Week 1: South Carolina
DAY 1:
My friend’s fiancée told me about his mother’s neighborhood, just a 20 minute drive outside of Greenville. I headed that direction in the afternoon, and as I drove toward the houses, I passed a pasture with two beautiful horses grazing next to an old country style home. The soft light of the afternoon really set the scene, and the horses were well-kept and healthy. I wanted to take their picture, but I also wanted to collect some cans. The objective for 200 cans a week breaks down to 40 a day. I was always told to “begin with the end in mind” and work backwards. 10,000 in a year, 200 a week, 40 a day. I started knocking on doors, and people responded very much like they had in Illinois. Some said they couldn’t help me, but most dropped a few things in the bag. As I was walking, a gentleman ran by in a sweat suit. He was older, maybe forty. He eyed me but didn’t turn his head in my direction. I waved and smiled, and he didn’t respond. As I got further down the block, he ran by again. I said hello, and he pulled his earphone out of his ear. I said hello again, and he kept running without responding. A few houses further, and he ran by again. This time I laughed and shouted, “how many times you gonna run ‘round this thing?” and he pulled his earphone out and said “miss, there is no soliciting in this neighborhood.” My brain did a little back flip remembering the police in Illinois. I knew it was a good thing that God gave me this opportunity to explain. I said I was just collecting canned goods for the homeless, does that count as solicitation? His eyebrows shot up and his eyes got really big. He took a couple steps back and lowered his head. He shook it back and forth to mean ‘no’ after a few seconds, and said that didn’t count, that I was fine. I let out a little smirk as he walked away, like “duh” but I knew that conversation was a blessing. When I got towards the end of the block, where I could see the horses in the pasture, I was watching the sun light. I kept thinking about how badly I wanted to go into Greenville and take some pictures before I lost the daylight. I asked God, but I also said that I was willing to work until 10 pm if that was what I was supposed to do. My bags were getting heavy, and when I was only one house from the end of the street, I decided to stop at the truck to unload what I had. With the first few steps toward the truck, I already knew. There were forty cans exactly in those bags. I counted them out and laughed. Perfect. I looked up at the last house on the street, and across the field to the horses. One more house, and I’d beat the daylight. I walked up to the door and rang the bell. A woman came outside, and after dropping four more cans into my bag, she asked me what I was doing out there. I told her, and she became quite happy. She told me about a food pantry in Simpsonville called God’s Pantry, and said that she drops some food off there every few weeks. She said it was one of the closest ones to the neighborhood. I was happy with the information, and then she told me about a church that her kids go to called Cornerstone. She invited me to attend, even though she herself goes to a different church “for old people” she said, that was in a nearby community. With that, I dropped off the bag into the truck and walked across the street to snap some pictures. The horses were fascinated with me. They were nodding at me and I was nodding back at them. They got very close to the fence, and then they ran away, kicking their hooves in the sandy fields of South Carolina. ~~~~DAY 2:
Saturday I woke early and headed into Greenville. My friend and I stopped at a cemetery. I don’t know what it is about those places that I like so much, but they always catch my eye. I think it’s because I know that so much emotion has seeped into the ground. People go there to lay down grief, and that is one of the most powerful emotions that humans can experience. Love is usually what brings the living to these places, and it is for love that we grieve. Cemeteries are also the best historical record of a community. I took some pictures of the headstones and the way the light touched the little crosses set in place for all the unknown soldiers of the civil war. After the cemetery we headed to the local park. The Reedy River Falls park is set right in the center of Greenville, and it has a new bridge that was just completed in the last year since I’ve been gone. As we walked along the trail, we came to a point where we could see a funny shaped building with green glass windows on the corner. I recognized the building from a website that I had stumbled across almost 2 years ago when I first searched South Carolina on