Sunday, August 24, 2025

Summerville, August 31, 1886--A Haunting Tale Amidst an Earth-Shattering Cataclysm

The day’s oppressive humidity lingered, even at this late hour. Lost in thought, I found myself reflecting on the troubling peculiarities that had unfolded. There was a strange quiet—not among the people I’d encountered, but in the behavior of the animals. The usual chatter of local birds had vanished. In fact, I couldn’t recall seeing a single bird all day. The carriage horses had been unusually skittish, and even the dog at the train depot seemed unnerved.

A sharp blast from the train whistle jolted me from my reverie, signaling the final call for departure. A cloud of hot steam billowed into the air as the locomotive lurched forward, then gradually eased away from the platform. The final leg of my journey had begun.

I checked my pocket watch: 8:50 p.m. Charleston lay ahead, with an expected arrival around 10:30. I had been looking forward to my stay at the elegant Charleston Hotel on Meeting Street with eager anticipation.

As a writer and publisher, I enjoyed certain privileges when it came to reading material. In my possession was a cherished collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s works. Settling into my seat as we pulled away from Branchville, I recalled that Poe had once been stationed on Sullivan’s Island, a barrier island near Charleston. I planned to visit several places tied to his legacy—Fort Moultrie, and the war-scarred plantations along the oak-lined Ashley River Road. Runnymede, in particular, had been a favorite haunt of his.

I peered out the window and stared at the passing trees. Moonlight filtered through their branches, casting a soft, dancing glow onto the low-growing bushes. The visual effect was as shadowy as the writings I was about to immerse myself into. The rhythmic clickety-clack of the heavy steel wheels rolling over the tracks informed me that the train had reached full throttle. Around me, some passengers had drifted into sleep, while others quietly read—much too late for conversation. I flipped open the cover of the dossier resting on my lap and began reading The Gold-Bug. For an unknown length of time, I slipped into the reality that was Poe.

Suddenly, a thunderous explosion rocked the train, jolting me from my seat. For a brief, surreal moment, I felt weightless—levitating above the cushion—before crashing down with a spine-jarring thud. The violent motion repeated again and again, each impact more disorienting than the last.

Piercing screams erupted from the compartment as passengers were tossed about, helpless against the chaos. An ungodly hissing sound accompanied the relentless jolts—up and down, back and forth—like a beast thrashing in its death throes. Through the window, I glimpsed a geyser of water erupting from the earth, shooting skyward. The train’s forward momentum sputtered violently. I sensed the engineer was desperately trying to slow us, but the effort seemed futile. Prayers filled the air, whispered and shouted alike.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the upheaval ceased.

Miraculously, the train remained on the tracks. Dazed passengers began to assess their condition. Aside from bruises and shaken nerves, it appeared no one was seriously injured. Another sudden jolt startled the already traumatized group—but this time, it was the familiar lurch of a train decelerating. We crept to a halt.

I retrieved my pocket watch, its glass shattered, the hands frozen at 9:50 p.m. Around me, pages from Poe’s dossier lay scattered like fallen leaves. I gathered them up and stepped off the train.

An eerie orange glow bathed the night sky. Fires burned in the distance, and uprooted trees lay strewn across the landscape like discarded matchsticks. Ahead of the smoking engine, flares cast flickering light over the scene. We had stopped just short of what appeared to be a depot.

Straightening my disheveled clothing, I made my way to the front of the locomotive. The engineer was deep in conversation with a man I didn’t recognize. Steadying my nerves, I approached and introduced myself. I asked what had happened—and where, exactly, we were.

The man turned to me and offered his name, “Frank Doar, the stationmaster.” As we walked toward the depot, he began to recount a most unusual story.

Frank began his account with a steady voice, though the memory clearly weighed on him.

“It was 9:45 p.m. The inbound train had just passed Jedburg. I was sitting in my chair at the depot, drifting in and out of sleep, when I was startled by the sudden appearance of an elderly Black man on the platform. He seemed to materialize out of nowhere—filthy, drenched in sweat, breathless, and visibly agitated.

He told me, in a rush of words, that he’d run several miles up the rail line from a section where the tracks were severely bent. He urged me to release warning flares immediately to alert the incoming train of the danger ahead.

