Azalea Magazine Summer 2013

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Modern Living in the Old South









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Features AZALEA Magazine / Summer 2013



Unripened tomatoes have long been a staple here in the Southtry these four recipes and discover why



A SC photographer captures over 100 WWII Vets by Jana Riley



The best fresh water guide in the South by Jana Riley




Rollins Edwards: from casualty to renaissance man by Katie DePoppe


Baptized as a child of the Lowcountry by Susan Frampton





/ AZALEA Magazine / Summer 2013


53 07 Editor’s Letter 12 Letters 13 Contributors 15-20 FIELD GUIDE A brief look into our local culture SOUTHERN LIFE 23 Southern Spotlight - Blogger 28 Southern Spotlight - Outdoors 32 Southern Spotlight - Community 35 Southern Spotlight - Drink


61 Southern Stitches Q&A with local designer Julia Faye Davison by Margie Sutton

COLUMNS 39 Natural Woman by Susan Frampton 43 Patchwork of the South by Michelle Lewis 47 LIFE & FAITH The Demise of Guys The Rise of the Boy-Man by Will Browning SOUTHERN STYLE 53 Rebirth of a Plantation The Wimberly family has breathed new life into a once forgotten rural farm



ON THE COVER: Green tomatoes fresh off the vine / Photograph by Dottie Rizzo





88 THE LOCAL 88 Southern Flame Food and Music Festival 89 Summerville Rotary Rockin The Ville 90 Tupper Memorial Golf Classic Tee-Off Party 92 SEWE Preview Gala 94Charleston Trials 96 Southern Rambler by Chris Campeau

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Editor’s Letter

We are

Athletes ...this brief reunion with my friend has changed my perspective on our veterans.

Superheroes The word hero has lost its intended meaning. It has fallen through the cracks of our culture. The dictionary defines hero as "a person of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his or her brave deeds and noble qualities." Brave deeds? Granted, I admire those who can dunk a basketball from the free throw line or sell out Madison Square Garden, but how is it that an athlete or entertainer acquires such a venerated honor?

For sixty years, Pinewood has been instilling the drive to lead and succeed in students in preschool through twelfth grade. Challenging athletics blend with rigorous academics to create an environment where students are tested to their fullest potential. Pinewood students are achieveing success on the field and in the classroom. With an impressive list of regional, state and national championships under their belts, our students are rising to the next level with the drive to succeed and lead.

We Are Athletes. We are Pinewood.

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I recently ran into an old friend that I hadn't seen in 15 years. Barring a few new wrinkles, he looked pretty much the same. We exchanged some college banter before he began to explain why he was back in town. "I got hurt," he said. My friend was an officer in the U.S. Army for 13 years, serving in multiple conflicts around the world. During a mission a few years ago, he was injured so gravely that he almost lost his life. He spent months overseas recovering before he was well enough to travel home and reunite with his children. With the mental and physical pain that he endures, life has become his new battle.

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I place my hand over my heart when I hear the National Anthem. I attend memorial services to commemorate Veteran's Day. I even give a few bucks to the guys outside Walmart collecting for wounded vets. But this brief reunion with my friend has changed my perspective on our veterans. While I was celebrating, he was fighting. While I was spending time with my kids, he was defending them. While I was living, he was nearly dying. In this issue, we share the courageous story of local veteran Rollins Edwards (American Survivor, page 74) and feature a photographer who set out to capture the spirit of over 100 South Carolina WWII veterans (The Greatest Generation, page 64). While you read their stories, think of how their service has affected your life. How their suffering has contributed to your prosperity. How their courage has preserved your freedom. How their sacrifice has fortified your safety. How their acts of valor justify the use of the word hero. Will Rizzo Editor In Chief

Aurie Engel Schmieding

Class of 2013 National Champion Varsity Intermediate Reining AZALEAMAG.COM



Revenge… Sweet Justice… Forever Friends…









The Sisterhood is Back! A NOTE F ROM FER N

At first I struggled with the concept that would become the Sisterhood; women forming a union (that’s how I thought of it at the time) and righting all the wrongs of the universe. I told myself that if I was going to think big, then I needed to think not just big, but BIG! The whole world—at least the women of the world—knows women are strong and can do whatever they set their minds to, especially a mother. By pep talking, I convinced myself a group of women like that could do anything they set their minds to. That’s when I had to define the word “anything” and how I could make it work with the book I wanted to write. The minute I did that, it was a whole new ball-game.

Also available

Payback is worth waiting for! Meet Fern Michaels in Charleston! Visit for details.

Near the Coast Beneath the Oaks On the Porch

It’s Everything Lowcountry.

