Tuesday, January 6, 2009

cherry grove

My uncle Murdoch Finlayson, who passed away this past Summer, owned a small property in Cherry Grove which was just north of Myrtle Beach, SC. It was a great little house that he'd let his kin stay. It was not beach front property, but close enough. I remember one Summer we drove down that Brook and I were given a butch haircut. Mom had also purchased the two of us matching khaki cargo pants with a big pockets and a little clip sewn on to hang important stuff. I don't know why pants had to have a clip on it but I thought it was golly-gee whiz-cool as all get out. I remember Brook liking the pants but not very keen on the idea that I had a matching pair. I felt like a real Jungle Jim with mine. I remember walking down the sandy road toward the beach with my brother. I remember checking out the small beach front stores there.

There were all kinds of little frogs in that area - especially in Murd's backyard. I remember finding an old milk carton and filling it with little frogs. It's not something I would do today - but it was the kind of thing a little kid thought worth while.

Along the way Dad had stopped by and picked up a case of Blenheim Ginger Ale. They were in the glass bottles of various degrees of burn. It's been a very long time since I've had a Blenheim - a locally made beverage bottled in the Cheraw, SC area. I remember a large case of them sitting on the table, available to anyone brave enough to drink one. If you ever come across one - I strongly recommend the mild. If you do take on the XXX - don't dare gulp it - start with a sip decide how you'd ought proceed from there.

I don't remember leaving Murdoch's place on Cherry Grove - but I always wanted to go back. He sold it along the way. Most of our vacations growing up were to Columbia, SC - visiting Dad's brother's and sisters. I don't care much for beaches, the sand, the hotel lined shores, and the sun-baked masses. My Cherry Grove memory is that of a vast uncluttered shore, a little beach house, and family. It's the stuff dreams are made of - and I am fortunate to have a memory made of it.

CLOSER VIEW
Brooky, Irene, David (on lap), Dad (wearing argyle socks and braces) and Jennie.

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