Now, I know everyone who works this line, and I thought I knew everyone in the community—but I’d never seen this man before. The moonlight caught the sweat on his head, giving it a strange halo-like glow. Under normal circumstances, I might have been wary of such a demand. But something about him—his urgency, his eyes—made me trust him. Without hesitation, I deployed the torpedoes.

As I finished placing the last device, I turned to speak to him again. But he was gone. Vanished. As if he’d dissolved into the night air.”

Frank paused, then pulled out his pocket watch.

“The whole encounter—his arrival, the warning, the emergency preparations—had taken only five minutes. It was exactly 9:50 p.m. Just then, an eerie hissing sound swept through the town, followed by a deafening explosion. The ground shook violently. I heard walls and chimneys collapsing, trees groaning as they were ripped from the earth. A massive earthquake had struck Summerville.”

His story left me spellbound.

Passengers had begun to disembark, gathering at the station in search of answers and a way to continue their journey. Whispers of Frank’s account passed from one traveler to another, each person trying to make sense of the mysterious warning.

Soon, a message arrived. Farther up the line, between Summerville and Ten Mile Hill near Woodstock Station, the quake had twisted the tracks into a serpentine curve. A train that had departed Summerville for Charleston derailed during the earthquake. The engineer was critically injured. A crew member had been killed.

The flares Frank deployed had saved our train from the same fate.

Yet one question lingered: how had the old man known? He had vanished without a trace. No one ever saw him again. No one ever got the chance to thank him.

As for Frank Doar, though he was the one who placed the flares and prevented disaster, he refused to take credit. He believed, with quiet conviction, that the old man was an angel.

At least, that was the story Frank told.

Visit Summerville

Wednesday, August 13, 2025

Somewhere in Time--A Stay at Summerville's Pine Forest Inn

Shrouded in a final blast of steam, the Summerville Short eased into the station—a small, elaborately decorated Victorian-style structure. Stepping onto the depot platform, I glanced at my pocket watch. The bright Lowcountry sun reflected off its glassy face. It was 2:05 p.m. 

"Right on time," I whispered.

A plume of black smoke billowed from the locomotive's smokebox and was quickly whisked away by the warm, early afternoon breeze.

Horse-drawn carriages awaited arriving passengers. I surveyed the depot area for my reserved transportation and spotted a group of coachmen. One among them held up a piece of paper with my name on it. I approached the smartly dressed gentleman and identified myself.

"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Summerville," he said.

His words were tainted with a quaint accent, quite different from what I was used to back in Ohio. He handed me a newspaper dated April 9, 1902. I stepped aboard the carriage. With a gentle tug on the reins by my experienced driver, the carriage eased forward.

The downtown district was crowded with people. Rumors that President Roosevelt and his entourage were in the Summerville area abounded—a bit of information I had overheard while on the train.

To the left of our advancing carriage was a fenced-in square, landscaped with rows of live oaks and a diamond-shaped walkway where children were at play.

On the opposite side of the square stood a row of wooden buildings, dominated by a nearly completed triple-arched façade bearing the designation Arcade Theater. To our right, a few gentlemen standing in front of a pharmacy hospitably tipped their hats as we passed.

Turning the corner at an intersection, I asked, "What is the name of this road?"

The coachman replied, "Main Street."

I followed with an additional question. "The tall building on the right with the bell tower—what purpose does it serve?"

"Town Hall, sir."

Leaving the town square behind, we passed a white directional sign covered with wooden pointers bearing the names of various inns and hotels located throughout Old Summerville. Then came several large homes bordered by white picket fences, each richly adorned with a profusion of magenta-colored flowers noticeably common to the area.

We entered a thick stand of tall pines intermingled with aged, moss-covered live oaks. Clusters of wisteria dangled freely from some of the branches. I inhaled a full breath of air—it was distinctly laced with the refreshing scent of pine.

Winding through the shaded canopy, it wasn't long before we came upon a broad, brick-paved drive flanked by huge white urns containing plantings of the same flowers growing throughout the town. We passed under a columned gateway surrounded by beautiful gardens—more wisteria and azaleas.

