This update is long overdue, but I’ve been busy.
Twenty years ago I lived in a garden.
I lived in a garden with a city tucked inside it.
I lived in Savannah, Georgia, the place Margaret Mitchell described as “that gently mannered city by the sea.”
My stay there lasted four years. The last two I spent in the middle of the historic district, a space of centuries-old churches and homes, all surrounded by private gardens enclosed with fanciful wrought-iron gates, flowering azaleas and sturdy, gnarled live oaks draped with Spanish moss.
All too infrequently I leave the modern world of work, mortgage and 401(k) and return to the garden. The last time was at the end of March, when my Mom and I decided to visit.
When I was in Savannah I attended Wesley Monumental Church. This beautiful church was built as a monument to John and Charles Wesley. Construction started after the Civil War and the sanctuary was finished in 1890.
It was a short trip – only 36 hours – and ended with an adventure. The car wouldn’t start. We got a jump from a gentleman who’d been a neighbor of mine 20 years ago. Once we got going, we took one last turn around the squares and then pointed the car toward Talmadge Bridge and the low county of South Carolina. As we reached the peak of the bridge we looked back for one last glimpse of Oglethorpe’s city on the riverbluff, of tall spires and steeples reaching heavenward through the green leaves, of live oaks in the town squares.