The Marsh:
Signature of the Lowcountry
By Frances Boyd
“My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call.”
Pat Conroy, The Prince of Tides
F
rom the outer banks of North Carolina to Amelia Island, a great
swath of neither land nor sea nestles between Interstate 95 and the
Atlantic Ocean. As the barrier islands formed along the southern
Atlantic coast, so did vast deposits of silt and sand upon which smooth
cordgrass (Spartina alterniflora) took root and slowly gave rise to the quintessential
geographical feature of the Lowcountry—the marsh.
Just as cordgrass stalks have two sides, so does the marsh. When African slaves
replaced native tribes in order for rice production to become profitable, the marshes
became one of the deadliest places on earth. Mosquito-borne diseases, coupled with
an unforgiving sun and relentless work, killed many of the slaves and others who
could not go inland for the summer. Even General Sherman’s March to the Sea took
a turn toward Columbia because of the harsh conditions of the Carolina wetlands.
Sherman complained in his diary in February of 1865, “We must all turn amphibious,
for the country is half under water.” The same geography that daunted the Union
Army nurtured the Gullah culture that enriches our lives today while symbolizing
the spirit and talents of the slave workers decades earlier.
Studying the history of saltwater marshes around Kiawah Island is perhaps easier
than capturing the essence of them. Photographers click our marshes at dawn and
at sunset, under the moonlight, in the fog, while it rains, and in bright sunlight.
Painters use oils and pastels to depict the colors of the marsh, the tides of the marsh,
and the great birds flying over the marsh. Meandering tidal creeks cut through
the thick and stalwart spartina as camouflaged waterfowl fish patiently on their
banks—a perfect backdrop for any artist.
Our marshes also form a rich setting for Southern writers who speak eloquently
about their affinity for the Lowcountry. In Skyward, Mary Alice Monroe wrote,
“The beauty of the lowcountry was seductive, more sultry than majestic. There
were mysteries teeming in the winding creeks and rivers. They snaked through
vast greening marshes that breathed in and out with the tidal current like a living
creature.”
In his well-known book Prince of Tides, Pat Conroy tells the story of a childhood
flooded with memories both cherished and haunting: “To describe our growing up in
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Photo by Renee Levow