At the end of the driveway, rising four stories high into the needled branches of the tall pines, was the castellated center rotunda of the Pine Forest Inn—my accommodation for the next couple of days.

My carriage pulled up to the Inn's steps. Five horse riders sauntered past. I stepped off, paid the gentleman, and ascended the flight of stairs.

The front piazza was impressive. Wider in the middle, it extended out on each side of the rotunda the full length of the building and ended in a hexagonal shape at the corners. Patrons were scattered about the piazza on chairs, enjoying the southern exposure and their afternoon tea—likely made from tea leaves grown locally at the renowned Pinehurst Tea Plantation of Dr. Charles Shepard. I had read about it in a magazine on the train. A tour of the Pinehurst Tea Garden was scheduled for tomorrow.

Upon entering the impressive building, two smiling ladies curtsied as I passed. I acknowledged their genteel gesture with a smile and a tip of my hat.

The front entrance hall ran the full length of the rotunda. It was majestic. Arched walls set upon pillars divided the rotunda foyer from other sections. A grand staircase led to the upper floors, where thick wooden handrails wrapped around the open galleries. As I walked it, I estimated it to be forty-seven feet from front to back.

Large, oak-mantled fireplaces with marble hearths and exotic plants were placed strategically throughout the spacious lobby. Rocking chairs were scattered about. At the rear entrance, another long piazza served a huge three-sided courtyard.

I checked in at the desk. A double-chinned, spectacle-wearing hotel clerk greeted me with a smile and a Southern, “Good afternoon.” I informed him of my two-day reservation. After signing the necessary papers, he rattled off some of the amenities.

“There is an Amusement Hall with a bowling alley and billiard tables, two lawn tennis courts, croquet grounds, an 18-hole golf course, a swimming pool, and a livery with sixty horses.”

I touched the brim of my hat and nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” he replied, then added, “Would you like some help with your bag, sir?”

I declined the offer. He then directed my attention to a tray at the end of the counter holding crystal glasses and a matching pitcher filled with an iced, amber-colored mixture.

“Help yourself to a glass of freshly brewed Summerville sweet tea, sir.”

I poured a glass and took a sip. “Interestingly tasty,” I corroborated.

I turned and boarded the electric elevator that serviced the three upper floors—each with its own lobby and its share of the 150 suites and singles. As we slowly ascended, I engaged the elevator operator in some small talk. He willingly and gladly complied, offering a few quick tips about Summerville.

I was assigned a single on the second floor at five dollars a night.

I entered the room. Large windows bathed the interior in warm sunlight and provided an excellent view of the grounds below. Steam  radiators lined the exterior walls. A painting of Drayton Hall hung above an elaborately carved mantle.

I placed my suitcase next to the open fireplace and set the empty crystal glass on a marble-topped table beside the room’s large cherry poster bed. The comfortably appointed room also included a private bath and an electric bell connected to the general office for personal service.

I emptied my suitcase and freshened up a bit before setting out to further familiarize myself with the Inn’s appointments.

After another short ride on the elevator, I returned to the main lobby. I curiously peeked into the adjacent dining room. Paneled in Southern curly pine, the complementary woodwork was elegant. Divided into three sections by wooden arches and comfortably filled with beautiful table settings, it seated 250 people. An American flag hung from the chandeliered ceiling.

It was near 3:35 p.m., according to a nearby grandfather clock. The brunch crowd had already dispersed to other suitable areas. The dining room staff was busy making preparations for the evening meal.

Other common rooms included a large main-floor parlor; ladies’ private parlors with toilet rooms; reception rooms; a library; reading room; sun parlor with exotic plants; wine and smoking rooms; and a Rocking Chair Room. Similar to the dining room, all were paneled with Southern curly pine.

Women sitting in the sun parlor engaged in chit-chat centered around their families and social events. Some rocked baby carriages with their feet while doing needlework. They all wore fancy hats and long, lacy dresses—the ankle reveal was socially frowned upon.

Gathered in the wine and smoking room, men in suits debated the latest news and talked about their golf game.

The Rocking Chair Room fascinated me the most. I could never resist the invitation of a rocking chair. I would venture to say there were about a hundred chairs—thirty, by my estimation, presently occupied. It was the right occasion for some self-indulgence. The seconds quietly ticked away with each back-and-forth motion. The seconds ticked into minutes. I pulled out my pocket watch. It was 4:45 p.m.

