Rumor has it that “cumyas,” the Gullah word for out-of-town visitors and folks that haven’t lived long in the Lowcountry, initially may have an issue with the slower pace here. Especially in traffic, a word that in my mind applies more to Atlanta’s spaghetti of roadways crammed with seeming thousands of bumper-to-bumper vehicles than does Beaufort’s twice a weekday, often-brief, bridge-clogging scenario. Cumyas are likely to beep or even lean on horns when they believe a car in front isn’t responding quickly enough, no matter the circumstance.
A favorite case-in-point was one worthy of a photo I wish I’d thought to snap but was laughing too hard at the situation. I was driving from Lady’s Island toward downtown, when the Woods Bridge “caught” me. As the first car on the Lady’s Island side, I watched a man driving an SUV headed for Lady’s Island – obviously a cumya – try to sneak through before the bridge closed. He didn’t make it and was “trapped” in a section that didn’t allow him passage in either direction in full view of drivers on both sides. I’d no idea such a “cage” existed. I was close enough to observe that his shotgun passenger, a woman, was talking at him ninety miles an hour, while the SUV driver, red-faced, was staring straight ahead. Looked like a dressing down to me.I’m thinking the bridge operators were chuckling as much as I was.
Don’t get me wrong, Beautiful Beaufort by the Bay welcomes visitors. Present company included. Having resided in this lovely corner of the world for 15 years now, I’m likely still considered a cumya, and I’ll take that. Tourism is a beloved industry here. Our shops, galleries, restaurants, and attractions thrive on their business, as do our tours, be they walking tours, small bus tours, or those wonderfully-relaxed-pace horsedrawn carriage tours. I honestly believe that the slower pace of life is at least a part of the draw here. It’s what makes first-time visitors see the bay, stop to gawk at boats of many sorts bobbing in the water that reflects an azure sky with snowy clouds, head to a downtown realtor, and purchase property, though cumyas may not realize it initially. It certainly sucked me in.
My first glimpse of the Lowcountry was from a sailboat overnighting in Lady’s Island Marina while cruising down the Intracoastal Waterway. The cap’n and I stayed for three days, just long enough to plant a seed in my mind to return and explore this fascinating area rife with water, wildlife, sunshine, sea breezes, and downhome, friendly people. The winter of the following year, during my home state of Kentucky’s cloudy, chilly, rain-soaked season beset with the occasional ice storm, became the first of three when I journeyed to Beaufort, staying longer each year.
Prior to leaving for the Bluegrass that last visit, I finally “got” the fact that Beaufort and its surroundings offered creative minds one of those few exceptional locales where creativity is not an option. One must create or implode! Artists, writers, musicians, and actors flock here. Many stay. A mantra sneaked into my head: “I love the Lowcountry. It beckons me back.” And as I crossed Whale Branch with tears in my eyes (really), I swore the next time Beaufort filled my rearview mirror, this lovely history-filled treasure would be my home. So I sold my Lexington digs, packed up my belongings and headed South, a cumya come home.
The reason my chosen home comes to mind now in particular has to do with the situation the world – and the United States in particular – currently finds itself in. I rarely indulge in political conversations, and I’m not going there now. But with few exceptions, people are stressed to the max, and in my book, perpetually anxious is no way to spend even a day of life. Enough stressors trot into day-to-day living with no provocation: the ever-rising cost of groceries to negotiate, household bills and taxes to pay, student loans to re-pay, accidents and illnesses to wade through, children to raise in a tough, anxiety-producing time (though each generation believes theirs was!), and quality family time to create in the midst of what may seem like day-to-day chaos. Ice that scenario with constant “who only know what tomorrow may bring” news. Whew!
What’s a caring citizen of a country that once claimed top honors in the “world’s most admired and Big Brotherly helper of other countries” democracy to do?
My advice to the individual is to choose your life path(s) carefully. Take care of yourself first or you won’t be able to do your best for others. This is, of course, a cliché, but a cliché is a cliché because of its universal truth. Determine what exactly your body, mind, and spirit require to operate at their best. You can’t operate a car by using bad gas. The same applies to the human body.
The above is but the beginning of suggestions to ease and clear one’s mind of emotional trauma, but it’s here the “Slow Country” comes in. Step outside and look around. Breathe deeply and take a stroll or pump a bike on our glorious Spanish Moss Trail, one that meanders through some pretty darn gorgeous countryside. Find peace among its tidal marshes, saltwater rivers, and maritime forests. Follow it to Port Royal and explore the town’s Cypress Wetlands and Rookery, truly one remarkable boardwalk. Take your camera for snaps of baby egrets, turtles, and gators.
This, gentle readers, is the “slow-down, get back to what matters” tonic of the Lowcountry.It’s free to all partakers. Live life large. Get outside and ease your mind.
Lose yourself in the Slow Country.
