I am of the Low Country and familiar with the 'Gullah' of the Out Islands; Not heard much around Charleston any longer or Beaufort any longer. I am also familiar with the dulcet tones of a true Southern Lady and miss the fact that these are no longer heard as well. The Upcountry ne'er had quite the same style and class; the Cachet of the Piedmont or Low Country. A restless soul, I've lived in all regions of the Palmetto State.
Tidewater Virginny ain't a patch on Geechies!
Truly I do miss the Old South, the Black ladies all in white under the spread of an ancient Oak, in the yard of an AME Church on Sunday; gigging flounder on the flats of Charleston Harbor; sculling a pirogue up the Cumbahee at dusk, to hunt frogs, alligators, or what chance offers. Sittin' on the Hill at the Deer Camp, swillin' down venison stew, rice and onions an' tea, an' hot biscuits. Hound dogs at our feet, easy knowin' they got likkin's comin'. Talkin' dogs with men who know dogs, and learnin' what no book tells.
I do love my Texas, but my Lone Star State is fast wearin' away, under the scurryin' feet of so many
strangers, jabberin' their Noo Yawk talk, or Caliphoney blather. I know the Old Palmetto is no more, but at least I have my treasured memories, and in my mind's eye, I can see those old ladies, hummin' an old hymn as the lay the table for their dinner on the grounds. I smell that chicken an' biscuit from heah, sir!