an abundant amount of wild ferns on the land.” And ferns are certainly not the only natural and wild things found here…delicious edibles such as blueberries, blackberries, and onions as well as native animals like playful squirrels, prancing deer, whistling hawks, late-night hooting owls, and other singing birds.

They recently learned that The Fern is also quite fertile ground. Within the same couple of months, a bird hatched seven eggs in their wooden built out-house, a turkey laid a full nest in the tall grass field, a rabbit gave birth to a litter of nine bunnies, and the cat they rescued at only six months old just birthed five kittens safely in the shed. You can imagine their pup, Koda, has made many new friends and is certainly living his best life with his parents out in nature.

“We have both always been outdoorsy. We love camping, hiking, kayaking, and anything that gets us in water,” Alissa continued, “so we thought we were always connected with nature before, but being out here surrounded by it every single day, it’s truly transformational - It’s a whole new world.” As dreamers and creators, these property owners have collected a diverse plethora of ideas from their personal travels to bring to life and they aren’t nearly done evolving their vision.

The couple still currently lives in their RV on the open, grassy side of the land and are hoping to break ground on their own home in the fall. They also look forward to digging a pond so everyone can cool off in the heat and building a pavilion to hang out under during the rain. They have started a garden and want to enhance their outdoor kitchen in hopes of someday having farm-to-table dinners. They also want to construct more glamping ideas such as a treehouse. Their most exciting future project is to open an apothecary (and long-term dream of hosting a healing retreat center) after Alissa earns her holistic healing certificate.

As a Traditional Naturopath, she will be able to use the wisdom of nature as medicine which she has been practicing

already from foraging in the forest. She has found plenty of wild medicinal herbs and plants such as mullein, elderberry, garlic, and a variety of mushrooms which all have restorative properties for the whole body. She’s even educated on how to extract medicine from the many maple and pine trees. The sap is used to heal wounds and the bark and pine needles can be made into tea and soda. Her living experience on the land has certainly helped her hone her craft and rekindle her spark of creating.

The simplistic idea of spending time in nature to unplug and unwind (with no distractions) is the foundational knowledge they are trying to spread to the world. While reading the entries in the guest book, they can understand just how important this grounding work truly is for everyone. Alissa explained, “Most people nowadays are missing their sense of peace. We as a collective need healing, and even if you’re not searching for it, spending time out here truly provides that perspective.”

Some of their favorite summer senses experienced on the land is nature’s music created by the swaying trees and the symphony of crickets and frogs from the nearby marsh. Getting caught in rainstorms has been a tranquil yet fun adventure. Once the sun has set, the fireflies light up the night which is a rare occasion for most to be acquainted by. Spending time and working with nature is truly grounding. In today’s world, we may be quicker to look for cell reception - I can assure you that although The Fern Getaway does not have wifi, the forest offers the best and most wholesome connection you’ll ever discover.

Email: theferngetaway@gmail.com

Facebook: The Fern Getaway

Gets Personal with Erik Hanson: The Mole Hole of Myrtle Beach Owner

Q: When and why did you move to the Grand Strand?

“I moved here when I was 8 years old with my parents, Sybil and Everett Hanson, to open our family’s business 50 years ago. At the time, it was known as the Candlewood Shop, and we mostly sold hand-made candles. After my father passed, my mother married Bill Wickliffe. During the 80s, our family bought into the Mole Hole franchise which renovated our stores to showcase more name-brand jewelry and unique gifts.”

Q: When did you become the owner of The Mole Hole?

“Over the years, the franchises across the country transformed into independently-owned businesses. I’ve been a stockholder since 2019, but after the recent passing of my stepfather, I became the president and owner of Myrtle Beach’s local storefronts. Fortunately, I still have my mom around for advice and guidance along the way.”

Bill & Sybil Wickliffe

Q: If I walked into your shop today, what kind of senses would I experience?

“Since being independently owned, we really strive to be as different and eclectic as possible. When you visit, you will experience stimulating sights such as sparkles of jewelry, creatively made wall art, and beautiful handblown glass. You will also get a sensational whiff of warm, homey scents from the candles and personal care products. We always guarantee an exciting assortment of boutique items.”

Q: When you think of summertime, what comes to mind?

“As a kid, I spent all my time at the beach surfing. As an adult and business owner, my wife and I devote most of our time to work and helping customers. Most people in the industry talk about busy holiday seasons, but summertime is truly our version of Christmas. In those rare moments when we can get away from work, we like to spend quality time with our daughters, cooking, and enjoying the outdoors.”

