Oysters to Hammocks: The Pace of the Lowcountry

I awake to the gentle falling rain tapping against my window.

Pitter pat. Pitter pat.

My ever-cuddling dog scoots in closer for her early morning snuggles. I open the doors to my balcony and the rain begins to subside—almost as if on command. And then the ever-familiar smell floods my room—the smell of salt, marsh, and oysters. I welcome the crisp air and practice my early morning ritual of relaxation. After a bit of a few yoga stretches, I begin my day with the pace of the lowcountry—nice and easy.

Now, if you’re ever a visitor to the Lowcountry—a 200-mile stretch of coastal South Carolina and Georgia, it’s insistent that you explore it as its daily tides do, slow and steady. My retreat for the day begins with a leisurely stroll to The Coffee Fox for my distinctly hot cappuccino paired with their infamous Red Fox breakfast sandwich. I continue my walking retreat downtown towards the famed Forsyth Park and its fountain. It is magical year-round, but the cooler weather is refreshing compared to its often-sweltering summers. Following, I open my visual senses to the colors of exquisite artwork found at the Jepson Center. Upon my entry, natural light floods each corner of the building, almost encompassing its visitors as a piece of the sunlight. My eyes move slowly, and I stand in wonder. Enamored with its extensive collection of 7,000 pieces, I find myself moving to the pace of 1875, when the museum was formerly founded by Mary Telfair’s collection. After my visual senses are satisfied, I walk along the squares of Savannah and satisfy my taste buds with a shrimp roll sandwich, shrimp salad on a toasted Kaiser po’ boy loaf, from The Grey Market. I move at a slow pace, ready to tackle dessert at my favorite and historic ice cream shoppe, Leopold’s. After a scoop of fresh peppermint ice cream, I meander through the squares, listening to local buskers, guides, and storytellers along the way. 

As my afternoon concludes, I drive back towards the island of Burnside and gather for a family oyster roast—steamed oysters flung out on a table covered in brown crate paper with oyster knives and gloves all set for shucking. As a true coastal gal, I grab my knife and gloves and begin devouring as many oysters as possible that my ever-growing stomach will allow. There truly is nothing like the taste of the sea from the ocean directly into your mouth. The lowcountry, it’s pace and its way of life is infectious. As I and the other family members conclude the evening, we gather around the bonfire outside with a cocktail in hand and completely satisfied with the warmth in our bellies and hearts. As Johnny Mercer’s infamous Moon River plays in the background, I am reminded once more of the beauty and magic that the lowcountry brings and the pace it so graciously invites me into daily. I am left in complete wonder.