Transcendental Splendor

After a week of working on an important project, I decided I'd "take the day off" on Friday and do something purely for pleasure. Around 5:00 (p.m., of course) I drove about 40 minutes south of the marina to check out the shabby chic shops at Pawley's Island, including the original Pawley's Island Hammock Shop, purveyor of the finest hammocks in the world.

I got down there after business hours, which was just as well because I didn't intend to spend any money - I was just going for a look-see... and maybe to take some pictures of old oak trees and spanish moss. I found the shops to be somewhat limited. Quaint, but not exactly the experience I was hoping for. All the same, it was nice to have the place to myself except for a few people coming and going from a restaurant in the center of the shops, the only thing open at that hour.

As I was lining up a shot of moss covered brick steps at the foot of the restaurant, a man came up behind me noticing what I was photographing, and asked if I'd been to Brookgreen Gardens because "there are so many beautiful things to take pictures of there." I said that it had been a very long time, although trying very hard to not appear to be a tourist (I'm so neurotic, I know) I did not divulge that it had, in fact, been approximately 28 years since my last visit - when I was about 8 years old.

He moved on, and I went back to snapping more mediocre shots of moss and bricks and trees and buildings. Being somewhat disappointed with the ambiance (lack of, rather) I decided it was time to head back. I was going to pass Brookgreen Gardens on the way, and as chance would have it as I headed north on Highway 17, the car in front of me slowed to make the left turn into the entrance - so I followed suit. Feeling a little tingly at the thought of such a spontaneous move, I told myself I'd drive down the entrance road to get the lay of the land, and perhaps come back another day later in the week.

WELL - I was immediately struck with the beauty of the avenue that led to the entrance gate, which came up not right away, but about a quarter of a mile later. Once I got to the gate I read on a sign that admission to the garden is $12.00, but the admission ticket is good for 7 consecutive days - so I convinced myself that it would definitely be money worth spending. After he handed me the receipt, I asked the gentleman at the gate if there was something going on that evening, noticing a few more cars coming up behind me. He said a jazz ensemble was playing next to the Pegasus Statue, which I found innocently amusing, and thought it might actually be nice to sit in the grass and soak up some jazzy vibes alongside the finer folks of Myrtle Beach.

I didn't even make it to the visitors center. There was a small, empty parking lot with about 10 spaces around the bend from the gate and I decided to jump out there and get my bearings before proceeding into a hoard of people. And that's when I felt it for the first time in a long time. Pure, unadulterated joy.

In this pastoral setting, where beautiful man-made sculpture and architecture meets the perfection of nature, I felt something that far transcended an appreciation for art and a love of nature. It was more like entering the gates of pagan heaven - truly - and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, adrenaline rushed through my veins only to be replaced with a perfect calming, a trance-like state that filled me with awe and inspired me to take pictures of everything.

This, a priceless jewel hidden among the rhinestone bling that is otherwise the greater Myrtle Beach tourist attractions. How many times in the past 28 years or so since my last visit with my family as a kid, have I passed the towering, duelling stallions visible from Highway 17 - reared majestically on hind legs locked together in battle - and thought to myself how I'd really like to go in there sometime?




I could not have chosen a more perfect time to stumble upon this garden of Eden. The sun was going down with a pink cast, a time referred to as the "magic hour" by photographers, and there was not a single audible sound except for the wind rustling through spanish moss draped over hundred plus years old oak trees. THE WIND! This, to me, is the hallmark of peaceful places. If you hear nothing but the wind - no traffic, no people, no machines, no phones, nothing but the wind - you've found the greatest sound there ever was. It was like Mother Nature herself welcoming me to this wondrous place, so I just started walking.



I won't go into detail about everything I saw because we'd be here for hours, and I would have long since run out of adequate adjectives to do justice to the beauty of these gardens. But let me just say that as I entered the gates guarded by the stone dogs, the music from the jazz ensemble began to whisper through the trees and I felt as if I had entered a movie set and I was the star because I was the only person there for acres and acres around me, no one else was in sight.



A long time ago I read a book written by a Washington DC socialite, on the finer points of old-school entertaining. She wrote about a dinner party where a strolling violinist sort of came out of nowhere to play delightful dinner music while the guests enjoyed a sumptuous meal. She went on to say that shortly after the violinist began, one by one, other musicians appeared out of nowhere to join him, until the crescendo when all of a sudden a full strolling orchestra was playing, swirling around the guests with their beautiful music and she said that at that moment, she and the other guests levitated with the perfection and gloriousness of the moment.



I loved reading that description and have remembered it ever since, in the back of my mind, waiting, hoping, that some day I would feel that. I did. Friday at Brookgreen Gardens.


I hope you enjoy looking at the pictures (click here).