In my forties, I found myself single, living alone in a rented apartment in Columbia and enjoying life. One evening two suits appeared at my door and demanded that I remove my large flower barrel filled with thriving marigolds. They wanted to make everything uniform in the apartment complex. I was shocked as it was really pretty.
“Well, I can’t live anywhere I can’t have my flowers,” I shot back, without thinking or hesitating.
To tell the truth, I had been wondering if I should stop renting and do something different.
I owned two pieces of property, a lot on Lake Murray and twenty-eight acres in Blythewood inherited from my father.
Living at the lake would have required at least a forty-five minute drive down I-26 each morning to get to work. Not an appealing thought. The acres in Blythewood were heavily wooded with no amenities and a mile from the nearest neighbor. Also, not an appealing thought, as I had never considered pioneering.
However, I had been seeing a nice man, Bill Smith, who liked those acres and had taken me, his two sons, and his black lab, Sir Timothy (Tim), to walk the property. We explored every acre, checked out the streams, and became acquainted with the property.
Vacation time came. I had no money, and no willing or available travel partner. Feeling very sorry for myself, I borrowed Tim and spent a week on the property in a lean-to that Bill had built out of limbs and brush, and a tarp on top that made it waterproof. I had good camping equipment and a lounge chair, so to Blythewood I went.
I loved it!
I made a wild flower garden and transplanted a small black walnut tree I stole from neighboring property. It lived and eventually bore walnuts! I drank water from the creek and bathed there, too.
The first night, I heard a loud hooting, My first thought was that it was somebody, but then the hooting was suddenly three hundred feet on the other side of me. Only owls can move that fast and that quietly, so I turned over and went back to sleep.
At the end of the week, I knew I wanted to move to Blythewood and be a part of my woods.
I went right out and started looking at mobile homes to see if I thought I could live in one. I found one and put down a $50 deposit. Being a smarty, Bill mentioned to me that we didn’t have a road, so maybe that should come first. There was an old logging road to my brother’s upper part of the acreage that we had used. We parked there, acres away, and walked in. How could I have forgotten that part! So I sheepishly got my $50 back and applied for a loan to put in a road. (Old time Blythewood folks will be interested to know George Oswald was the contractor who made the road.)
I gave my official notice to the apartment complex and moved into a new mobile home in the woods on October 1, 1977. I had a well and a septic tank, but no electricity, so, of course, no water.
I must admit I stayed with my mother a lot of the time until things got better. This was more serious pioneering than I wanted. Living on a soft dirt road is a whole other story.
I have been asked to write more stories about myself and my life. That was not my plan as I don’t want to bore my readers, but I do have more to tell if that is what you want. Another request was that since I was a Social Worker and love to give advice, I could give some advice if you write in with a fixable problem and you can handle a little humor. Send any suggestions to nettasmail@bellsouth.net.
Jeanette Smith, 95, a Blythewood resident, has been active in the community’s civic affairs for over 50 years.