I guess the answer to my question is “no.” We never seem to care about the things of real value until they are gone. And we care about people—especially black people—least of all. Sometime in this century, the Geechee culture will be little more than a memory, a footnote of history, the subject of a few doctoral theses. When that day comes, we will all be the less for it. But we’ll be able to console ourselves with the idea that we’ll have some really neat golf courses instead and some fabulous and exclusive island resorts that look like all the other resorts everywhere else in the world.

We reached the Chambers home place a few minutes later. The house sat back from the road, surrounded by a swept yard bordered by a wire fence. Flowers growing in coffee cans lined the porch rails and the oyster shell walk that led to the house. Chickens scratched in the sand of the yard, looking for bugs and pieces of this morning’s cracked corn. Under the trees at the side of the house a couple of kids (young goats, that is) stood on top of the woodshed and watched as we approached.

As I opened the gate to the yard and motioned her through, Patricia looked around in delight.

“It reminds me of my grandmother’s place when I was a little girl,” she said with wonder. “The swept yard—the flowers in cans—it’s all the same. Why, it feels—it feels just like coming home.”

“I know what you mean,” I said as I led us down the walk. “It brings back some memories for me, too.”

We were mounting the two steps to the porch when the screen door flew open and there stood Miss Darcey, wiping her hands on a dish towel and smiling a welcome.

“Well, hey, boy. I see you brung a visitor with you this time—and a mighty good-lookin’ one, too,” she said as she threw the towel across a shoulder and stepped out to meet us.

“I’m Darcey,” she said before I could make an introduction. “An’ what’s yo’ name, pretty lady?” she asked as she took Patricia’s hand in hers.

“Patricia—Patricia Latham, from Tybee.”

“Well, it’s glad I am to meet you, Patricia Latham. Welcome to our little place here.”

Darcey then turned to me. “And you—come here and give this gal a hug. Why you been gone so long, you?”

Darcey and I embraced, and I took in the sweet aroma of her being and felt the warmth that radiated from this dear woman. After a bit she pushed me back to arm’s length and gave me a searching look.

“I’ve been away for a while, Miss Darcey. But it has been too long at that,” I said with sincerity.