Everywhere Jenkins

As you travel around Johns Island, you've no doubt noticed the prominence of the name Jenkins, one of the most common Lowcountry names. It appears all over Johns Island and, of course, here on Seabrook Island's Jenkins Point. This thumb-shaped peninsula jutting into the marshes on the northwest of the island, once home to herds of dairy cows, has been known by that name since before the Civil War, cited as such in an 1863 land sale in which descendants of William Seabrook sold most of Seabrook Island to the Gregg family but retained Jenkins Point for their herd's grazing. Cattle were still present as late as 1955 and had to be moved elsewhere as early development efforts got underway.

The progenitors of the far-flung Jenkins clan were three Jenkins brothers who emigrated to Beaufort County from Wales in the early 18th-century and promptly set about marrying into the handful of wealthy prominent landowners already present, from the Fripps of Beaufort County to the Legares and Seabrooks of Edisto and Johns islands. By the turn of the 19th-century, Johns Island's Walnut Hill and Hickory Hill plantations were owned by Jenkins descendants.

Johns Island's Esau Jenkins

The surname was given to the enslaved who worked the plantations, whose descendants settled onto their own farms with Emancipation. Closer to our own time, during the Civil Rights era, Esau Jenkins (1913 - 1972) became a driving force in the movement to register Black voters, provide educational equality for Black children (the original Haut Gap high school near Maybank Highway was built largely due to Esau's efforts) and create the Progressive Club, a cooperative market for Johns Island Blacks on River Road. Its cinderblock ruins still stand next to a commemorative plaque.

Esau's Volkswagen minibus, in which he ferried his neighbors and their children to polling places and schools, became so famous it's now on display in the Museum of African-American History in Washington, D.C. Esau's statement that "Love Is Progress. Hate Is Expensive" appeared on the rear of the bus, a sentiment carried on by his children who have all been active in voting rights campaigns and have served in county government positions. Esau is also remembered by the bridge over Church Creek that connects Johns and Wadmalaw Island bearing his name that's been a familiar Lowcountry one for centuries.

Deer Spirit

As our island's deer population increases its foraging ahead of leaner winter months, we're more likely to spot them in our backyards or along roads. If you're especially lucky, you may encounter a rare piebald deer, the result of a genetic mutation that affects the pigmentation of the coat. The mutation becomes more common the more isolated deer populations are, so our island-bound deers' interbreeding may make the mutation more common here than in areas with larger territories.

Seen at Lake House recently

The piebalds' unusual appearance has generated a considerable amount of myth and folklore. Native Americans consider the piebald as a spirit transitioning from this world to the spirit world, and that sighting one was an omen of impending change. In many Native American cultures, it's still strictly forbidden to kill a piebald deer, interrupting the soul's passage to the next world. Hunters have their own folk wisdom about taking a piebald, the more superstitious among them believing that killing a piebald puts a curse on future hunting success, or may even mean the hunter will die within a year.

Piebalds are not as rare as albino deer, which are typically pure white; and except for piebalds' mottled coats, they are often as healthy as their normally colored brethren. But piebalds are more susceptible to abnormalities at birth, particularly malformed internal organs and spinal deformities, which severely reduce chances of post-natal survival. Some piebald adults may also have shortened or crooked legs, making it difficult for them to avoid predators. Fortunately, these misfortunes are rare; although the presence of numerous piebalds in any one deer population can be an indicator of excessive interbreeding and can reduce the overall health of a herd.

courtesy The Island Connection

If you see a piebald, consider yourself fortunate to see an individual who's beaten the odds; and, who knows, letting you know that change may be in the air.

First Builders

Photo (c) William C. Judge

As lots are cleared and new homes rise on our island, it's easy to forget that that others were here long before us, leaving behind one of the oldest and largest archeological ruins in North America, just across the North Edisto River. The Fig Island shell ring seen above - an ancient site built up of hundreds of years' worth of clam, oyster and other shells along with fish bones, pottery and primitive tools - is one of thirty such sites along the southeast coast between South Carolina and northern Florida. It was first excavated in the late 1960's, although the entire complex wasn't fully identified until 2002. Nearby is the smaller Pockoy Island ring, still under excavation in Botany Bay.

Aerial view of Fig Island 1 (courtesy National Park Service)

Fig Island occupies a narrow peninsula jutting from Edisto Island into the river and, dated to about 4000 years ago, is the largest and one of the oldest of the southeast's rings. Besides a main, circular shell ring, two smaller, connected structures surround it, making it the most complex of known rings. The main ring, Fig Island 1, had steep midden walls rising as high as twenty feet surrounding a 470-foot-wide open central area; Fig Island 2 and 3 (which is actually C-shaped, rather than fully circular) featured ramps leading up from their central areas to a shell path connecting the two. Excavations of all three rings have never revealed evidence that they were permanently occupied.

Courtesy South Carolina Humanvitae

So what were these mysterious structures used for, and who built them? Although theories are many, pottery shards obtained from all three Fig Island rings indicate the site was regularly visited by Late Archaic-era inhabitants who traveled seasonally between forested uplands and coastal sites, at a time when sea levels were some three feet lower than today. The lack of evidence of permanent structures leads some archeologists to consider shell rings as monumental or ceremonial sites for social or spiritual purposes. Radiocarbon dating on Fig Island indicates that more than 750,000 cubic feet of material was deposited in a relatively short time span, indicating deliberate intent rather than the accumulated detritus of household middens.

Although the meaning of Fig Island remains elusive, its archeological importance has led to its designation as both a National Historic Landmark and a National Historic Site, with limited access overseen by the National Park Service, mostly for research teams. But you can enjoy an armchair visit to Fig Island here.