Q: Why should our locals & visitors shop with you this summer?

“When you support The Mole Hole of Myrtle Beach, you are also supporting local artists and craftsmen. The difference between shopping on the Internet versus with us is that we offer so much more than shopping. We create an appealing atmosphere where you can take in all the senses and enjoy the exciting experience of finding that special gift. We also truly offer something for everyone. Even our two stores aren’t the exact same, but both offer a nice mix of neat merchandise. I make it a priority to shop differently than most – I truly hunt for our unique specialties that keep our business one worth returning to again and again!”

Myrtle Beach’s Most Unique Gift Shop!

www.myrtlebeachmolehole.com

Barefoot Landing • North Myrtle Beach • 843-272-5846

Broadway at the Beach • Myrtle Beach • 843-626-7782

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High Art in the Lowcountry: Muzika!

by Sarah Elaine Hawkinson

Twenty years ago, Kalin and Sharon Tchonev created a nonprofit company of true art to ensure aspiring and professional musicians the opportunity to grow in their skill and passion for presenting classical works that transcend time and culture in meaningful ways. Influenced by the histories of their own countries, Bulgaria and Israel, the founders believe music has an important role to play in making the world a more intimate, unified, and loving place. Based out of Columbia, South Carolina, Varna International Music Academy has grown into a globally recognized festival organizer specializing in large-scale, artistically rich, and customized choral-orchestral concerts, performance tours, and music training academies for conductors, choral singers, vocalists, and instrumentalists throughout Europe, Israel, and the United States.

This summer, experience their new festival for high-quality, live entertainment – Muzika is a fully staged and costumed

professional opera featuring chamber instrumental and vocal ensembles. The Broadway Revue (on July 8th at Beach Church) is FREE and will showcase selections from the golden era of Broadway to today’s modern classics. Shows will also include a few of the Met’s premier soloists in the starring roles, Maestro Gregory Buchalter of the NY Metropolitan Opera, and Dr. Charles Evans from the Long Bay Symphony. This level of production and professionalism is special for the Grand Strand and it’s truly a community effort. Many locals are hosting these talented performers. By supporting Muzika, you are also supporting the local economy and artists. Visit the website today for special discounts on tickets!

Website: www.varnainternational.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/VarnaInternational

Instagram: www.instagram.com/varnainternational

July 1, 1 pm

Instrumental Chamber Ensemble, Horry County Museum, Conway

July 1, 7 pm

Broadway Revue, Winyah Auditorium, Georgetown

July 3, 8 pm

Serenata Italiana, Italian Art Songs, United Methodist Church, Conway

July 6, 7 pm

Kurt Weill’s Street Scene Opera, Howard Auditorium, Georgetown

High Art in the Lowcountry

• Fully staged and costumed operas

• Maestro Gregory Buchalter of the Metropolitan Opera Conducting

• Dr. Charles Evans, Long Bay Symphony Conducting

• Broadway Revue featuring selections from the golden era of Broadway to today’s modern classics

• Soloists from the NY Metropolitan Opera

• FREE admission to the July 8 Broadway Revue at Beach Church, courtesy of The Myrtle Beach Area Chamber of Commerce

July 7, 2 pm & 7 pm

Kurt Weill’s Street Scene Opera, Howard Auditorium, Georgetown

July 8, 7 pm

Broadway Revue, Beach Church, Myrtle Beach

July 9, 4 pm

Chamber Instrumental, Burroughs & Chapin Museum, Myrtle Beach

July 9, 6 pm

Chamber Music Recital, United Methodist Church, Murrells Inlet

July 10, 7 pm

Liederabend, an evening of German Songs, Trinity Church, Myrtle Beach

July 11, 7 pm

Instrumental Chamber Ensemble, Duncan Memorial Church, Georgetown

July 14, 7 pm

Mozart Opera, The Marriage of Figaro, Howard Auditorium, Georgetown

July 15, 2 pm & 7 pm

Mozart Opera, The Marriage of Figaro, Howard Auditorium, Georgetown

The Mermaid’s Inn

by Paulette Julian

The beckoning coast of South Carolina summoned my family every summer. The call was urgent and decisive. The green-marbled Samsonite, circa the 1950s, heeded the command and prepared a place for swimsuits and books alongside last year’s sand and the evocative waft of Coppertone.

