Completion of a Journey at the State Park Office

Ummmmm….no.  There was no way that I was going to hand over our precious ragged notebook of stamps that we had collected from 47 parks scattered all over the state of South Carolina to anyone but the central park office.  It made no sense.  Our family had ventured out to every nook and cranny of the state.  We had taken paved, dirt, gravel, sand and pseudo roads through towns with barely a stop light to their credit.  We had explored swamps, lakes, sandhills, mountains and shores.  We had discovered  Carolina Bays, monadnocks and sinkholes.  We had dedicated ourselves to this Ultimate Outsider Challenge.  God bless the intent, but there was never a question in our minds.  We were personally taking our stamps to the state house.

It made sense and was the only way to cap this leg of our journey.  The South Carolina Park System operates the tourism piece of the State House.  The South Carolina State House is in theory and in practice the 48^th South Carolina State Park.  Arrangements were made.  We donned our best park t-shirts and carefully gathered what we would need for our journey.

 

This was our easiest exploration.  We had travelled in excess of three hours to get to the mountain parks near Oconee and about the same when we went to Beaufort and Myrtle Beach.  Columbia is a half hour drive from our house. 

I had traded my worn backpack for two or three well stocked mom bags before setting out.  I prayed for sheer convenience sake that they would not have to be checked at security.  Apparently a family with four kids in state park shirts doesn’t fit a terrorism standard profile and /or security cares less for administrative employees than for legislatures.  We checked in but were not made to surrender our bags for inspection.  We herded the children into the elevator (a sight akin to managing a three ring circus) and into the outer office of the park’s suite.

Admittedly, we are…..um…..a unique family.  The two younger children had worn their Junior Park Ranger hats, Wet Foot was holding Ben’s hand and Ben was being kept calm by listening to loud Veggie Tale music via MP3 and earbud.  He was jumping along to the beat and pointing in the direction of the snacks put out on the front desk.  Anchor and I were doing our best to gather and move our group of excited and distracted children into the large room at the end of the hall while negotiating all our bags and bundles and keeping some sane amount of decorum.  The kids were behaving beautifully but the mama instinct kicked in and my expectations for them were high.

A slew of State Park folk came in to meet us.  The director introduced himself to us as Ranger Phil.  He was a tall man who has taken the responsibility of the parks for the sake of protecting and preserving those important places and stories for the citizens of the state and not for any great love of administrative duty.  He is fully capable and struck me as dynamic and intelligent.   He is the John Wayne of the park system.  He is bound by his duty and responsibility and love for the parks but his eyes betray his overall distaste for florescent lights and enclosed spaces.

 

The office was the opposite of any of the beautiful places we had explored.  This suite- these walls- were devoid of everything.  There was no color save an almost futile attempt of decorating with various photographs from the actual parks.  Those photos were beautiful but served to taunt rather than to decorate.  The walls were white, the carpet beige, the air still and quiet.  I know it is a state office but the place was so very grown up.  We had played guest to rustling leaves, crashing waves, gentle breezes and laughing streams.  We had listened to mountain orchestrations of bullfrogs, crickets and spring peepers.  We had not entered a park that had not bathed us in a sensory ecstasy of color, air and sound.  But this place…was quiet and bare and sad.

We were prepared.  I knew the office complex was the proverbial back closet of the park system- where you put the necessities so your house can work well and be maintained and loved.  I just hadn’t thought it would be this bad.  Still, we were prepared.  I smiled at my husband.  He kindly did not roll his eyes at me.  He just sat back to get a better view of his wife at work.

Everyone has talents.  I encourage and remind people of how great an impact they have on the world around them.  What a joy to do that here.  These folks work hard behind the scenes to ensure the preservation of the parks so that guests may come and discover the treasures of story and place. 

We had experienced so much on our journey.  It was fitting to encourage these dear people by bringing some of our experiences into the grey and beige walled capital office and show those trapped there the fruits of their efforts.

And so….I unloaded my mama bags.  Out came the toys we had purchased from the historic sites; out came the books that Thoreau and Little Legs had created about the different plants and animals they had discovered; out came the quilt we had made to memorialize our status as Ultimate Outsiders; out came the pictures and tales and laughter as we all began to share memories.

 

We overwhelmed them with the exuberance we brought back from the wild places we had visited.  In moments, the entire staff was being reminded of their purpose- that of bringing together people with the wise wilderness preserved in the park system- of seeing the fulfilment that these protected places bestow of families.  They lapped up the children’s stories of hiking at Table Rock, camping at Oconee, splashing in the artesian wells at Lee and the waves of Huntington Beach.    They leaned forward so as not to miss one word of the recounting of finding sharks teeth at Hunting Island, sinkholes at Santee and a caterpillar tree at Woods Bay.  Their jaws fairly dropped to hear Thoreau and Little Legs accurately describe the stories they had learned of the Gist family from Rose Hill and the Hammond family of Redcliffe as well as the battles of Musgrove Mill, Kings Mountain and Rivers Bridge.

 

They played with the children and challenged each other as to who could best catch the ball in the cup or command the gee-haw-whimmy-diddle.  The children patiently explained the tricks of the wooden buzz saw toy and reminded the park staff of how to play the old card games of war and crazy 8’s.  An hour passed.  Two.  We were all having so much fun.  We could have spent the day except that our new friends were called off to the work required of them to nurture and care for those places that so nurtured families like ours.

 

I like to think that we affected our new friends – that we showed them the necessity of their labors.  I like to think that those who tended the parks were reminded of the impact those places, stories and people were having on the families they served.  I like to think that we affected them by relating stories of how we had been affected by the parks.  I like to think we gave them reason to work even more diligently with the knowledge of their crucial role as nursemaids to their 47 trusts.  I wanted them to see my children’s faces as they tended their wild charges.  I wanted them to remember our stories and laughter.  I wanted to give them a touch point- a memory to fuel their passion for their mission even on the difficult days and through the most tedious task.  Our family- these children.  The parks had given us so much.  This memory was our gift to them.