Will Rizzo Co-Publisher and Editor in Chief Dottie Rizzo Co-Publisher and Managing Editor Katie DePoppe Editor at Large Margie Sutton Style Editor Will Browning Faith Editor


he Ponds is a place to bring up a family. A community where kids can still be kids: exploring trails, playing in the pool or riding bikes to the new Y. The land itself has a rich history that spans generations and will be loved for many more to come. It’s everything Lowcountry, and then some. Located on Hwy 17-A, 5.4 miles southwest of the Summerville Town Square, The Ponds has all the things you’re looking for in the place to call home, plus a few you haven’t thought of yet: • Centuries-old live oaks • Outdoor amphitheatre • On-site YMCA • Community activities • Restored 1800’s farmhouse

• Community pool and pavilion • Parks and playgrounds • 1,100 acre nature preserve • 20-mile trail system • Stocked fishing lakes • 843.832.6100

Jana Riley Copy Editor, Staff Writer

Contributors Chris Campeau Michelle Lewis Jason Wagener Angela May Susan Frampton Margie Sutton Taylor Rizzo

Advertising Jenefer Hinson 843.729.9669 Susan Frampton 843.696.2876

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Azalea Magazine 114B E. Richardson Avenue Summerville, SC 29483


*Available for $16.99 a year (4 Issues). Visit for details.



The writing is engrossing, serving up a slice of life that makes you want to move in next door to the people in the profiles and features. BEST SMALL TOWN MAGAZINE First thing you notice: The photos are topnotch, fetishizing all things pastoral and Southern with Garden & Gun-level flair. Second: The writing is engrossing, serving up a slice of life that makes you want to move in next door to the people in the profiles and features. Third: This entire magazine is about Summerville. Yes, humble suburban ’Ville, home to the Flowertown Festival and Greenwave football, has its own glossy publication, and it’s damn good. - Charleston City Paper Best of Charleston DIE-HARD I really enjoyed the latest issue of Azalea Magazine. I am a die-hard Yankees fan, so it was a great bonus that Brett Gardner was on the front cover. Thank you guys for providing some great articles and entertainment that I can enjoy by just flipping through a few pages! - Walker Richardson


INSPIRING Great job. You all are an inspiring asset to this community. - Bob Jackson TIMELY & VALUABLE I don't usually respond to the articles I read in magazines, but I feel compelled to do so today. I have to applaud Will Browning for his excellent article, "Interviewing Your Daughter's Date." As the mother of a fourteen year old girl, I found his advice timely and valuable! I'm so glad to have read this before dating issues come up for us. - Katharine Pate-Krueger WHAT A FAN I hope you know what a fan I am of the magazine and what you all do for our community. - Tina Zimmerman A THOUSAND WORDS

KEEP UP THE GREAT WORK I absolutely love your magazine! The Spring issue has gotten me excited about getting outdoors and "primping" it cleaning in the yard! Loved the article on Brett Gardner! Always enjoy your magazine! Keep up the great work!! - Paul Lyday




FIRST CLASS I enjoyed reading about Brett but also loved the story about Nancy Hudock. The entire magazine is first class, photography and all!

LOVE (CUBED) LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the magazine. Love the hometown feel of it. Love seeing all the amazing stories and love learning about all the local businesses.

- Dorie Runyon

- Kim Beck Cline

Featured Contributors

JASON WAGENER / Illustrator

Jason started his illustrious art career when he won a coloring contest in 3rd grade, subsequently titling him "proud owner of a Mickey Mouse dry erase board." He moved to the Lowcountry in 1990, and save an education at The Savannah College of Art and Design, has remained a faithful transplant ever since.

ANGELA MAY / Writer Angela May grew up in Summerville and lives in Mt. Pleasant with her husband, a Dorchester School District Two teacher, and two boys. A former TAYLOR RIZZO / Photographer TV news journalist, Angela does Taylor moved from Ormond media and public relations work, Beach, FL to Saint George where and she’s the community editor he graduated from Dorchester of With two young children, Angela’s on the Academy. He is a photographer, fast track to becoming an unofficial filmaker, and stand-up comic. connoisseur of children’s books.

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SUSAN FRAMPTON / Writer Susan Frampton has called Summerville home for almost thirty years with husband Lewis, daughter Sara, and a myriad of dogs, chickens, turtles, and snakes. Get Online

From dining and shopping guides to feature stories, an events calendar, and local deals, is much more than a beautiful counterpart to Azalea Magazine. It is the axis for anything and everything Lowcountry.

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Events Calendar

Scan this code or visit us online for a full list of summer events. events.html Featured Event

Red, White, and Blue on the Green June 30, 5-8 Summerville Town Square

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Cover boy, and country music superstar Josh Turner from our Spring 2011 Issue

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- The Burger -

are the largest consumers of hamburgers, eating 13 billion a year. Lined up, they’d circle the earth 32 times.

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The weight of the largest hamburger ever created. It was 10 ft wide, topped with 60 pounds of bacon, 50 pounds of lettuce, 50 pounds of onions and 40 pounds of cheese. It took a construction crane to flip the patty over.