We never missed a summer at the oceanfront, redbrick Colonial Revival Inn established in 1946. Its gable roof lent protection against merciless hurricanes and covered the back porch that housed the sun-bleached rocking chairs and the Palmetto tree’s wind-clapping fronds.

The salty breeze ushered guests through the Inn’s squeaky screen door onto weathered hardwood floors. Time remained undisturbed and content in the sunfilled Inn. Patinated antique tables excited over the next game of Bridge. Sofas and chairs, once chic now a bit shabby, held their regal demeanor. Ships, shores, and dunes painted in colors of violet, vermillion, pearl, and mauve freckled the walls. Books and more books whispered their stories to seashells, board games, and framed sepia photos resting on shelves.

Mrs. Somerset owned the Inn. With radiant charm and graciousness, she hugged my neck and welcomed us with her soft, lyrical Southern drawl and sea-glass blue eyes. She moved with effortless grace to care for our every need and presented the key to our usual room along with a reminder of supper in the downstairs dining room with Marvin, our usual waiter. In my child’s mind, I sincerely believed Mrs. Somerset was a mermaid.

Mouth-watering aromas climbed the stairs from the elegant dining room. Anne Worsham Richardson and Elizabeth O’Neill Verner prints dotted the dining room walls and gazed appreciatively through the opened French doors to breathe the sunset dunes. Starched linens and starched waiters with bow ties recited the day’s entrees in a sing-song cadence. Fresh filet of

flounder, snappy deviled crab cakes, creamy shrimp and grits, and tender prime rib alongside a melody of salads and vegetables cooked with a touch of ham for seasoning. And, lastly, the heavenly biscuits raised from Mrs. Somerset’s sacred family recipe.

As dreams of yellow sun and glistening water filled the night, the compelling moon and agreeable waves unfurled countless treasures for early morning beachcombers. Black shark’s teeth scattered and feisty, chipped whelks enchanted by their internal serenade, and legendary sand dollars coveted their fragile doves. Scallop and olive shells tossed here and there by the ebb and flow, and rare sea glass; the lost jewels from Poseidon’s crown. And, at last, a spectacular Carolina sunrise gifted a backdrop for the blushing ethereal clouds and a silhouette for the brown pelican “whose beak will hold more than his bellican.”

The nautical-striped beach bag overflowed with essentials for a glorious, subtropical day. Faded, soft beach towels, floppy sun hats, and crisp packs of Nabs. The red cooler, with the bottle opener on the side, volunteered chilled, green-glass bottles of Coke paired with salty peanuts to pour into the sugary bubbles. Dedicated sand pails and shovels readied for intense sandcastle construction and brave canvas floats stood at attention; my ocean vessel to perilous adventures in the curling breakers and beyond.

The briny, unquiet ocean welcomed all to its metallic waters. Tiny, wet footprints interrupted a nation of tinier surf fish on retreat from hungry seagulls and wading sandpipers. Trickster seaweed mimicked jellyfish hugging innocent arms and legs while a stoic loggerhead sea turtle navigated its course to nest and lay a multitude of precious eggs. Driftwood wandered aimlessly looking for a new purpose, and the bottlenose dolphins urged, with squeaks and whistles, the way to the mermaids.

Nighttime fire, ignited by sunburned skin, was soothed

and cooled by a concoction of white vinegar and layers of Noxzema. Overnight, the garnet heat turned golden leaving a trail of freckles from nose to toes. The long summer days reluctantly turned golden, too, and with it, time to bid our farewells and return home to the city.

The grand coast of South Carolina continues to beckon my family every summer. The faithful green Samsonite was replaced by a newer model, just as dedicated and sand filled. A few itty-bitty toddling footprints joined our family while several dearly loved footprints faded; their memories now carried on the mighty wings of the great blue heron.

The Inn, still content and sunfilled, graciously hosts this new generation of Sandlappers, equally awestruck over the ocean’s majesty and rapturous over the dolphin’s invitation to follow-the-leader. Mrs. Somerall, agelessly beautiful, hugged my neck and asked in her sweet Southern drawl, “See y’all next summer?” Yes, ma’am, always.

Paulette W. Julian is a native South Carolinian living in Raleigh, NC, with her husband, daughter, and son. Paulette’s writing appears in various publications and anthologies. She is also an awardwinning Fine Art Photographer.

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Designs by Dawn, 2nd Generation Owner & Jeweler

Heirloom or Junk?

by Erika Hoffman

“No more tacky souvenirs for me!” exclaimed the woman in front of me as we waited for the tender to motor us to our ship.

