Even though I was born in New York state, I love reading about the South. I’m not a fan of novels that paint a sugar-coated picture – I gravitate toward novelists who write with care and honesty about people who understand that 90 percent humidity for most of the year is a given.
I remember picking up “The Prince of Tides” by Southern writer Pat Conroy many years ago and being hooked with the first line – “My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call.”
As someone who loves magnolia blossoms and Spanish moss, I couldn’t put that book down, at times crying, and, at other times, re-reading passages until I had them memorized.
Conroy wrote of South Carolina’s Low Country in exquisitely chosen words and resonating phrases that made me want to visit the marshes and waters that formed this treasure of a writer.
This summer, I finally got the chance to visit Conroy’s hometown, Beaufort, S.C. The main reason was to visit the Pat Conroy Literary Center. In my hurry planning our trip, I didn’t read the center’s hours in detail.
We arrived in Beaufort on a Monday evening and were leaving Wednesday. When I looked a little closer at the website, I saw where the center was only open Thursday through Saturday.
My heart dropped. I had no idea how I was going to tell my husband I’d dragged him hundreds of miles to visit a center that was closed.
At the bottom of the site was a note that the center was also open by appointment. I sat down and wrote Communications and Events Coordinator Maura Connelly an honest email about my oversight, pleading for a short appointment to tour the center.
She wrote back within hours and invited us to come. A huge wave of relief washed over me, and we arrived 20 minutes early. So did she, and, with a smile, Maura welcomed us. The center is filled with books, some written by Conroy, but mostly books from Conroy’s personal collection.
The walls in the comfortable center are covered with memorabilia from Conroy’s early days including numerous photos and personal belongings, such as Conroy’s original thesaurus donated by a college friend.
Executive Director Jonathan Haupt came out of his office right after we arrived, and asked if he could take us through the center. He was knowledgeable, unhurried and warm as he described the center’s goals and Conroy as a person. He said they were doing what Conroy would’ve liked – spreading a love of reading and writing.
Haupt invited us to sit at Conroy’s desk and in his chair, and I thought I’d feel like I was sitting on a throne.
But that wasn’t quite correct.
Conroy, in his constant khaki pants, might not feel comfortable on a throne.
Perhaps he’d prefer sitting in the bough of a jon boat, trolling along a sea of grasses in the shallow marshes in the Low Country, the smell of shrimp and crabs a constant reminder of the connection between people and their personal geography.
Before we left, we visited a nature sanctuary and I thought about Pat Conroy’s life and the events and places that form all of us into who we are.
Walking along the boardwalk, the smells of the marsh filled my senses and, as a Cajun girl, I understood Conroy’s attachment to the Low Country because I’m attached to the bayous, lakes and lush greenness of home.
As we drove over the drawbridge leaving Beaufort, I thought about the kindness Ms. Connelly and Mr. Haupt showed us at the literary center, the loving way they are preserving Conroy’s memory and the elegant way they’re passing on a simple legacy: words and stories are important.
The lifeblood of Southerners includes the waters, people, customs and culture of this beautiful land we call home and the stories we pass down from generation to generation.
I’m so grateful I found that shared connection in a prince of tides from the Low Country.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.