Chapter Three: Hog Hammock

We drove up the North-South Autobahn and turned right, onto a gravel road. A sign told us we were entering historic Hog Hammock. I had an image of a fat pig in a hammock, but Cornelia said "Hog" was the name of the family that settled here first, and "Hammock" is the word for a piece of high ground firm and dry enough for trees.
And the population was more like 50 these days. A few people died.

The Bailey property consists of the family's house in blue, the guesthouse in brown, and the lawn plus gazebo:


Next door was a gift shop, open whenever a tour bus stopped. It shared a small building with a bar, called "The Trough." It closed pretty early, and opened late. I never saw any customers. The guesthouse next door, where we stayed, was "The Wallow." From the sense of humor, I would wonder whether the same people owned all three.


Inside "The Wallow" were six bedrooms, on either side of a long hall, plus a common area. Here is a shot of one of the bedrooms. I apologize for the flash. For what we reserved, we paid $60 a night. We were the only ones there both nights.


The common area had a long dining room set up for at least 10 people.


The kitchen area had a stove, fridge, microwave, sink, and countertops. Cornelia said we could help ourselves in the fridge. There were fresh eggs and a seed cake she had just baked (in tinfoil here), along with various things left by former guests. I will tell you about the pecans later. She brought over the prickly pears after she met us. She said they were good for the prostate. Then there were various herbs from the island.


The common area had a piano on one side.


And various framed articles about the place were on various walls.



Sitting in the gazebo that afternoon, J.J., Cornelia's grandson, came over and entertained us with conversations on his toy cell phone.


The next morning we got a chance to visit with Cornelia herself. Here she is with me.


And now she's thinking of what to write in our copy of her book. (Actually, it is my local library's. I'm going to have to either return it or replace it one of these days.)


As it happened, we didn't do much cooking. One day, we ate at the Senior Center and met a few of the old-timers.


Another day we ate at a breakfast and lunch place nearby. They served up very tasty pork chops, fish, or chicken, with potatoes and greens. (I don't have a photo.) We saved what we couldn't eat and had it for dinner. There's no place to buy groceries on the island. B.J.'s Confectionary (below) used to sell them, but it's closed permanently now, according to Cornelia.


The old homes or cabins around town fit my image of swamp living precisely.








Down the street from Cornelia's is St. Luke's Baptist. A preacher comes once a month, on the 2nd Sunday. It's the only church with regular services. One other is used on special occasions. We'll see it later.


Another institution in Hog Hammock, which Cornelia helped to found, is the Sapelo Island Cultural and Revitalization Society. It does what it can to keep Sapelo from homogenizing into American society, as has happened to every other sea island in Georgia and South Caroline.


It is not entirely successful. Witness the new construction near Cornelia's, the first encroachment by whites in this traditional African-American enclave. "Somebody off-island inherited the land and sold it," Cornelia said. She'd like to get some zoning with teeth in it. But not many property owners live here any more.


Somehow the new architecture, done to current building codes, does not blend in with the old.