A walk down Chestnut Street in Daydreaming on the Porch

It doesn’t have a single chestnut tree on it, this street in a very special city in South Carolina that I once visited often and wrote about frequently. That place is Sumter, where my mother grew up, and where a very dear aunt, who I often visited, lived her entire life .

Over the decades since childhood, Sumter has always felt like my second home. It was the site of many family holiday gatherings and vacation trips when I was growing up. I am familiar with most of the streets in the downtown and historic district, and many others where I walked on countless occasions.

One of them was named Chestnut Street. I discovered it out of curiosity years ago when I diverged from my usual walking route to explore a street I had never seen before. I loved to walk down the old streets in Sumter. Since my aunt passed away in 2003, I have been back only a few times. I regret that it hasn’t been more often,but when I do visit, a considerable amount of sadness envelopes me. The next time I am there, I do plan to revisit the street, located only blocks from where my aunt lived for many years after she retired.

As for chestnut trees, no place in that part of the state, or anywhere else, actually, has American Chestnuts since the terrible blight (a wicked and unstoppable fungal disease) in the early 20th century, wiped out every last one of those mighty giants. But when they were flourishing for centuries in the upstate and Appalachian Mountains all the way to the Ohio Valley, and into New England, the American Chestnut was the tallest and most magnificent hardwood tree in the Eastern forests. It’s now practically extinct except for young trees that grow about ten feet tall and then are killed off by the blight.

I have seen photos of those towering chestnuts, however, and through looking at those I can more fully appreciate what an immeasurable loss their demise was, an ecological catastrophe. Fortunately, The American Chestnut Foundation has been working for decades to produce a blight-resistant variety so that future generations may once again enjoy this noble tree.

Thus, there is something indefinable that draws me to anything associated with chestnuts, be it a beloved Christmas Carol, a street named for the tree, or a coffee table photo book about this legendary tree, which I have.

I think part of the reason is nostalgia for a past i idealized and romanticized. This would include the early 20th century. Many of the houses on the street are small, Victorian cottages or bungalows built in the early 1900s or 1920s. All have porches with every imaginable kind of chair, from old rocking chairs to those rolling back and forth naugahide contraptions you sink into and pretend it’s leather. Most of the houses are quite modest and gave a distinctly faded charm. Cozy, inviting and lived in I’ve never walked down a street quite like it.

The effects of nostalgia, a love of many architectural styles from this period, and the fact that this is the type of street of dreams one might wish to have grown up on — all these things, and powerful emotions from childhood, resulted in a journal entry at the time which contains some of the following thoughts and observations which I’ve preserved.

This is some of what I wrote on September 29, 2003, only a month before my aunt died, so I likely had some premonitions, and it was an especially emotional time. She had recently broken her hip and had surgery, and I was very worried. She was 91.

“…The sunlight was rather different that Saturday as I turned the corner onto Chestnut Street during a short afternoon walk in the newly arrived season of autumn. It was cooler too.

“One house has a half picket fence out front and a flower garden full of impatiens, a tree-shaded driveway, and a faraway, old-timey appearance. Every house is uniquely interesting on that street. I was just amazed when I drove down it by mistake earlier in the weekend. I thought to myself, ” mI will have to come back and take a closer look.”

“Every house also has untold stories of families and lives spent in them. I try to imagine briefly what they were as I pass, but hear only silence.
I walk under a dogwood tree turning red. There are oaks and sycamores along the street. One tree is covered with ivy. Leaves are falling. I am struck by the quiet. I see no one. Not a single car passes by.

“The sunlight is golden yellow. Every chair on every porch is empty. It’s a Saturday afternoon. No dogs, no kids..no bicycles.

“I think when they named this street, someone knew about chestnuts and had seen the great giants in the mountain forests 100 or more years before. It was such a great American tree. Now it’s gone.

“This street remains, however. Walking down its sidewalks, I can hardly conceive of it not being here. Always. Any time in the future when I come back to visit, and as long as this city exists.”

https://maps.app.goo.gl/FeRgkBYNPxG1USH48?g_st=ic

Since I have not physically been back to Sumter in quite some years, I went to Google Street view to check out how Chestnut Street looks now. Pretty good, actually. I made these screenshots from a virtual “walk” up and then back down the street. It’s not very long, but it contains a little universe of old houses, shady back yards, old oak trees, and the special, almost magical appeal it has for me.

These screenshots are from the fall of 2023.

https://www.flickr.com/gp/camas/30161ddYi0

Last updated June 25, 2024