Hilton Head Island is part of the Lowcountry region in the U.S. state of South Carolina. It’s known for Atlantic Ocean beaches and golf courses. The Harbour Town Lighthouse and Museum marks the southwest tip. The Coastal Discovery Museum features heritage buildings, trees and themed gardens. Between the island and mainland, the Pinckney Island National Wildlife Refuge salt marsh hosts deer, alligators and birds.
The channel of water along the west side (upper left of the shoe) of Hilton Head Island is named Calibogue Sound. It appeals to me because, though it is spelled differently, its pronunciation resembles our own nearby Calabogie, Ontario.
In the 1800s, Calabogie functioned primarily as a lumber town, with the river being used to transport logs. The introduction of the K&P Railway near the end of the century transformed the town, pushing the economy to thrive and people to come and leave with ease.
The Kingston and Pembroke Railway (K&P) was a Canadian railway that operated in eastern Ontario. The railway was seen as a business opportunity which would support the lumber and mining industries, as well as the agricultural economy in eastern Ontario. The K&P is affectionately remembered as the Kick and Push railroad. Incorporated in 1871, the K&P was intended to run from Kingston to Pembroke. By 1884, approximately 180 kilometres of mainline and sidings had been laid, reaching Renfrew. By this time the Canada Central Railway had already built a line from Renfrew to Pembroke, and it no longer made financial sense to continue. Thus the K&P was terminated at Renfrew.
This relaxed investigation has typified my lassitude throughout the entire day, punctuated only moments ago by an agreeable plate of hors d’oeuvres constituting a dignified metaphorical conclusion to a perfect day of indolence. I should however note that this dissipation doesn’t contaminate either the depth or the extent of my pleasure. It is rather but an exemplification of the natural percolation of the unwitting and sometimes inspiring events in an unpredictable day free of purpose and resort. Nor is the application otherwise injudicious. Instead it is that magic feeling, nowhere to go, nothing to do. It is the supreme delight of an unprovoked mind. Certainly I will not pretend to engage in anything heady or especially consequential in order to merit approbation but this again speaks not to its adequacy but to its consummate fruitfulness. Nor will I confess to be insatiable; my preservation merely surrounds that which is readily apparent or easily discernible. There must after all come a time when one may with carte blanche put down the sword or the scythe and repose with languor and evaporation upon the world as it passes by without complete fear of relevancy. No longer am I merely on the sideline waiting to be called into action; instead it is the bliss of reclining upon a chaise longue comforted by a woollen rug as a casual spectator (and perhaps raconteur). Indeed I find the descriptive element of this particular genre to be singularly compelling. I have far more to add to both myself and others by devoting this qualified gusto to this limited scope than by presuming to enlarge upon whatever intelligence has already been advanced by others more capable than I. It is my time and my privilege to remark upon what little I perceive of life without presuming to be completely irrelevant or stupid. These immodest percolations of which I speak are now unquestionably the nutrition of my daily resourcefulness. Truly it is partly mechanical to regress to the boundaries of daily life; but even this abstraction affords a particle of insight to a watchful old fool such as I. It is in any event now a matter of imperative not pretence. The distinction is no longer anything expiative or as congratulatory as spelling or pronunciation. There is but one interpretation.