SkyWatch Friday: Blue on the Ridge

One day last week my daughter and I tooled up and over to the tiny but charming Town of Ridgeway, in Fairfield County.

From Columbia, you hie onto I-77 North, pretend you're going all the way to Charlotte (or beyond), then veer off when you see the sign for Highway 34.

You take that road due east, think one or two happy thoughts, and voilà, you are in the stomping grounds of Pig on the Ridge and other succulent and quasi-bucolic delights.

In other words: America ... the beautiful, the quintessential.

There is Laura's Tea Room, a/k/a The Thomas Company, LLC, housed in an exquisite vintage building with an original Philco sign decorating the front.

There, we enjoyed sandwiches that were pretty good although I must say two things to the proprietors:

If you're going to theme your menu after a BBC megahit as popular as Downton Abbey (note the conspicuous "e" in Abbey) -- going so far as to name menu items after its characters -- learn to spell the names correctly.

Why else do we have an Internet? Heaven knows it's good for little else than research.

Well ... except, of course, with the exception of access to this exceptional blog. I will thank you not to snicker.

While you're at it, look up what a Monte Cristo sandwich actually is. As in, how it must be prepared in order to legitimately bear the name of that particular delicacy.

I don't mind paying eight ninety-five for a Monte Cristo provided that is truly what's provided. Even with two paltry sides.

Hint: It involves dredging said sammie through beaten egg and frying in a pan, like French toast.

However, I hasten to add that the Mr. Carson's Cuban was pretty good. Kudos on the Cuban.

My daughter and I shared. Can you tell? Don't be jeal.

But I digress.

After lunch my girl and I stroll-moseyed up and down Palmer Street -- comprising what remains of downtown Ridgeway -- enjoying the fine day, taking pictures of gloriously ordinary things, and shopping at Over the Top.

I tried on several hats -- you know I'm a sucker for millinery -- but did not consider buying one.

Our efforts did yield a dress for me and a necklace for her. And we made a new friend, who packaged our purchases so adorably, it was like a gift.

Quitting that fashion emporium, we window-shopped the rest of the way.

We chuckled at the whimsical Old Police Station (1940-1990), where I imagine even one as physically insubstantial as Barney Fife would have room enough to just barely turn around and (carefully) make one ill-fated decision at a time.

No room for Andy and a desk. Forget the jail cells.

Even so, Barney would most certainly be obliged to go outside in order to change his mind.

The whole thing doesn't offer much more square footage than the phone booth (remember those?) stationed beside the new Ridgeway Police Department building a few dozen yards away.

Which itself is not exactly spacious. I have seen larger walk-in closets.

But I don't imagine there's a great deal of crime in Ridgeway.

Still on foot, we cruised past Cotton Yard Market, a consignment and antique shop so crammed with treasure, the trove spills onto the sidewalk.

As a result of our brief wanderings and watchings, free for nothing, we gleaned that rare pleasure that comes from the feeling that one has succeeded in placing at least a pinky-toe backwards in time.

You know: Where Things Were Better. Simpler. Slower. Less Complicated. More Innocent.

Like when you contemplate the old-fashioned Tin Man-esque water tower.

I love those from every angle.

I'll take that light reminiscent touch, although I know full well it is a mirage, a thin veil beyond which timeless reality is in staunch residence, resolute as ever.

Even on a brief sojourn in a town like Ridgeway, one feels it at the edges if not at the very core.

A peeling black-clad angel, planted just beyond a low retaining wall, met our glance on the way back to Highway 34, the Interstate, and Columbia.

Naturally we stopped and I took her picture, and listened to what she had to say.

I was prettier once. It was better once. Everything was prettier and better once ... she seemed to whisper.

And that's how I remember it too.

But even if I didn't, on an almost-summer day in a drowsy sun-drenched southern town thirty-five miles northeast of home, you can buy into it without even trying.

The friendly people, the sweet air, the plentiful flowers, and the soaring blue of the sky certainly help.

And that is all for now.

God bless America.

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Happy Friday ~ Happy Memorial Day Weekend

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Comments

[Glenda]

What a fun, relaxing day. Much needed for R&R occasionally and what a unique place Ridgeway seems to be. As to a real Monte Cristo...my interest peaked at that point and hoped you had found the "real" thing. You know me...love a good one!

Wonderful post and great pics.

[irene]

Sounds like a perfect day.

[Mari]

What a marvelous day! I love your pictures and really did feel that I stepped back in time. The Tea room held such promise, but misspellings goofs on sandwiches are a bummer.
Stepping back into a quaint little town is like a breath of fresh air.