As we near Halloween and start thinking about witches, ghosts, and goblins, I thought it might be a good idea to offer some advice…or at least tell a story that provides a perspective on those otherworldly things we call “haints” in the Lowcountry.
For a long time, I didn’t pay much attention to haints, even though my porch ceilings are painted in “Haint Blue,” actually, Sherwin-Williams “Waterscape” (SW 6470), which is as close as Sherwin-Williams can get to the real thing.
Haint blue is embedded in Lowcountry Gullah culture in the belief that the haints will think the porch ceiling is the sky, and they will fly up and away before entering the house. It also works on bugs and hornets until they figure it out and build nests on the crossbeams. Mud daubers are particularly crafty little critters because they love blue and they get a kick out of aggravating humans with their messy mud ball nests. The good news is mud daubers aren’t aggressive, and they like to eat spiders, especially black widows…but I digress.
Most folks say they don’t believe in ghosts, but if you visit historic Beaufort after dark, the clip-clop of horse-drawn tourist wagons taking folks on ghost tours fills the air. You might even encounter a goblin or two standing on the sidewalk offering a friendly wave, adding kitschy excitement to the ambiance. I was one of those non-believers until…
About thirty years ago, I attended a dinner party in mid-October. About the time dessert was being served and a third bottle of Brunello was making its way around the table; the conversation turned to the plans people had for Halloween night.
One guest mentioned taking grandkids trick or treating, and a second chimed in with a story about a legendary headless horseman periodically seen galloping in a grove of live oaks on a nearby bluff looking to chop off someone’s head to replace the one he’d lost…or so the story goes.
In my exuberant ignorance, I piped up and suggested we all meet on the bluff, light a bonfire, and try to conjure up the apparition. Bad idea, as I was about to find out.
Within twenty-four hours, I received several phone calls from local folks, including the postmistress of Yemassee, telling me the headless horseman was very bad juju. Apparently, it had previously taken the intercession of a variety of spiritualists, conjurers, and a root doctor to get the evil haint to behave. It had been several years since folks had seen it, and no one wanted to release it from wherever it was in repose. That was enough for me. Halloween plans canceled, and I loaded up on Reese’s peanut butter cups for the expected trick or treaters.
I’ll have more on haints, ghosts, and boohags in future blogs because there are a few wandering around my house, which is located near the oak grove on the bluff. So far, my haints seem friendly. One sits on the foot of our bed, and another says “hello” before showing up in the foyer. I’ll leave it there for now, and feel free to stop by on Halloween if you’re partial to peanut butter cups.
