Charleston, South Carolina, is a city of remarkable beauty – both natural and man-made. My husband and I visited for five days in October. I’m the nosiest person on the planet, and never get tired of real estate open houses and historic home tours. My favorite game as a child was playing house, and it still is. I planned our vacation around a three-day historic home tour run by the Preservation Society of Charleston. The Preservation Society is to be commended; the tour was well-organized, varied, and interesting.
In a testament to the good-nature of my husband, I dragged this man through thirty-two private homes and gardens, and eight more public-home museums. Even I was growing weary of it all. One thing stood out clearly – the unparalleled architectural grandeur of Charleston was crafted some two hundred years ago by hand – when the skill of the working craftsman informed the magnificence of the result. These gorgeous creations weren’t the result of careful attention to plan, but the inspired artistry of the worker. And that worker was almost exclusively a slave. I am astonished that all of this beauty was created by people whose lives were the antithesis of beauty. I suppose the same can be said for the great pyramids of Egypt.