My restful thoughts turned to dinner. I contemplated the pleasure of indulging in the highly acclaimed, blue-ribbon cuisine the Inn was famous for. The first-class chefs were advertised as preparing their culinary delights with ingredients gathered from local gardens, along with meat and seafood delivered fresh by train from Charleston and New York markets.

After dinner, perhaps I would share a glass of wine with Florence Nightingale Graham in the wine room, shoot some billiards with Dr. Shepard, or discuss literature with Edna St. Vincent Millay in the library. Tomorrow, attend a fox hunt on Ingleside with Teddy Roosevelt.

After all, this was the illustrious Pine Forest Inn of Summerville—where the imagination had no boundaries.

Visit Summerville SC | AT THE HEART OF IT ALL

Wednesday, July 30, 2025

Pine Trace Natural Area Ribbon Cutting Ceremony--Join in on the Fun

Nestled in the heart of South Carolina’s Lowcountry, Summerville is a town that seamlessly blends southern charm with progressive community development. Known for its blooming azaleas and historic streets, it's now blossoming in new ways—through a series of thoughtfully designed parks that offer residents and visitors more opportunities to connect with nature, play, and unwind. Summerville is redefining outdoor living one park at a time.

The 306-acre hardwood mixed forest at 303 Chandler Creek Road off of Miles Jamison was purchased in 2011. On March 15, 2021, County Council approved of a master plan for the property. In 2023, The Town of Summerville Design Review Board approved of the plans for Pine Trace Natural Area to be located on the property, and on March 9 of that year, Dorchester County Parks held a groundbreaking event to begin construction. I have followed its progress since with great interest for the past two years in anticipation of finally playing its featured 18-hole disc golf course. Finally, the ribbon cutting ceremony for the park will be on Thursday, August 14 at 9:30 am, and you are invited--admission is free. 

Along with its challenging disc golf course, Pine Trace features an extensive 10-mile trail system, 6-acre fishing pond, observation deck and fishing pier, SUP and kayak launch, picnic shelters, large playground, and dog parks. Facilities include a Guard House at its entrance, spacious Welcome Center, kayak rental and concession stand, and restrooms. Everything will be free--frozen treats, kayak rentals, and golf disc rentals.

Pine Trace Natural Area is another fantastic outdoor recreational space offered by Dorchester County Parks and Recreation and the Town of Summerville. Whether you’re a longtime Lowcountry local or just passing through, it is a fresh breath of adventure and community. Don’t miss the ribbon cutting—come celebrate nature, recreation, and the spirit of Summerville.









Visit Summerville

Friday, July 18, 2025

The Summerville Light--A New Argument as the Reason for the Mysterious Lights

Former Sheep Island Road
This article is for all residents of Summerville who remember and experienced the famous Summerville Light of Sheep Island Road—locally dubbed Light Road. Over the years, I’ve written articles about this ghostly phenomenon, and it remains the most popular and beloved ghost story in Summerville’s history. I received over 16,000 responses from readers who recounted their personal experiences with the Light, and a few who were skeptics—though they were overwhelmingly in the minority.

Legend has it the Light is the glow of a lantern guiding the ghost of a woman searching for her decapitated husband along a stretch of railroad tracks that once ran near Sheep Island Road.

Several theories have been proposed as scientific explanations for the Light and its unsettling physical effects—terrorizing motorists by violently shaking cars or inexplicably cutting power to their vehicles. Theories range from swamp gas and ball lightning to headlights reflecting off various road signs.

On Monday morning, July 14, the United States Geological Survey had confirmed reports of an earthquake in the Summerville area. Data from the USGS confirmed that an earthquake of about 2.2 to 2.4 magnitude occurred just before 10 a.m., about a mile east-northeast of the town center of Summerville near Berlin G. Meyers Parkway in Dorchester County. It had a depth of between about 3 and 5 miles, though officials are still working to narrow down the exact measurements of the quake based on the data received from several tools. This is not uncommon occurrence.