the internet. I snapped my own picture this time. While I was there, I picked up a rock for my friend in Carbondale. I took a picture of it, and then I smiled to myself. I know that only I can understand how satisfying that was, but it was something tangible that meant that this was real. The first rock… only 49 more to go. I went back the horse neighborhood that night, and my friend called his mother and told her I was coming to her house for canned goods. She had some things ready for me when I got there, and she and her husband invited me in out of the cold. When they looked at my flyer they explained that I was in a Kelley household! I liked the common thread. Many people ask me what is in it for me, how I will make money or what I’m after, and I don’t know the answer. The joy of giving? The realization of a dream? The experience? I left the neighborhood with 59 cans and headed for my Grandmother’s house in Simpsonville. As I was driving, I called my friend and asked her if she would like to go up to Paris Mountain with me the next day so that I could take portraits of her family. When I lived in Greenville, Paris Mountain was my favorite place in the entire world. We would drive all the way up to the top, where the tower is stationed, and look out over the mountains. When I was researching Greenville as a potential place to move to after college, I had found a website that described it as “nestled in the foothills of the blue ridge mountains.” The first time I went to the top of Paris Mountain, I knew that Greenville was everything that I had dreamed it would be. It truly is a city that is nestled right into the edge of the foothills, surrounded by rolling landscape and covered in a fine mist. From the mountain top, when the night is black and the lights are bright, it looks too good to be true. I wanted to see the view one more time. My friend agreed to meet me there for portraits in the evening as the sun was setting. DAY 3:
On my way to the church that morning, I took a wrong turn and saw another pasture of horses. Right across the street was this old shed with an old classic car parked inside, with just the hood poking out into the sun. The slats of wood that were dangling off the edge of structure made for a nice photographic composition, especially with the background of the South Carolina landscape. I couldn’t stop at the time, because I thought I would be late for church. I decided to come back. When I arrived at the church, I saw an older man coming down the steps pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his suit pocket. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw someone smoke outside of a church. I parked the truck and told Zuzu to guard the truck while I was inside. I don’t know why I was thinking about someone robbing me while I was parked in God‘s sanctuary. I walked in the main front doors, and as soon as I got inside I realized that this couldn’t be the church the lady had been referencing. This was what she would have called an “old people” church. She had said this was a church for people my age, but I was the youngest person in the auditorium. I sat in the back, and I had my camera around my neck. Everyone in the entire building was incredibly friendly, walking around introducing themselves and shaking hands. There were stained glass windows every few feet down the sides of the chapel, each showing a different image of Jesus. This was a Baptist church. I stood up and took a few pictures of the windows before the service started. People were watching me, but no one asked. I decided I might as well stick around and see what happened. I walked back into the foyer and asked the woman who had greeted me if it would be alright if I took some pictures of the service. I told her I was a journalist that was doing a story on churches throughout the United States. I wanted to keep it simple. She said that would be no problem, so when the service started and the music director began the first hymn, I walked down the isle to the front. I had my eye on these two trumpet players sitting at the base of the stage. As I got closer, one of them looked up at me. I pointed at the camera, and he gave me a little nod. The gentleman next to him got all wide eyed but couldn’t turn his head to look at me. I whispered “don’t let me make you nervous” and his eyes returned to normal size. I snapped a few pictures, but the woman playing the piano kept looking at me and ruining my idea of a candid image. I focused on the music director. He was leading the congregation from the pulpit, conducting the song like he was at a grand symphony, and the passion behind his movements told me he loves this part of his day.I returned to my seat