It is dark and well past 10pm. The engine has been fighting him, but roars to life. It has spent many days being built in the hands of John Herald before finally breathing its first. This particular engine is destined for an old fire truck in Chicago. John will have to drive it up there to install it, too.

He credits his interest in auto repair and restoration to his Dad. John started working on cars...

It has been a warm day. By now a cool breeze has picked up and is moving away the warmth of the day. It is around 7pm, and the City Market in Charleston is bustling with people. Chelle Fazal is part of the Night Market and has her paintings set up here. She has brought out her new jellyfish painting and is looking forward to a great night.

Her journey has required due diligence. It has taken her almost two decades of windy roads, dry spells and hectic schedules to get here...

I found it by accident. Usually, nothing can distract me when I'm in the market in downtown Charleston.

"What do you mean, a MoonPie store?" I said. I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Like...a store that sells MoonPies," my friend says way too casually.

I shook my head. Cars and pedestrians angrily swerved around me.

"It can't be," I whispered.

It is Thursday afternoon at Tara Vis Gallery in downtown Charleston, and there is music playing. It's fun, upbeat, and the kind you want to sing along to if you you could understand the words.


Ivet Butler manages Tara Vis Gallery and is from Slovakia. She loves Slovakian, French and American music, in no particular order. She loves Jazz too because there are no words, just feeling. You could talk at length with her about French music and also Brigit Bardot...

Darrell Johnson is a man who, while embracing the present, has a fondness for the past. He remembers a time when grocery stores closed at 9pm. He tells me that you were out of luck if you didn't get what you needed before then. He knows that everyday life can't return to being that way but he feels for those people now have to work throughout the night in a 24hr world.

At 14 years old, Darrell was no different than his 14 yr son today, looking for stuff to do without parents around. At 15, he had a license to drive which only allowed him to drive until 5pm. He teamed up with an older boy who could drive at night, and together they took turns driving. Going to high school games was the thing to do back then.

My dog is named after a plant, so it only made sense that Fern and I would venture to the Outdoor Festival and experience the James Island County Park. 

Fern is just shy of two years old and is a coonhound mix. My little plant dog is afraid of everything: bees, the sound of plastic containers, loud noises, stairs, food scoops, middle aged men.  I can tell that she wants to hang out with other dogs, but she sits and stares at them forlornly, feeling like an outsider.

I only know all of this because I am nosey and read her diary.

It is almost evening, and there is some great light still left in the sky. Michael has a few minutes for me to photograph him before he needs to get to the gallery. Tonight is the night of the monthly art walk. Soon, downtown Charleston will be bustling with art admirers visiting galleries looking for new and fresh art from the many talented creatives in town.

The rich art culture of this city was the reason Michael decided to move here almost two decades ago. He chose Charleston for its combination of small town and thriving art community.

Originally from Wisconsin, Michael took a detour through California before planting himself here.

Like any good Ohioans, my family trekked off to the beach every summer.  As experts of I-75, my parents had a special knack for finding pit stops that would not only entertain their children, but also enrich their minds.  They had a good rate going too - about two thirds of their children enjoyed the excursions (which were exclusively Civil War battlefields).  The other third, me, could not have cared less. Easily car sick and easily bored, I would walk around the mosquito-infested fields with a frown on my face, sipping on a warm box of apple juice as the sun beat down on my sour little body in khaki shorts.  

By the time we arrived at the beach, I would practically fling myself out of the minivan, kissing the ground and yelling out my praises.

“Thank you, thank you for not being an endless field of grass,” I murmured into the gravel driveway.

“Elaine, get up, you’re going to get bitten by a crab.”

Gregg Lambton-Carr grew up in Johannesburg, South Africa. There he fell in love with the water, the outdoors, and nature. He fell in love with adventure. Time in the water made him a scuba instructor, and the love of nature made him a photographer. You should ask him about his military service, his nature tours and photographic safaris sometime. Once he gets to know you, maybe he will share his memories about his three-month trip through Africa with six other guys packed in a Land Rover.