At this point, you may be wondering what the Monday earthquake has to do with the Summerville Light. Surprisingly, it may have a connection with another famous Summerville event that occurred in 1886, The Great Charleston Earthquake. A seismologist has offered these natural events as a scientific explanation for the floating orb: a phenomenon called, earthquake lights. Susan Hough of the United States Geological Survey published her earthquake idea in a research article late last month in Seismological Research Letters.

An article in the Smithsonian Magazine explained it this way, "Earthquake lights are mysterious phenomena that have been observed around the world, but scientists still don’t have a clear idea of what causes them. Some have proposed that seismic activity deforms minerals in the Earth, creating an electrical charge that can lead air molecules to glow. Another theory is that they’re related to the release of gases like radon or methane, which can ignite when they're exposed to a spark of static electricity. Hough believes the railroad tracks, in particular, are the key to Summerville’s ghosts."

Hough said in an interview with Post and Courier, "Historically, when rail companies replaced tracks, they didn’t always haul the old track away. So, you’ve got heaps of steel out there. Sparks might be part of the story. That could explain why so many ghost stories—even beyond Summerville—involve lights over railways. When you start looking around, it turns out there's any number of ghosts wandering around railroad tracks with lanterns looking for severed heads. There’s kind of an epidemic of them."

There you have it—mystery solved. Or is it? What say you, Summerville residents of the Summerville Light era?

An Illustration

The unstoppable freight train called progress changed the landscape around the same I-26 real estate, quite possibly closing the chapter on the era of the Summerville Light. The Nexton I-26 connector was constructed. The overpass that once led to the dark, overgrown, wooded hollow is no longer there. Only remnants of the once-haunted stretch of Sheep Island Road remain.

As you enter the Nexton Parkway exit off I-26 heading north, glance quickly to your right. You may catch a glimpse of the remaining tattered pavement. It briefly touches Sigma Drive before crossing Nexton Parkway, extending northward—parallel to the new Del Webb Community—then fading into obscurity.

It is gone, but not forgotten, as a growing Southern town 23 miles outside of Charleston reimagines itself, closing one chapter to open another.

Smithsonian Magazine article 

Visit Summerville

Sunday, June 1, 2025

Fresh Seafood and More on Charleston's Scenic Waterfront--Fleet Landing Restaurant and Bar

For years a solitary eating establishment located along the Cooper River waterfront of Charleston, it has been fortuitously swept up into a bigger vision called The Cooper, Charleston's first luxury waterfront hotel, which will feature 191 rooms, infinity pool, spa, and event spaces slated to open in October. The hotel property will connect Joe Riley Waterfront Park with a water's edge scenic walkway leading to the Fleet Landing Restaurant and Bar located at its north flank.

Fleet Landing Restaurant is housed in a 6,000 square foot, hurricane proof, 1940s retired naval building. It juts out over the marsh on a reinforced pier and boasts oversized windows that offer an unobstructed view of the Charleston Harbor. Built in 1942 by the US Navy as a debarkation point for sailors, the building lay vacant after World War II until it was acquired by the South Carolina Port Authority in the 1960s and used for storage. The structure fell into disrepair. Despite its condition, it caught the attention of Tradd Newton who predicted, "One day, I'm going to put something in that building," and he did. Newton, with the guiding vision of Charleston architect Reggie Gibson and his wife/business partner Weesie, fulfilled that dream.



Food and Wine Magazine described Fleet Landing Restaurant's interior as "maritime chic." When you step through its doors, your initial impression is unmistakable. The interior is without a doubt very spacious with community tables and a long, running bar on one side. One wall is covered with orange life preservers and another with a glass door display of assorted wines. Beyond its large windows, there is plenty of outdoor dining on picnic style tables with orange umbrellas where you can soak in the harbor atmosphere.

Fleet Landing Restaurant is by and large a seafood destination, and one of the most popular. However, dinner entrees do include a Filet Mignon, Boneless Ribeye Steak and Chicken Piccata, while the lunch menu included an 8 oz Angus Burger, Grilled Chicken Sandwich, and a Fried Green Tomato "BLT". The seafood offerings are plentiful and diverse. It also has a Gluten Free Menu, both lunch and dinner. All menus offer a wide variety of selections.


