Well, nothing, if the sailor was driving a barge with the ladder up and wipes out a major bridge in Beaufort, SC then tears away from the scene. Our race was nearly cancelled because a boat ran into the bridge, snarling up traffic for what will be months, and nearly stranded all the communities on the islands off the coast here. I just didn’t think of a hit and run barge accident. Jenette and I were thinking, “where do you go?!” My answer was Cuba.
I love Beaufort. It’s gorgeous, quiet, we have a porch and incredible hosts on the waterfront, and the people I’ve met that rallied for our race yesterday are incredibly kind. I think this is one of the most unusually beautiful places I’ve been. I think I say ‘unusual’ because it seems foreign to me: Southern hospitality, Spanish moss, palm trees, lemonade terraces and water everywhere, but more than anything, I think I just wasn’t expecting to like it so much. Good finds are fun.
Speaking of good finds, Hub Racing found a lot to do yesterday. Shoe shopping, sipping, milling, investigating, talking to locals who make roses out of palm trees, and laying on the grass where just a few of the activities we found to center ourselves. Or, something like that.
and I now LOVE grits.
We are off to speak to the young, malliable minds of Beaufort this morning…Can’t believe someone is encouraging our behaviour.
BB
Are you eating grits the southern way? More salt and lots of butter or with sugar? South Carolina is beautiful this time of year, enjoy it. If you make it to Greenville, say “Hey” for me.
Welcome!
Beaufort is a big part of my family’s history. As is grits.
In fact, I just received a shipment of hominy grits from my cousin down there.
Glad to see more folks comming around…
Grits: butter and salt. Sometimes cheese. And in Beaufort: shrimp is all the rage.
Amen on the shrimp. That’s funny - I just left a note earlier about how much I missed “Shreh-ump”.
And don’t let anyone tell you that there’s any right or wrong way to eat grits. I learned to eat grits with “sur-uhp” from my great-grandmother, who has a pier in Charelston named after her. It doesn’t get much more southern proper than that.
Damn you, damn you, damn you.
I’m going to go bake some pop-overs and cornbreand and sob quietly to myself while eating them with a whole stick of butter.