Quick Getaway Turned Into a Deeper Journey

What began as a simple weekend getaway to North Carolina — reconnecting with family and old friends — unfolded into something far more meaningful.

I hadn’t expected was how this trip would stir something so deep within me — a need to understand the roots of creativity and resilience that run through American history.

A Stitch in Time: Lessons From the Land

After reading Black Designers in American Fashion, edited by Elizabeth Way, I became captivated by the untold stories of Black men and women whose hands, imagination, and skill helped shape American fashion during some of the darkest chapters of our past. Their creativity thrived in the shadows of oppression — from the cooks who worked tirelessly, often around the clock preparing meals at any hour, to the seamstresses and artisans who created beauty without recognition or freedom.

I wanted to walk through that history — to feel it, not just read about it. So, during my mini pre-birthday getaway, I visited The Brattonsville Plantation in South Carolina and stepped, if only for a moment, into the spaces where their labor and artistry once lived. (A living history site preserving the stories and legacies of the enslaved).

Standing on that land was both humbling and haunting. The air carried whispers of work, survival, and unrecognized genius. The enslaved cooks worked around the clock — literally. They could be called upon at any hour to prepare food for the household. These cooks, weren’t allowed to read, yet they memorized complex recipes and daily menus that could be changed at a drop of a dime.

Despite the restrictions placed upon them, they found ways to make their lives sustainable. They bartered for essentials — flour, sugar, butter, and other kitchen goods — trading among themselves to create small comforts amid unimaginable hardship.

Our guide shared that he had spent four hours that morning picking cotton and managed to collect just six pounds. I couldn’t help but think of my grandmother, who once told me, “I used to pick over one hundred pounds of cotton a day. I would pick as much as the mens would.” Her words have stayed with me. I can only imagine the pain in her fingers — pricked and calloused by the thorns — and the sheer endurance it took to keep going, day after day, under the scorching sun.

Additionally, I had recently learned how vital the role of the seamstress were during that time — the women who mended, stitched, and created garments with nothing more than their hands and memory. Their artistry went beyond fabric; it was a form of survival and quiet rebellion. I was equally fascinated by the history of indigo — how this plant, discovered for its rich blue dye, became both a symbol of beauty and a source of immense labor and suffering. The very color that adorned luxury garments across the world was born from the hands and fields of the enslaved.

During my visit, I also had the opportunity to work a loom — a tool that relied on the incredible skill and precision of enslaved artisans to produce garments and textiles. The technique was both fascinating and humbling to witness firsthand, a reminder of how deeply creativity and craftsmanship were woven into their daily survival.

Architecture of Control

That same creativity stood in stark contrast to the structures surrounding it. Every house inhabited by an enslaved person was deliberately built to face the plantation owner’s home — a design meant to control not only the body but the mind. Each morning, as they stepped outside, they were forced to look toward that house — a silent reminder of who held power and to whom they “belonged.”

It was architecture as manipulation, a calculated move meant to instill fear and reinforce dominance. Yet even within those confines, creativity still found a way to live — through cooking, sewing, music, storytelling, and the quiet preservation of culture.

Reflections

Leaving that place, I carried a heaviness — not just for what had been endured, but for what had been created in the midst of it. Beauty, skill, and artistry thrived even in bondage. The resilience of those hands — the cooks, the field workers, the seamstresses, the weavers — became the unseen foundation of American craft and fashion as we know it today.

As I walked away, I thought of my grandmother again — her strength, her laughter, her stories — and realized that the same endurance that once picked cotton and stitched garments now flows through me, but with freedom. The legacy of those before me isn’t just in the soil; it’s in my spirit, my art, and the silk scarves I create through Cealle Creative.

With Freedom, what will flow through you?

With love,
Cealle