We were there for lunch. We did not have a reservation, and the wait was about twenty minutes for outdoor seating, which we requested. For a drink, I am partial to pomegranate, so I selected the Pomegranate Mojito made with Don Q Passionfruit Rum and Pomegranate Juice for $13--a pleasing refresher. From the lunch menu, I chose the Fried Flounder Sandwich with pepper jack cheese, lettuce, tomato, and Cajun tartar sauce for $16--fish was fresh with a pleasant coating. Our server was helpful and efficient, visited our table often, and did it all with a cheerful smile.

Fleet Landing Restaurant and Bar is a quality seafood destination with a fantastic location, if you do not mind the pluff mud aroma at low tide, but that is all part of the waterfront experience. It lives up to its motto of having something for everyone. It is suggested you set up a reservation, especially for dinner sittings and beyond into the evening.

HOURS OF OPERATION:

Lunch: Seven Days a Week 11am-3:30pm

Dinner: Seven Days a Week 5pm-10pm

186 Concord Street, Charleston, SC

Phone: (843) 722-8100

Saturday, April 26, 2025

Kersey House in Summerville--A historic Gathering Place for Dining and Everything Else

Seems as though French inspired cuisine is becoming a thing in Summerville these days. Two of the many eating establishments recently making their debut in the town feature French classics like Croque Monsieur, Short Rib Bourguignon, and Beef Tartare. One of them is owned and operated by South Carolina resident Nico Romo, who is one of only 66 French master chefs in the country. The name of his magnifique entreprise is Kersey House. Why does a French restaurant have an English name, you may wonder? The original owners of the grand dame of Summerville no doubt would not want it any other way, and Nico agreed. Tributes to the Kersey family are found throughout the stunning estate's rooms.

Kersey House is located in the heart of "the heart of it all." It was built in the early 1900s, shortly after the construction of Summerville's famed railroad station just across the tracks. As you approach the historic property, the pristine white exterior of the house shimmers in the sunlight. Its signature double wrap-around southern porches beckon you to step up as the restaurants unassuming sign directly above states you have arrived at the right place.


Inside, the venue boasts 12-inch baseboards. The four grand parlor rooms feature restored original heart pine floors and beautiful fireplaces; each painted with a color of its own. The main dining space boasts a soaring ceiling adorned with impressive crystal chandeliers, large windows, cheerful yellow walls, and a full bar with plenty of seating. Beyond its rear door, the venue features a sweeping outdoor space, offering quiet al fresco dining. A large courtyard with red stamped concrete pads creates a distinctive contrast to the property's greenery, presenting an intimate, picturesque setting for any occasion. Last but not least, there is a spacious ballroom to dance the night away.

Kersey House promises to offer a comforting and inviting atmosphere where guests can enjoy exceptional meals, genuine hospitality, unforgettable dining experience. With a focus on high-quality ingredients and classic, approachable dishes, the menu is crafted to celebrate the art of simple, elegant dining. As they would say, la prevue sera dans le pudding.

Our reservation was for 6 pm. We were greeted with a smile upon entry and directed to a table in the front room by a window. There was a comfortable space between tables. With plenty of seating available in the beautifully appointed main dining, I wondered why we were not seated there. Turns out, seating arrangement has to do with balancing out server opportunity. They did offer to move us, but we chose to stay. As the evening progressed, I was not overly thrilled with our location, being close to the entrance and check in. There was a lot of activity of people coming and going. It was a nice space, just not ideal.

We perused the menu. Drinks were first. From the cocktail list, I chose the Sweet Magnolia, as did my companion. It was a mix of Firefly vodka, lemon, cinnamon simple, and hibiscus tea for $13. I am partial to Firefly products, so it was an easy choice. The cocktail was a satisfying and refreshing blend. On the menu, I chose from Les Soupes the French Onion with caramelized onion, baguette crouton, and gruyere for $12, and from Les Sandwiches, the Kersey Signature Burger with remoulade, American cheese, romaine, tomato, and pickles with the colorful Dijon salad for $15. My companion chose from Les Petits Plats a La Baguette with parsley butter, espelette honey $6, and from Les Sandwiches, Chicken Cordon Bleu with Dijon honey mayo, lettuce, tomato, pickle, and brioche for $15. Pardon my French, the French Onion Soup was superbe, and the Kersey Signature Burger was excellente, one of the best burgers I've had, neatly stacked.  My companion souscrit.

