"She was referring to the art that was grown under the artificial lights of fad and fashion, overly fertilized with personal ambition and deprived of those weathers that evolve strong systems in the slow, hard garden of belief." (Robbins 199)- but I do know that the shadows, hoo-doo and mystery, and antebellum embellishments of the book permeated my imagination with legs as quick as those of a 6'6" cross-dresser. I clutched my copy down to GA for my annual summer stay at an aunt's house and eagerly pushed it further pole-ward when my parents arrived so we three could trek together to Savannah for a weekend getaway.
(Forsyth Park, Savannah)
Savannah is steeped in stories so old it gives grand old it makes it's younger cousin to the west, New Orleans, blush like a pale baby. It was saved by Sherman in his march to war. It has the first museum the South ever saw and the nation's third oldest synagogue. Savannah is home to some very rich memories I cooked up while we spent three days in the lovely city on the Atlantic and river. It is also home to a few of my past's smaller, but perhaps integral injuries.