On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand and cast a wishful eye
to Caanan’s fair and happy land where my possessions lie.
I am bound for the promised land, I’m bound for the promised land.
Oh, who will come and go with me, I am bound for the promised land.
The trip was going to be a ghost-hunting expedition for Eric Rogers and me. Eric and I had finally met offline, and were planning a joint expedition to the haunted Rock House just south of Greenwood. Since we would be down in that area, we had also plotted out some other interesting locations. I had flagged one little town, Promised Land, SC, with the comment, “With a name like that, how could we NOT go there?”
Eric was not able to make the trip, but my brother Houston and sister Glynda were able to go. Houston took on the role of Aaron, the spokesperson, with Glynda as Miriam, and me as Moses, leading and documenting our trip. So early Sunday morning we found a suitable radio evangelist and headed for the Promised Land. We hoped we would make it all the way, further than our biblical counterparts. Continue reading “Bound for the Promised Land”
Last time I talked about my inherited propensity and motivations for rambling. This time I’m going to be a bit less random, and discuss some of the tools I use for rambling and how I choose particular targets. I love to explore aimlessly, and there is always some component of randomness to any of our … Continue reading The Fine Art of Rambling, Part 2
A couple of weeks ago I mentioned that Glynda and I share an inherited trait – a love of rambling. We come by this naturally. When we were young my parents would load all seven of us into the Chrysler and we would go exploring. There were several epic journeys, including one through the Horse … Continue reading The Fine Art of Rambling, Part 1
Laura had a quick business trip to Chicago, so Glynda and I decided to get out and see the countryside. I had spotted an advertisement for the Oconee Bale Trail, a series of decorated hay bales through that county, and it looked like as good an excuse as anything to get out and about.
Glynda hadn’t been with my on one of my photo rambles before. As with most of my family, she loves photography, too. She has also inherited our parents love of exploring backroads. While growing up, instead of calling her by her name Glynda Jo, my father called her “Glynda Go.” She had just finished her last day at the Boys Home of the South on Friday, so this was going to be a celebratory get-away. Continue reading “The Oconee Bale Trail”