Going Home: Historic City of Georgetown, S.C., Changes With the Times

GEORGETOWN, S.C. Oct. 1, 2010— -- When we were tasked with "Going Home" for this series, I had to pause. Where is home? Is it the place you were born? The place you learned to ride a bike? The place you went to school? For many of us who moved around, there is no one answer. So, after some serious soul-searching, I settled on Georgetown, S.C.

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My parents live in Georgetown. It is the place I go for the holidays. It's where I hide when I am stressed and can't take New York for another minute. It's where my son, Wyatt, put his sweet little feet in the sand for the first time. It's the place I very much hope to live one day. (I just need to convince my bosses that "Sharyn Alfonsi, ABC News, Georgetown, South Carolina" sounds good.)

I am never happier than when I am in mother's kitchen, and she insists on cooking me shrimp and grits, even though I am full.

I love that my father tells any tourist who asks that his dog, Fletcher, is a "Carolina Curly Coated Retriever." Fletcher is, in fact, a standard poodle, but Dad is not really a "poodle guy."

I love to sit on our front porch and read the Georgetown Times newspaper, holding a cup of coffee. It is an outstanding paper. I love that it covers the economy and the high school homecoming with equal zest. Today's edition included a story about some men "shocking catfish" out of the water with a wire. You can't make this stuff up.

But Georgetown is a place where the waters are rich with catfish and shrimp, the streets are lined with mossy oaks, and if you know just where to look, you can find some honest-to-goodness steel magnolias.

Our family home dates from before the Revolutionary War, and since that time, the view of the town from our windows has changed over and over again.

Pat Doyle, our neighbor and resident historian, says that Georgetown once thrived with "Carolina gold." That's rice, to the uninitiated.