Inspired by my trips down to Savannah and an unconditional love of everything oyster. This as well makes me think of my grandad's stories of running illegal corn liquor from Ninety Six South Carolina down to the shipyards of Brunswick Georgia in the 1920's. I will never forget, "Don't ever get caught in Ludowici," he would warn, "the Law there," then eyes to the ground and a slow nodding of the head. I never got the full story, but to this day my fear precludes my foot in Ludowici Georgia.
This wasn't my life. I was an Air Force Brat with deep southern roots, born on an Air Force base, I have no "hometown." I was raised around NASA rockets, roaring F4 Phantoms overhead and silos of mixed-race men working harmoniously in deep holes filled with intercontinental ballistic missiles and my dad, the officer, with the code and keys to WW3. I grew up knowing I was ground zero everywhere I went.
Why these images and stories come out from my fingers is beyond me.
