Why I love Folly Beach
A Canadian friend recently asked me what drew me to Folly Beach? The truth is I was intrigued that an authentic beach town could be found among the elite of South Carolina resort destinations. Let me explain. I’d been to Kiawah and Hilton Head too, but when I wanted to show a French friend a slice of life at Christmas in a true SC beach town and his single criteria that it be within driving distance of a book store, so I googled ‘SC beach town near Barnes and Noble.’ Up came Folly Beach. That was seven years ago and at that time there weren’t very many photos of Folly on the web and even less information about the town. It was as though they didn’t want to be found which suited me fine. The pics I did find told me everything I wanted to know. There was a photo of Center St. with a surf shop that had been there since the fifties, some photos of towns people looking pretty happy to be living where they were and some shots of several of the old beach cottages.
That December, seven years ago, we flew into Charleston from Geneva. When we had crossed the last bridge into Folly we found that it was one of those winter nights when the fog is so thick you literally cannot see your hand in front of your face. But the air smells so exotic that you don’t really care. The following three summers we barely took off our swimsuits. We flip flopped our way to dinner. When people smile here it’s genuine. Life is lived in slow motion and everybody seems comfortable with that. Three years ago and still in Geneva, I had that once in a lifetime opportunity to choose anywhere in the world I wanted to live. We researched everywhere from New Zealand to Kenya to British Columbia. I wanted someplace colorful where our souls could rest. In the end what felt right was to return to Folly. It’s Woodstock and Santa Ana, a little Up on Cripple Creek and some Tracy Feith. It’s San Francisco and Social Circle, GA. Life is good. Neighbors show up at your door asking for a bottle opener and you have two and give them one. Right now it’s after midnight and there is a songbird camped out in a tree a few yards from my window. Every day and every night there he is singing his heart out and I never grow tired of it.
-Laurie Bruton