Barnwell Sate Park was one of the sixteen state parks built by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the depression under the order of FDR. That fact alone excited me. We had seen and learned so much throughout our journey through the South Carolina State Parks but the one story that stood apart was that of the CCC. It was humbling, mystifying even, to travel along trails and eye the work of these young men from long ago. I like to think they would lean up against the wall of the picnic shelter that they had hewn together and smile at my family as we marvelled at their craftsmanship. I almost see them put up a quick hand in a silent wave as we pass. They are pleased and proud of their work. Their labors are not only a monument to themselves but are also a tribute to families. They labored not only for the benefit of their own families which they religiously sent an amazing sum of twenty dollars per month which was their payment for early risings, sunburned shoulders, sweat drenched brows and sore backs. They labored also for the families they knew. They were working to prepare a place of play for the kids they saw in the neighboring community and someday their own prodigy, their own offspring and even one day their grandchildren and great grandchildren. I don't know if they imagined that they were also preparing a place of respite for my family who were strangers to these men in time and place. Still, the work of these men is a sweet offering to my children to picnic, to play, to rest and watch and see the glory of nature.
We began to explore the park in the late afternoon. The sun was growing lazy and the heat of the day had abated. The trail went around the lake and was damp from the summer's rains. The lake waters had risen and become a great spot for fishing. Unfortunately, we had left our poles at home. We walked past the swimming area and the pictures of the 1950 Blackville bathing beauties frozen in silent smiles and waves.
The park was quiet today- not deserted but quiet. We followed the trail past Barnwell's near spherical cabins and saw families out in front of the them roasting marshmallows and discussing the best way to make smores. They smiled and greeted us with the customary South Carolina "Hey." We returned the "Hey" but hurried on lest Ben invite himself to their bag of marshmallows and stash of chocolate.
On further, we saw an osprey. Beautiful, elegant and fleeting as it beheld our crew. Our disappointment at the bird's flight gave way to wonder as we beheld a sign warning hikers and fishers of the danger of alligators.
"I wanna see an alligator," Wetfoots's ever present cry. "You're making too much noise! Hush! We'll never see one!" Her own loud admonishments to the rest of us scared away any respectable gator for miles.
On we went marveling at the water and the sky in the sunset. Such beauty was another reward given those who had forged this park out of its primal wilderness. How amazing must it have been to be surrounded by this great scape after a back breaking day of constructing shelters and trails?
We walked on and heard the screams of excited children. Up a hill and down close to the lake's shores, we spotted a grandmother and grandfather and their two young grandchildren. The old ones were laughing as they watched the young shout and dance around a great paint bucket fill of water and fish. The fish splashed the children as the former railed against captivity. The children would alternately peer over the bucket's sides an then screech surprise and delight as they began to hop and dance around their aquatic prey. It was hard to tell which was more excited or where the greatest amount of activity came from.
The children's mother was also watching the generational fun and saw me smile. She noted my own brood of little ones and judged us friendly. She smiled. The setting sun over the lake was all the introduction needed. "We really love it here," she told us. "We get out here whenever we can." This park had been part of her childhood and now she beamed as she saw her parents entertained by her own children's antics around the fish bucket. "There's nothing better than this."
There is no better summary of Barnwell's appeal. I imagine the ghosts of the CCC boys would have taken such a compliment with a modest yet prideful blush.
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