One of my favorite spots in Brunswick County is Winnabow. It’s an unincorporated community tucked between Boiling Spring Lakes and Belville—a place so small, most folks driving through don’t even realize it has a name.
Mamaw and Papaw lived there briefly when I first moved in with them, and I still get flickers of memories from that time.
Papaw used to put me in his lap and let me “drive” home from the Scotchman in Belville. We’d stop by that same gas station for orange Push-Ups after picking Mamaw up from work. And I’ll never forget the giant chicken coop in the backyard—especially the rooster that nearly flogged my eyes out.
The memories are faint—I was only two. Even hazier are the ones of wandering Brunswick Town, strolling the gardens at Orton Plantation, and casting a line into Orton Pond.
But somehow, those places still call to me. I find myself returning again and again—especially to Orton Pond.
In high school, I’d often stop by the big pond off 133 on my way to or from Ebie’s house. I’d watch the alligators float in the water and sit under the stars, soaking in the quiet. It became my little escape—somewhere to breathe, to think, to just be still.
As the girls got older, it became a place I shared with them. We’d pull over for lunch before family get-togethers, windows rolled down, sandwiches in hand, watching the water ripple in the breeze. It turned into a simple, sacred pause.
It’s one of those places that holds pieces of every season of my life.
Gazing out across the water, it’s easy to imagine the pond as ancient—Cape Fear Indians hunting along its edge, or even dinosaurs stopping for a drink before disappearing into the trees.
But while Orton Pond is historic, it isn’t ancient. In fact, it isn’t even natural.
The pond was manmade, sometime between 1726 and 1750, to irrigate the rice fields at Orton Plantation. It was built by Gullah Geechee slaves, who later labored in those same fields. Their hands carved that pond into the land, turning cypress swamp into farmland.
And it stayed in use long after the Civil War, watering rice crops until the final harvest in 1931.
Orton Plantation closed to the public in 2010. My girls never got to walk those gardens, which still breaks my heart. Since then, the new owner has focused on restoring the rice fields to their original function—bringing the past back to life in one way, while quietly closing the gate on another.
Sometimes I wonder if the pond’s edge will be the next thing to slip from reach.
But for now, it’s still there—waiting with its stillness, its stories, and a familiar hush that somehow feels like home.