after the songs were over, and I listened to the sermon. I sat next to a middle aged man and his wife, and I could feel them looking at my camera as I stared at the preacher. God will tell you exactly what you need to know if you are open to hearing it. No matter what church I go to, I believe that God will use that environment to physically verbalize the things that I already feel. That Sunday, the pastor spoke about the things we are worried about. I could sense God repeating this to me. He spoke of letting go of all the things that trouble us and accepting the will of God in our lives. He said that the best way to overcome worry is to pray. I started thinking about the word prayer. He was discussing the act of asking God for the things we need and then finding peace in the concept that God’s will would be done. This is the ‘shift of focus’ that we were talking about before. If I lay it at the feet of God, but I’m still holding it with one hand, I won’t feel any better. We have to think about it through faith, and set it down to walk away. I like to think that I’m acting out my prayers. If there is something that I am focused on in my life, I seek out ways to give it back to someone else. In this way, I am initiating an infinite cycle of giving and receiving between me and God. Because I want to see Love, I show Love. I give food, and I am fed. I give blankets and I am warm. I give discussion and I get it back. I chose these things because I understand them. What do you understand? You can initiate this same cycle in some way within your own life. Whatever your quality of life, whether you’re homeless or living in your car, or you have the half a million dollar house at the top of the hill… I wonder if you have the half a million dollar debt too? The world needs leaders, and they are standing right next to you.DAY 4:
The 4th day of the project I headed to Columbia. when I arrived in the town, I drove from the north end to the south end, and from the west end to the east. I wanted to see how the city was split up. I'm definitely more of a country girl at heart, so the whole 'big city scene' isn't really my thing. I do recognize however, that these are the areas where we can truly examine the state of human affairs, because there are so many people living in a small parcel of land. I like to call cities 'concrete jungles' because of the rarity of a patch of grass.When I collected canned goods I picked the right neighborhood to teach me a lesson. Sometimes people ask me how I choose which neighborhoods to go to, and the truth can be hard to swallow. This day is the perfect example. Lets face it, I can't go into the section 8 housing to collect the cans. I mean, I could, but why? I need to go to the places with excess. That's logical. I don't want to take cans from people if it means they miss a meal. I chose this particular set of houses because they looked like they were each 3-4 bedroom homes, with decent sized yards and big trees. My eyes weren't yet aware of the real face of poverty. Earlier that morning, a news anchor had asked me how I got in my situation in Mississippi. I told her, and then told her what I did about it, and when I asked her why any of that mattered, she said it was my 'why'. She also said I'm not exactly the face of American poverty. She's right, I'm not. What is? We have a misconception about what poverty really is or who it effects. As I walked around this neighborhood, I was touched by how many individuals came to the door, stepped outside, and apologized because they had no canned goods to give me. When people donated, I could see on their faces the sacrifice that they made. It seemed to mean so much more. I knew I needed to pay closer attention to my assumptions about wealth.When I drove through the city to the south side, I crossed under a bridge. Under further examination, I realized that the bridge was connecting two sides of the city recreation center. To the left of the bridge was a baseball and soccer field. After driving under it twice, I decided it would be a good spot for a picnic dinner. I parked at a local liquor store and walked half a block to the bridge.
This time that I spent on the bridge was the first time in my journey that I had felt isolated. This was the first city I had been to where there were no friends, no family. No place to stay. I sat on the bridge and ate a late dinner. I watched everyone drive under the bridge as the sun set, and I thought about all the people who lived in this city. Columbia isn't that big, as far as cities go, but it was big to this little farm girl. I was excited to see where the next few days would take me. I was open for anything, I just had to meet the right people.
