a proper lowcountry birthday

An owl hooted in the distance, a slight almost undetectable breeze blew through the trees, a blue heron took off down the winding river hoping to escape our boat as it glided through the water.  There was a calm and quiet peace that came from knowing that we were probably the only two people out on the creek for miles.  I imagined for a minute what it would have been like to float the waters during the time of colonial settlers.  The scene was part of my birthday celebration, which I playfully (but in all seriousness) stretch out for at least a week or two flanking the actual day I was born.  Yesterday was the actual birthday, when I turned 27.  I really love birthdays; it provides a perfect opportunity to plan something special, out of the ordinary and truly fantastic which I am lucky enough to say was the case on my birthday this year.

My very wonderful husband planned quite the dichotomy of adventures to celebrate my special day.  The first part was an overnight kayak trip where we paddled down a 7 mile stretch of a creek in the Congaree National Park which fed out into the Congaree River where we camped on a sandbar.  We set off on Saturday afternoon in our new 14 foot camo colored boat stocked with an 8 pound tent, one sleeping bag, two coolers full of water and beer, one Lunchable snack, trail mix, two peanut butter sandwiches, lots of bug spray and our dog, Gunner.  The creek was flanked by dense forrest which thankfully provided tree covered shade throughout our journey.  The water was calm and inviting and our boat glided through it like a knife slicing softened butter.  In many parts around our boat, we could spot garfish swimming through the water, some of them at least three feet long.  The unwelcome animal spotting came when we ducked below a fallen tree, only to notice mid-duck that a snake was lying just inches from our heads...

Unfortunately, we have had some very severe storms in the Columbia area recently, which we did not take into consideration when we planned the trip.  The storms had caused many trees to fall across the creek, oftentimes blocking our path and making it frustrating and difficult to maneuver.  One such time we had no choice but to get out of the boat and walk it around the obstruction.  I swung one foot over the side and hopped out where I promptly sunk up to my thigh in mud.  You can probably imagine I was not too pleased by the encounter with the thick, slimy, brown substance.  The unexpected sinking caused me to lean forward where I all but planted my face in the gooey grossness.  At first I yelled out, then had no choice but to laugh through the ensuing battle with the mud.  I finally made it the twenty feet around the fallen tree, but not after sinking both arms and legs and flailing less than gracefully through the fight, all the while my dog prancing beside me, too light to sink down in the mud... it's good to be a dog sometimes.  When I made it back to the boat, I took one look at my better half and we both lost it in laughter.

It took us four and a half hours to reach the river, at which point we were quite exhausted and ready to set up camp before the sun started to set.  We found a beautiful sandbar and set up our tent beneath the shelter of the tree-line.  Gunner lost no time exploring the small beach, darting in and out of the water which thankfully was clear with a hard sandy bottom.  It was the perfect place to spend our overnight adventure, we sat on that beach with no one in sight and it seemed as if we might be the only two people (and dog) that had ever been to that place.  The peaceful and beautiful night reflected the perfect start to a great birthday weekend.

Part two of the southern birthday extravaganza came Sunday after we had paddled down the river to where our car dutifully was awaiting our return.  The highlight of the river portion was spotting wild boar on the shoreline at two different points.  The first time was a mama boar with her three babies munching away at the grass on the shoreline.  For at least five minutes they were blissfully unaware of our presence; when mama boar did notice us, the babies ran off, she turned towards us and grunted and snarled before running into the safety of the woods.  I was very happy that thirty feet of water was between us and the protective pig.

Once we had carted our gear home, given Gunner a much needed bath and cleaned up ourselves, we headed to Charleston for a night in the charming city.  Charleston is a beautiful town, and this was my third visit.  It's almost like stepping back into Antebellum; the homes have beatufiul wrap-around porches and gorgeous trees that line the streets, many of which are cobblestone or brick.  Upon arrival, we strolled along the bayfront and wound through the streets, admiring the different homes and breathing in the salty ocean air.  Summer has definitely arrived here in the South, the temperature reached 100 degrees both days we were there, so a stroll in the sunshine has taken on a whole knew meaning.

Dinner was a delicious array of seafood (my favorite) at a restaurant established back in the 1800s.  As we sat enjoying the food prepared for us, I thought about how earlier that day I was floating down a riverbank.  Truly two very different lowcountry experiences.  The next day (my bday), we again strolled the quaint streets of Charleston and stopped for lunch at Poogan's Porch where there is a statue of the scruffy canine Poogan with a plaque below it, RIP 1970-1979.  It was a charming old house turned restaurant and we sat on the porch beneath the fans in the 100 degree heat.  It was all worth it the minute they brought out fresh biscuits with sweet butter, followed by our order of fried chicken salad and an oyster po'boy.  Gunner sat panting beneath my chair but I'm certain he felt it was worth it when I tossed him a piece of the buttery biscuit.  Birthdays are great.

The three of us were quite spent from the heat and all the birthday excitement so it was time to depart Charleston and travel back to Columbia.  I loved the contrasting events of the weekend, the time spent on the creek and the river and even in the mud as well as the time spent strolling through the streets of Charleston and eating the delicious lowcountry food.  It was a very memorable birthday filled with sights, sounds, smells and tastes that will be imprinted on my mind for years to come.  

are you a writer?

Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions.  All life is an experiment.  The more experiments you make the better.  What if they are a little course, and you may get your coat soiled or torn?  What if you do fail, and get fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice.  Up again, you shall never be so afraid of a tumble.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Hi, I'm Rachel," I said while extending my hand forward for a greeting shake.

"I'm Elizabeth, nice to meet you.  So... are you a writer?"

I turned the question over in my mind.  How should I answer that? I like to write, but I don't necessarily make a living doing it... I blog - does that mean I'm a writer? Do you have to have a finished product in hand to call yourself a writer? Like a book or magazine article?

The question wasn't just out of the blue, or out of context for that matter.   The introduction took place at a writer's conference in Atlanta this past weekend.  The conference consisted of about 100 other women, mostly from the Southern or Northeastern region of the U.S., all of us either hoping to become published authors, improve our writing or market our current writings more effectively.  To be frank, I surprised myself by signing up for the event.  It was a risk.  I had no idea how good the conference would be, who would be in attendance, and if I would get anything out of it.

I decided that if I didn't push myself to learn, grow and develop as a writer, than I was doing a disservice to myself and stunting myself in what I truly love to do.  So Saturday morning, I checked my ego at the door and confidently hung the conference badge lanyard around my neck, committing to myself that I would attend every session, take notes and try to get the most out of the day.  It turns out, the conference far and beyond exceeded my expectations.

As I listened in each session to various speakers talk about writing, marketing and how to move yourself forward as an author, I felt energized, invigorated and motivated.  By the same token, I also had the realization that it is a self-motivating job.  No one will check behind me to see how much I've written this week, the next or for the month for that matter.  If I want to be a writer, it's up to me to push, take risks and produce.

My favorite speaker of the event was the author Emily Giffin, who has five published novels, her first of which has been made into a movie that is currently in theaters called Something Borrowed.

Emily Giffin's Website

Ms. Giffin was honest, and forthcoming in her advice about becoming an author.  "You just have to start.  Start putting words down on the page."  It was perhaps the most fundamental and simple piece of advice, but it was what I needed to hear.  

I'm grateful to Skirt! magazine, who put together the wonderful conference.  Skirt! Website  

This weekend I learned that I am a writer, I love to do it and there are endless possibilities ahead of me if I continue to take risks, put myself out there and just write.