There was a time in my life or several times when I thought this way, too. Usually, those epiphanies occurred when cleaning up the attic, a basement, or overflowing drawers in the guest bedroom. I’d realize how I should become more minimalist in my interior design. I’d ponder how I enjoy going to my friends’ homes where they have essential furniture, the right amount of framed pictures on the walls, and no tacky coasters or silly lacey, foreign antimacassars littering their living space.

Yet…

As they say nowadays, “You be you,” so…

“Souvenir” in French is the infinitive for the verb “remember.” A souvenir is a keepsake, a memento, a reminder of something you thought worth recalling afterwards. Some folks call them knick-knacks if they are expensive like Hummels or Lladros figurines. Some folks call a souvenir a “tchotchke” if it’s cheaper and not artistic. Some call whatnots clutter. Junk.

Junk is stuff Marie Kondo would say to discard because it no longer gives you joy.

Yet, as I go to wash my dishes and pick up a tea towel picturing two storks and a baby stork with the word “Strasbourg” underneath, I recall driving down a long boulevard lined with trees containing huge stork nests. Hanging on my rack next to the French remembrance is a plainer towel with words in red print saying “Lamy’s Diner,” and immediately I’m transported to the Henry Ford Museum in Detroit we toured when we visited our grown daughter and her family. Over to the side of my stove is the green towel I used last night with pictures of the Stowe Gardens, Cliveden, Waddesdon Manor, and other historical sights of the Chilterns, a keepsake from my trip to Oxford University with an alumni program to learn about the Egyptian treasures the British display in museums and now debate returning.

Would these memories so efficiently and quickly return to me without these reminders?

I have tee shirts, which say “Laissez le Bontemps Rouler” from New Orleans, “Carpe Diem Manana” from Albuquerque, and “Born in the USA- a long time ago” from my days of volunteering at my kids’ schools to teach the US Presidents so that each kid knew at least the name of each man wearing that title. In my dining room are tiles from Sicily, placemats with the Austrian Sacher Torte recipe, and mosaic tiles from Turkey. Not all my collectibles are trinkets. I was plied with Turkish wine in Kusadasi, and I have a Persian rug bought there – proof of my inability to hold my liquor. Totes abound with names of cruise ships or names of tourist sights. Same is true of my keychains, which I use. I have a picture frame labeled Cape Town; in it, my husband and I are smiling with a huge Ferris Wheel in the background.

What is it we visit on our exotic trips if not memorials, cairns, landmarks to remind nations of their heroes, their historical events, or their religious philosophies? Is not the Washington Monument a cenotaph, which is a special structure built to remind people of a dead person buried somewhere else? Did we not recently visit relics in Sicily and see where bones of saints like Saint Andrew are kept? In a way aren’t historical sites, like the excavated Herculaneum, a memorial to the ancient BC civilization in Italy?

So, whether you purchase an objet d’art from a local artist of the place you’re touring or buy an inexpensive trinket on the street from a sidewalk merchant or a bibelot like a cameo in Sorrentino, realize that it will elicit moments of joy throughout your life whenever you handle it. It might be only a small soap container, shaped like a bathtub with painted flowers on the side that you picked up in Budapest, but it will create “déjà vu” each time you reach for the lemon soap you picked up in Positano, Italy.

What are awards, accolades, distinctions, even honorariums but souvenirs of something you accomplished? You want to relive that moment in the spotlight, that taste of success, that feeling of being appreciated. Whether it be a piece of

whimsy pottery or a frilly dress adorned with images of lemons, these are conversation pieces that can become as important as those Little League trophies of your kids you proudly display in a curio case.

We, humans, are sentient beings. It’s why we give favors at parties, weddings, and other important life events. We want to recollect the moments of our lives long after they have passed. What is a diamond engagement ring if not a souvenir of love?

So, ignore those who discourage you from collecting your doodads. Take a trip. Return with the “booty.” Then, don’t tuck it away! Each night, use those placemats depicting squirrelfish, seahorses, and blue marlin. As you munch on your tuna fish casserole, you won’t feel the grind of mundane life; instead, you’ll find yourself luxuriously snorkeling in the blue Bahamas, at one with the universe. All for the price of a plastic placemat!

Erika Hoffman

Erika Hoffman writes her memories so she won’t forget them and hopefully to entertain and inform others. Her collections of stories and essays she publishes thru Amazon after the stories have been published once in a magazine, ezine, or anthology. If you’d enjoy reading more of her stuff, go to Amazon and google her name.

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