DAY 5
Don told me about a bar up the street, and he offered to take me up there to get some food. I hadn’t really eaten that day, so I took him up on the offer. He said he liked my idea, and that if everybody would just help each other out, the world would be a better place. We went up to the corner bar and he bought four beers, 2 for each of us, he said, and he told me to get whatever I wanted off the menu. I ordered a burger. As we sat down with our beer to wait for the food, he told me about a night last week when he bought out the bar. He spend almost 400 dollars at the bar in one night! I could tell the people there liked him. The bar was almost full, and all the patrons were talking to each other. Don asked me what my astrological sign was, and I told him I was a Scorpio. He introduced me to a guy sitting at the back of the restaurant making metal scorpions. I thought that was just too perfect. Don sat with me, talking about his ex-wife and his job search, eventually confessing that he spent entirely too much money on alcohol. After a half hour, he left, telling me that he had to make it to his appointment, but to enjoy the burger and the beer, and that I could find him at the library if I wanted to say ’Hi’. After he left, scorpion guy started telling me about the time he spent in prison. I could feel the waitresses watching me, and some of the other people in the bar. I didn’t care. After a few minutes of discussing marketing and watching him twist the metal into little legs and bodies, he told me that he needed to get off the drugs if he ever wanted to make any money selling them. When he found out what I was doing, he said I was doing what he had always wanted to do. He asked me if Don had told me “the lick”. I said no, and he said “he didn’t tell you how we know each other? Well, we’re bunk mates at the winter shelter up the street.” He kind of smirked as if he had just ratted on his friend. I had figured this out about Don when I watched him put on 5 layers of coats. Dead give-away. But I guess I didn’t want to see it before then. Looking back, had I paid closer attention and known that he was in a worse situation than I was when he offered lunch, I would have said no. And I never would have had the experience. So I’m glad that it worked out the way it did and that I got to spend some of that time with Don. I am once again reminded of the real face of American poverty, and I am humbled by the generosity of those individuals who have the least to give. DAY 6
I had decided to visit the firehouse in every capital city across America. My friend Scott had suggested it while I was still getting ready to go, and it sounded like a fabulous idea to me. The local fire house in IL was going to ship me some patches so that I could trade with the firehouses I was going to visit, and collect a patch from all 50 states, but apparently it didn’t make it through the mail before I left town. I’m still hoping they arrive soon. Either way, I decided to go ahead and try to get a patch. If I collect all 50, I’d like to donate them, mounted on a shadow box, to the firehouse in Washington DC. When I went to the firehouse in Columbia, it had a museum. I arrived at about eleven in the morning, and the weather was nice. I was wearing a ratty looking sweatshirt and blue jeans, just hoping that they would be receptive to the idea of donating a patch. When I walked in the front door, a man who became my dear friend Vern Davis was sitting behind the counter. When I told him of my ‘strange request’, not only did he get me a patch, but he took me to lunch. He responded to the idea of my project like a worried father, telling me that I needed to be careful where I rested my head at night. He showed me pictures of his dog and we talked about our families. He let me follow him around while he gave a tour of the firehouse to a military family that was in town for a visit. He said something during the tour that I’ll never forget. “I’ve been a firefighter more than 25 years and it’s because when that bell rings and we go out the door, there is no racism, there is no judgement, we are just going out to help.” Maybe that’s why I like these guys so much. That night I spent four hours in my truck outside the library, watching the street people walk past my truck. I wanted to start passing out the blankets and things that I had, but I knew it would be dangerous in the middle of the night. Watching the sunset behind this half-finished building in downtown Columbia. I accessed the libraries wireless internet from the parking lot, so I just sat outside and thought about the heroes I had met in just 6 short days. DAY 7
The last day of the first week, I drove around Columbia in the afternoon and donated items to the places that the people on the street had mentioned to me as I walked around downtown. I went to the family shelter and dropped off some blankets. I went to the neighborhood Co-op and dropped off some clothes and coats, and I went to the food pantry and dropped off the bags of canned food. The people that I talked to were so happy to get whatever I could give them, and it was amazing to see how many people are working toward the same objective that I am. They do the same thing, they just do it differently. If we all did what we were good at, but we donated it to our communities, it really could change the world. It only requires a common dream. As I left South Carolina, I thought about the people I had met as I walked door to door. This approach to travel is incredible, because it allows me to get the impression of a community as though it has reached out and touched me, and I have touched it. I meet strangers all day and watch as they are presented with the opportunity to give, in a small way, back to other strangers. I never know who will come to the door, or what they will show me. It's not just the hand behind the door knob either, it's the guy at the library, or the girl at the bus station. It's the guy sitting on the steps of the church, or it's your best friend. People change our lives everyday, and we would never guess it when we say hello.HOME.
