The Brick Maker's Mark at Oconee Station State Park

Historic sites can be a bit eerie when they are abandoned.  We pulled into the parking lot at Oconee Station and were greeted warmly by a vivacious canine who took pleasure in checking in the park’s guests.  The morning was late and the impending heat of the day had already driven away human visitors.  The canine self-appointed caretaker was respectfully quiet after his first welcome and there was no noise at the historic site save our own.

How odd that a place that had witnessed the bustle of trade and the tension of a boundary fort now stood so quiet.  The children ran between the old buildings laughing and playing, peeking through windows and bemoaning the inaccessibility of the cellar door.  If I sat on the porch and closed my eyes, I could picture my children in period garb laughing and playing as my husband and I bought provisions.  The summer haze mixed images of my present day brood with those from centuries past. 

Times change.  Cultures vary and grow.  The laughter and innate joy and playfulness of young innocents are constants and echo timelessly through the ages.

I love the natural places and wonders showcased by the South Carolina State Parks.  My family delighted as we explored the trail from the historic site to the magnificent Oconee Station Falls.  The wet summer supplied torrents of water that was dashed among the rocks in a grand spectacle of power and beauty.  Light highlighted water and glittered over the falls.

Still, I am drawn even more to these historic sites.  On another visit, the park manager showed us a brick marked by the imprint of its creator’s thumb.  I stared at that brick for a long time.  Here was a marker and a testament to the importance of these historic places as keepers of the remnants of families and individuals long since gone.  These folks could not believe, though the brick maker may have hoped, that anyone today would have given them a second thought.  Yet, the mark has been made.  The thumbprint is there.  The brick maker and those around him were here and in some weird way those lives and personhoods have now intersected with the story of ours- my family’s- as we visit the place where they once were.  Our humanity somehow gets all mixed together in the sweat I wipe from my forehead, the laughter of my children and the thumb print of the brick maker.

 

The historic sites are treasures.  I am so grateful that they have been seen and saved by our park systems.  These quiet places remind us of the commonality of our hopes of individuality.  They are our compass pointing towards more fulfilling futures.  Today the compass pointed from the thumb print in the direction of my playful children.