JoAnn Ferguson

The glint in her eye (if you’re quick enough to catch it – assuming she’s not evasively glancing sideways or downwards) instantly betrays her mischief. The curled corners of her mouth barely disguise the obvious gratification she derives from the devilment. JoAnn Ferguson is one very opinionated lady and it requires but a hint of assent or objection by her correspondent to translate the initial reaction into either glee or resentment. Don’t count on hearing anything direct, just innuendo – usually deprecatory.  Her tongue has the dexterity of a lizard. Some people call it satire. I consider it less cerebral, more visceral. JoAnn is after all primarily the keeper of a cave. She’s an animal with the instinct to guard the door against intruders. Her blunt native talents haven’t been contaminated with the fractious liberalism of higher education. Nor for that matter has she had any formal training whatsoever as far as I know which no doubt has sadly contributed to keeping her in her place (though not without the penalty of intransigence generally).  As a result I have never thought of her as intellectual, in fact just the opposite.  She won’t however betray her lack of comprehension any more readily than any other of her innermost sentiments, always shrouded. But I – alive to her sensitivities and detecting her feelings of inadequacy – have learned to accommodate her challenges by offering a simplified explanation where required. Years of researching the esoteric details of law have positioned me to practice plain-speaking analysis if I am to be understood.

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It was early evening, and the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting warm hues of orange and pink across the sky. The sea breeze, carrying the scent of salt and sand, swirled around the Sea Pines Beach Club as Aris, Caroline, and Alexandra, all from up north, settled around a large table, their faces glowing from the soft light of the setting sun. The sound of the ocean’s gentle waves echoed in the background, adding a calming rhythm to their dinner.

Carol Telling, their beloved grandmother, was seated at the head of the table, catching the last rays of the sun. She had always been a woman who found peace in the quiet beauty of the South Carolina coast. “I’m so glad you’re all here,” she said, her voice as warm as the evening air. “This place is like a second home to me.”

Aris, the 16-year-old, was full of energy, recounting the bicycle ride they’d taken earlier that day. “We saw so many palmetto ferns along the pathways,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement. “The whole area is like a jungle, but without the bugs!” He grinned, his youthful enthusiasm infectious.

Caroline, the 29-year-old, chuckled softly. “It was a perfect day for a ride,” she said. “The pathways here really are something else. So different from the city streets in Illinois.”

Alexandra, at 12, had a quiet but thoughtful demeanor, and she added, “I loved the feeling of the air as we rode. It felt like the world was just… open.” She smiled, her gaze drifting toward the ocean. The golden light seemed to pull her thoughts toward something peaceful, something eternal.

As they dug into their dinner, a blend of fresh seafood and southern specialties, Carole shared stories of her younger years living in the area, painting pictures of old friends and memories of simpler times. The children listened intently, fascinated by her tales of days gone by. They laughed as she told stories of her adventures in Sea Pines before it had grown into the popular destination it was now, and of the quiet mornings spent walking along the beach.

The dinner carried on with easy conversation, the sea breeze cool against their skin. The food was as delightful as the company, and soon the children were talking about plans for tomorrow’s adventure. Aris wanted to try kayaking, while Caroline and Alexandra were eager to explore the nearby nature trails. Carole, always a lover of the outdoors, promised to take them wherever they wanted to go.

As night fell and the stars began to twinkle above the Atlantic, the family sat back, content and full. The bond between grandmother and grandchildren was palpable, their hearts tied together by shared memories and a love for this special place by the sea. The evening ended with quiet chatter and laughter, the ocean continuing its endless lullaby as the world around them slipped into night.

It was a day they would all remember—a day of simple joys and quiet adventures. And for Carol, it was a gift to have her grandchildren beside her once more, the young ones bringing new energy to a place that had always felt like home.

Weeks ago while tricycling about the neighbourhood at Lands End, I encountered a neighbour who also rode a tricycle.  Hers is yellow; mine is black. But they are both Atlas tricycles which we both agree are well constructed. The neighbour – whose name is Carol – subsequently invited us for afternoon coffee, tea and cakes. As a result we got to know one another better. Part of that acquaintance included our hostess’ intelligence about her adoption, while on Hilton Head Island, of the sobriquet “Carolina of SC (South Carolina)”. Though the derivation of sobriquet (mid-17th century French: tap under the chin) might suggest “nose in the air”, there is nothing haughty about Carolina. In fact she practices that incomparable ease of compatibility which is the very fluid of diplomacy and familiarity.

Yesterday I received from Carolina the following email.

If you ride your trike down South Beach  Lane – turn right on the last street on your right – Piping Plover – then dead end into the ocean … that’s where the Telling family built one of first homes in Sea Pines.

