According to the Prelude of our official history book, “Summerville,” our town conjures up an image of a warm, small community, a place to live your leisure.
A hometown aura hovers over her municipal square and Azalea Park.
“Summerville” says century-old, high-beamed homes with wide porches and gleaming heart-pine floors set along moseying byways.
Her voice breathes tranquilly through regal pins and moss-laden oakes. It gentles across the silk petals of her renown trumpet-shaped blooms.
Summerville speaks beauty. Her comeliness begat an alter ego, “Flower Town” during a motto competition in the last century. To understand fully the fitness of her second name, you need only ply her pathways and parkways in early spring and imbibe in her thousands of azaleas.
Summerville is a survivor. She shields her 17th century pineland village and melds her small town charisma with her small city size. Her heritage is proudly recollected by her people.
It is her people who settled her, named her, cared for her in infancy and adolescence and who defer to her in her maturity. It is her people who long ago embraced her site and her promise.
Their descendants, literal and figurative, still do.