The only problem is that I was born with go in my DNA. It's my daddy's gift.
He liked to go places, poke down old roads, prowl around creepy graveyards.. He could talk to anybody, and many times, on Sunday afternoons, we'd spend hours knocking around interesting, forgotten places, listening to folks pleased to share their stories.
It was fun then. It'd be fun now. Hugh, my sister Margaret, and I put our heads together and came up with some great diversions. The first was Walnut Grove, an 18th-century plantation, near Roebuck in Spartanburg County.
King George III granted more than 3,000 acres to Charles Moore in 1763.
Moore, a school teacher, and his wife, Mary, had 10 children. The town of Moore is named for the family, and some descendants still live in the area.
The manor house, the original home the Moores built, is not as grand as Charleston-area plantation homes are, but the simplicity is charming, and stark. We took the tour of the home and kitchen and wandered to the smoke and wheat houses, the barn and forge.
We walked to the family cemetery, where two patriots of the American Revolution were killed by Bloody Bill Cunningham. They were buried where they were killed, and family members and slaves were later buried there with field stone markers. Many of the markers still stand.
Our second adventure was to Carl Sandburg's home in Flat Rock, N.C. My sister had visited the poet and author's home many times and had always said Hugh and I should visit. We hadn't until last month. Man, what a prize it is.
We walked the short trail up to the beautiful home and took the tour that was a bit surprising. The place was very comfortable - nothing matched. Books were everywhere.
It seemed like it had been decorated by folks wishing for comfort more than beauty.
We loved it.
We wandered all over, and went to the goat pens. (Mrs. Sandburg was a lover of goats.) We'd forgotten how funny goats can be. We found little goats resting in their food trough. They nibbled our fingers and gave us funny looks, like we should be bringing gifts.
Hugh and I want to go back in the fall and hike some of the trails on the property. We want also to sit and look at the scenery, listen to the birds, breathe the air and take in some of what made the place so special to the Nobel Laureate winner.
Mart, as I call my sister, Hugh and I visited Musgrove Mill State Historic Site in Clinton last month.
There's not much at the site, but the rural setting is very pretty. The ranger on duty at the visitors' center gave us a great explanation of the Revolutionary War battle that took place nearby. Had the temperatures been kinder, we would have hiked the one-mile battlefield trail.
At times, reenactors stage demonstrations of life in the Colonial backcountry on the property.
For our short visit, we read all the exhibits in the center and walked across the driveway to the site of the Musgrove house.
In the afternoon, we drove to Cowpens National Park and wound around the battlefield road, reading the story of wily patriots outwitting the British and Germans.
I always think I should have been a history major when I visit such places. The stories interest me.
Of course, I never remember them as I should. That just means the next time I visit I'll learn new stories and hear about new heroes, huh!? Some of the joys of getting older.
We drove to Hendersonville, N.C., just past dawn the other morning to get to a local farmers' market before all the goodies were gone. Hugh bought us each a fried apple pie (YUM!). Mart got green beans and blackberries. I brought my appetite. We stopped for a cup of coffee while we waited for stores to open on Main Street.
There were offerings of various coffee cakes and one empty plate of what they called "damn good cookies."
"What are these?" I asked.
"Oh! They're chocolate, nuts. We're out right now
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