Kersey House passed the test for high-quality ingredients and classic, approachable dishes, crafted to celebrate the art of simple, elegant dining. As to a comforting and inviting atmosphere, the room we were seated in was beautifully appointed and comfortable, just not ideal due to the traffic--maybe a decorative partition could be considered. The main dining room is a palatial and classy space with plenty of natural atmosphere. As to genuine hospitality, the staff was accommodating, and our server was friendly, courteous, and attentive to our requests. Used dishes were removed and water glasses filled as needed.

Nico Romo's Kersey House is without a doubt a historic gathering place for fine dining. The menu offers plenty of tasteful choices at reasonable prices. However, it is more than a restaurant, it is an everything else space. It is a grand addition to the many eating establishments making Summerville their home. Check it out if you haven't already.

Mon - Sat 11 am - 9 pm

Sun 11 am - 3 pm (Brunch) 

3 pm - 9 pm (Dinner)

Happy Hour - Monday-Friday 4-6 pm

Lunch Special - Monday-Friday 11 am - 3 pm

117 W Luke Ave, Summerville

843-983-1813


Thursday, April 24, 2025

Step Back to Charleston's Colonial Days during and after the Revolutionary War--The Heyward-Washington House

The Heyward-Washington House became Charleston's first historic house museum in 1930 after being acquired by the Charleston Museum in 1929. It was recognized as a National Historic Landmark in 1978. Two of the Heyward-Washington House's dramatic features are exclusive to Charleston house tours. It is located far from the madding crowd of tourism just south of Broad Street in a quiet section of the Lower Peninsula on Church Street.

Thomas Heyward Jr was one of four South Carolina signers of the Declaration of Independence and an artillery officer with the South Carolina militia in the Revolutionary War. He built his Georgian-style double house in 1772. However, he was captured by the British in 1780 when they took possession of the city and returned in 1781 by way of an exchange. In May of 1891, the city rented the house for George Washington's use during the President's week-long Charleston stay. Thus, it is recognized as the Heyward-Washington House, even though it was purchased from Heyward by John F. Grimke in 1794.

A black sign bearing its name marks the address. Standing at its large, Colonial-style pediment front door, a note requests you to knock. The host welcomes you to step into its large center hall which leads to the room where you either pay for the tour ($15) or present your pre-paid voucher. The tour is a self-guided audio presentation, and you can begin anywhere you want. The audio tour includes a recognition of the contributions of Lowcountry women and the enslaved.

You will see a superb collection of historic Charleston-made furniture as you leisurely stroll from room to room including the priceless Holmes Bookcase, considered one of the finest examples of American-made colonial furniture. The audio device details how each room had a specific use to the family combined with a story from the life of the Heyward family in that particular room. Recovered artifacts are displayed throughout. No surprise, in one of the rooms, you will see a portrait of its famous guest, George Washington, hanging above its fireplace.





The highlight of the tour, in my opinion, is when you step out the back entrance. It is here you will see the two dramatic features exclusive to Charleston house tours--the only 1740s kitchen building open to the public in Charleston as well as formal gardens featuring plants commonly used in the South Carolina Lowcountry in the late 18th century. The carriage house and kitchen building flanked each side with the spacious, beautifully landscaped garden extending beyond to the estate's farthest edges. I was surprised how far back it went. It was interesting to see the wide variety of utensils used in the kitchens and what meals were prepared for Thomas Heyward and guests. There is still an active archeological dig underway in the gardens.



The Heyward-Washington House offers an interesting and informative step back to Charleston's colonial days during and after the Revolutionary War for $15. However, several options are available for purchase. You can combine this tour with tickets to the Charleston Museum for $22 or combine it with tickets to the Museum and a tour of the Joseph Manigault House for $30. Tickets are valid for one year after purchase date. For the options, go to Charleston Museum.

87 Church St, Charleston, SC

Monday-Saturday: 10 am -5:00 pm (last audio tour at 4:15 pm)

Sunday: 12:00 - 5:00 pm (last audio tour at 4:15 pm)