Have you been down that road? Nice bike, walk, and tennis from South Beach. Gull Point was just being created at that time and there were zero five-storey buildings.

If you wanted to rent a Porta crib for a baby, you had to drive to Savannah – and zero traffic on the way!

Carolina in SC

Part of my introduction to the Telling family was the advice from Carolina that her late husband had been defence counsel. While his practice did not relate to my particular niche (estate administration), it nonetheless afforded a link as well as a platform from which to conduct further investigation. It evolved that Carolina’s husband’s father was a leader in American business.

EDWARD R. TELLING, Former Sears Chairman and CEO Edward Riggs Telling, of North Palm Beach, FL, former Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of Sears, Roebuck and Co., died Wednesday, October 19, in North Palm Beach. He was 86. Mr. Telling was preceded in death by a son, Edward R. Telling III of Rockford, IL.

South Beach Lane runs parallel to the North Atlantic Ocean. It diverges off S Sea Pines Dr (the southerly point of which marks Lands End where our cottages are located) immediately north of nearby Tower Beach Club. Thereafter there are a number of short laneways which diverge directly towards the ocean. These laneways have the names Bald Eagle Rd, Cedar Wax Wing Rd, Green Wing Teal Rd, Seaside Sparrow Rd, Marsh Wren Rd, Grey Widgeon Rd and finally Piping Plover Rd before rejoining S Sea Pines Dr. These extensions from South Beach Lane are bound on the side opposite the ocean by Sprunt Pond.

I dwell upon the formation of the roads and laneways because they are illustrative of the development of the entirety of Hilton Head Island, beginning in Sea Pines plantation, the largest.  In its least complimentary version, Hilton Head Island is one massive subdivision.  It is a reminder foremost that the development of Hilton Head Island is fairly recent; and, more importantly, that it was by design intended to preserve the natural beauty that abounds to this day, to the point of prohibiting evening illumination which may work against the sea turtles hatching on the beach then following the moonlight to the sea.

The beginning of Hilton Head as a resort started in 1956 with Charles E. Fraser developing Sea Pines Resort. Soon, other developments followed, such as Hilton Head Plantation, Palmetto Dunes Plantation, Shipyard Plantation, and Port Royal Plantation, imitating Sea Pines’ architecture and landscaping. Sea Pines, however, continued to stand out by creating a unique locality within the plantation, called Harbour Town, anchored by a recognizable lighthouse. Fraser was a committed environmentalist who changed the whole configuration of the marina at Harbour Town to save an ancient live oak. It came to be known as the Liberty Oak, known to generations of children who watched singer and songwriter Gregg Russell perform under the tree for over 25 years. Fraser was buried next to the tree when he died in 2002.

As I rode on my tricycle today through the caverns of towering sea pines and Palmetto ferns I recalled the stunning impression upon me when I first crossed from the mainland onto the island over a decade ago.  The favourable development of the island is inexpressible. I haven’t any further detail about the contribution of Tilling family to this evolution but it most certainly merits the highest accolades.  That singular architectural construction constituted a solid mark from the beginning.

It isn’t often I encounter a person who recognizes, when verbally providing a name or address, the utility of exemplifying a letter. For example, “b” as in “baby” or “c” as in Charlie or “d” as in dog. I think you see my point. Having spent a good deal of my early legal career dictating names and other unique words to secretarial staff, I rapidly learned the value of specificity for the purpose of clarity.  The usage speaks to me of one’s precision and axiomatic refinement. These are characteristics often dismissed as either excessive or unnecessary; but I happen to believe they are neither. In fact I would go so far as to attribute to the behaviour a superior state of conduct; and, by extension, an indication of the uncommon depth of intellect. That may be affording too fine a privilege to the native practice but it nonetheless addresses in my mind an etiquette to be appreciated.

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On August 18, 2024, at 5:45 PM, Tony & Suzanne Cannell <tonyandsuzanne@gmail.com> wrote: etc., etc., etc.

It was that (above) introductory email label on August 18, 2024 which signalled my email communications with the remarkable Suzanne Jonsen, former client, tiny elderly and terribly British woman, surviving life partner of Tony Cannell from Clayton, Ontario (whom I never met or knew), daughter of the late Mollie Panton-Wells (one of my earliest and most unique clients) and proud mother of Dr. Ian Jonsen, Australia, McQuarrie University, Sr. Biologist (whom I probably saw as a mere child nearly fifty years ago).

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Joseph Anger was considered tall for his age, but he wasn’t heavy-set. In fact, “skinny” would be closer to the truth. So when his young school peers, who were between the ages of ten and twelve, badgered him, as they regularly did, he did not feel up to the confrontation, and he learned to withdraw more and more to avoid such scenes entirely.

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