After a year confined in the woods of upstate New York, the spring night felt like summer.
Not for the balmy 75 degrees warming our skin. Nor for the tender breeze lifting golden wisps loose from my braid. Not for the Lowcountry sun casting its bronzed farewell across the rippling salt marsh. But for the first chance to cruise around languorously on 3-speeds, our roomy baskets stuffed with books and a blanket, past families toasting marshmallows in stone fire pits while children laughed at melted chocolate dripping from their chins. For that summer feeling known as “carefree,” a gift to sweep away a year of worries and anxiety, received during our first post-vaccination trip to South Carolina’s Palmetto Bluff.
An idyllic enclave in southern South Carolina, Palmetto Bluff encompasses many things. A community, a hotel, a new paradigm for a lifestyle.
First and foremost, however, Palmetto Bluff acts as protector. Founded in 2003, the Palmetto Bluff Conservancy and its team, led by director Jay Walea, follow the mandate to maintain the ecological and environmental “integrity” of a portion of its 20,000 acres of wilderness at the confluence of the May, Cooper, and New Rivers from future development. At present, 7500 acres are in permanent conservation with more in the pipeline.
Graceful birds, aquatic creatures, amphibians, reptiles, and mammals cling to the vestiges of forest, tidal creeks, and marsh that remain along America’s Eastern Seaboard. Developers, with the blessings of local leadership from New York to Florida, have reduced America’s vast coastal lands into million-dollar views for the affluent few, despite knowledge of climate change, rising seas, and the impact the loss of this wilderness buffer has on hurricane damage to homes and cities.
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Palmetto Bluff still encompasses a planned community, holding blueprints to build more homes. But the Conservancy is tasked with educating all parties involved in the development on the flora and fauna, including rules around native landscaping, distance from water’s edge, and other measures intended to lessen a home’s environmental impact, making it as sympathetic to the landscape as possible.
Of course, a casual observer riding a bike in a haze of double-shot-Moderna happiness, might not notice these seamless but important efforts. The architects approved to work in Palmetto Bluff have mastered the art of fine coastal design, giving homes an air of history with impeccable upkeep.
Graceful, covered porches feature rope swings and black plantation rockers; vintage-styled wavy glass framed in black shutters looks straight from the 19th century. Left intact, the old live oaks draped in Spanish moss and spike-leafed palmettos, lend the neighborhoods of Wilson Village in the north, and Moreland Village four miles south, an organic, lived in feel.
Visitors, eager for a taste of this Norman Rockwell-by-the-water life, stay at Montage Palmetto Bluff. I’ve never felt like a hotel could love me back the way I fell in love with it, but the Montage requited my affection.
From discreet touches like warm cookies with caramel sauce at turn-down, slippers set by the bed—husband’s on his side, a plush lady-size version on mine—hotel staff read minds before thoughts finished forming.
Even with a brief 2-day stay, we established a routine. Morning yoga on the porch watching herons strut around the lagoon. Lunch by the pool followed by watermelon margaritas at the Mexican-style bar and restaurant Fore & Aft overlooking an avian sanctuary.
During the day, we saw families stop in the Canteen for coffees, snacks, and grilling provision. As I discovered while talking to staff, fine weather affording an outdoor lifestyle lured a raft of well-heeled northerners down to work remotely, sequestered from the troubles of the world while able to kayak, SUP, cycle, or play golf and tennis. I now see why some families might take the “year at the Bluff” programming literally.
We split our evenings between two restaurants. On the first night, we visited the Canoe Club for belly-filling crab beignets and tender rack of lamb. We sipped California Pinot Noir and Negronis beneath a lazy fan on the screened porch.
At the more casual Cole’s, we gorged on unctuous ribs and a mound of pulled pork nachos topped in cooling watermelon pico, a platter better suited to a party of six. Local craft beers washed it all down.
We capped each night with a visit to the S’mores cart. We cycled over, impaled our marshmallows, and watched as the white sugar puff smoldered in the flames. After a year isolated in the Catskills, rehydrating beans for vegetarian stews through endless winters months, the excess felt hedonistic—almost wrong.
The planet was burning. Insect populations were dwindling. People were mourning losses from Covid-19. Yet here we were, playing house in a gorgeous cabin next to a modern-day Mayberry. The only mysteries for local sheriffs to crack encompassed wandering pets and misplaced bikes.
But talking to staff about the Conservancy, not just demanding homeowners comply with eco-friendly codes but educating them on the value of preserving what remains, buoyed my spirits.
Hearing from staff about the difficulties of the prior year, their fears over hospitality and tourism job losses, and their happiness at welcoming guests back, assuaged my interim guilt. After all, we were helping an industry shattered by a pandemic to rebound by spending dollars at a property built to look after the land with intention.
Ultimately, everyone who comes to Palmetto Bluff gets a chance to live carefree, including the wildlife. With that in mind, I ordered another glass of wine and asked for a real estate brochure.
Follow my adventures at Palmetto Bluff and around South Carolina on Instagram at chasingthevine.
