The long and warm embrace: West Fraser and ‘his country’
By Charles W. Waring III
Painting the Southern Coast: The Art of West Fraser
With introductory essays by Jean Stern and Martha R. Severens
Hardcover 272 pp, 264 color, illus., $49.99
(The University of South Carolina Press, Columbia, 2016)
Just as savvy travel and foodie writers describe our Lowcountry hospitality, history and various attractions in glowing superlatives, West Fraser wears the region’s crown of artistic accomplishment. Be certain this mythical adornment comes without a hint of faux anything and goes well beyond our borders; after all, he is a national treasure on a Southern stage. In the world of West, one might envision this crown on a native chief standing near the surf on St. Catherine’s Island and sporting feathers and beads that glow in a late afternoon glow that only the Indian summers of autumn can offer. A powerful imagination is built upon experience, reading and love of the land — those elements have long been at king tide with West. In reality, this artist’s regular cover is a well-worn manly hunting hat or a casual baseball-style cap.
Call of the wild discerned at public youth dove hunts
By Jeff Dennis
Youth dove hunts are part of a time-honored tradition in the Lowcountry, and some public lands in South Carolina are now customized to conduct such hunts. It is quite possible that Charleston County is home to the grandest public youth dove hunt of them all at Botany Bay Wildlife Management Area on Edisto Island. What was once a privately held plantation is now public and these sea island dove fields draw in respectable numbers of doves each year.
Downtown fried chicken and other bird confessions
Pluff Mud Chronicles
By David Farrow and Charles W. Waring III
It was the end of the Endless Summer. On a lazy late summer early afternoon in September of 1968, I was seated at a friend’s downtown dinner table right before returning to Christ School.
It was precisely 1 p.m. that torrid September afternoon weekday. We sat at the formal dining room table surrounded on the north wall by portraits of Charleston ancestors who had shaped the city 150 years before and open outsized French doors on the south. My friend and I sat on one side, his sister and their stepbrother sat on the other. Their father, who could well have been the funniest man I ever met, sat on one end, a perfect foil to his more formal wife who had a bit of a patrician air and sat on the other side of the long table and closest to the kitchen.