23% A recent study at the University of North Carolina found that the average hamburger is 23% larger than in 1977.




Field Guide Q What is your favorite thing about

years where I never got in the car; I just cruised around in my golf cart.

living in the Lowcountry?


When you grow up in such a beautiful place with so much to offer, it is really hard to pick out your favorite thing. I think that human nature has a way to make you take for granted some of the awesome things that are in the Lowcountry. Without question, look at me, I do love the food.

Q What is one thing you've bought in

the last five years that you could go the rest of your life without?

A Any plant that my wife attempts to grow. I love to garden, and I love working in the yard. I am not a huge fan of annuals. If she wants them, I ask that she take care of them. Thus far they typically die within seven days. Either she learns how to take care of them or I could live without them forever. And yes, I am going to pay for this.

Q What is your dream job? A When I was in high school I wanted

to be a forester. During my senior year at Summerville High School I had an economics teacher by the name of Ron Brady; Ron’s class and enthusiasm got me thinking more about business and economics. It changed my life and my future. I have many years left until I can retire, but I do envision myself being a teacher one day. I love my current job as the County Auditor, it is just something that intrigues me about being a teacher and having the ability to let youth know what else is possible.

MEET & GREET What makes locals tick, one neighbor at a time

Q& A


go, the more I get.”

art, birds, snakes, oysters, summer, Halloween, improv, and Moby-Dick.

Q Coffee or tea? A I have never had a cup of coffee in my

entire life. My parents and wife love it. I am going to stick with my sweet tea. I had a client a few years ago that called sweet tea “redneck champagne.” I don’t care what you call it, I love it.




Hootie through today’s country hits.


Q Is there a motto that you live by? A “If I don’t go, I don’t get. The more I Q Who or what are you a fan of ? A Good beer, good music, good

Q What is your favorite music? A Darius Rucker. All the way back to

Do rchester County Auditor

Q What is one thing you've bought in

the last five years that you couldn’t live without?


I purchased a golf cart about five years ago and it has made it very easy to visit my family and in-laws since they live in my neighborhood. I also really enjoy taking Beth and Hoby around town to things like the Farmer's Market on a Saturday morning. I have had several weekends over the past few

What would be your dream vacation?

Over the past several years I have enjoyed a few great vacations with my family. I would love for my entire family to visit a kid friendly, all-inclusive resort for a week. That vacation would have to be out of the USA so we wouldn’t be “hung” by our mobile devices and could enjoy just being together.

Q What is your fondest memory of living in Summerville?

A The fondest memories that I have about growing up in Summerville would be centered on being raised in Miler Country Club. It was such a tight-knit community with the folks that lived there as well as the great life lessons I learned working and playing at the golf course. In my opinion, there is not a better neighborhood in which to raise your children. That is why I moved back into that wonderful area to raise my kids. AM



No other season seems to hold quite the volume of magic and memories as summertime. Day trips to the beach, boat trips on the lake, playtime at the neighborhood pool—it’s a seemingly endless array of adventures. But when soaring temperatures send everyone running indoors, family adventures can still continue in the pages of great children’s books. Handpicked by Angela May—an avid children’s book reader and community editor of—these unforgettable stories will lead you to new discoveries, get you up close with creatures of all sizes, and even send you out of this world! Let Them Play Margot T. Raven, Author Chris Ellison, Illustrator Based on a true story, Let Them Play retells the experience of Charleston’s Cannon Street YMCA All-Stars—an all-black little league baseball team invited to the 1955 Little League World Series but not allowed to play. This award-winning book, published in 2005, addresses head-on the painful issue of prejudice, while maintaining a positive and heartwarming tone throughout. Warning—you may want to keep a tissue handy. This will likely be one the kids ask you to read again and again. Mr. Gator Hits The Beach Julie McLaughlin, Author Ann Marie McKay, Illustrator Published in 2008, this is the third and final installment of McLaughlin’s Gator series, which takes children on adventures through South Carolina’s fresh and saltwater wetlands. This delightful story, paired with colorful watercolor illustrations, begins with a very bored Mr. Gator accepting an invitation to vacation at the beach. Mr. Gator Hits the Beach not only teaches children about local landmarks and the natural coastal habitat, but also weaves a tale of fun between two unlikely friends. McLaughlin and McKay are retired teachers and live in Mt. Pleasant. Shackles Marjory Heath Wentworth, Author Leslie Darwin Pratt-Thomas, Illustrator When a group of boys embark on a treasure hunt in the backyard of their seaside home, they unearth an old pair of shackles instead of the buried treasure they were hoping to find. In a poignant and easy style with colorful characters, this award-winning book tackles the subject of slavery and teaches the age-old truth that both cruelty and kindness exist everywhere. Based on the real-life experiences of South Carolina poet laureate, Marjory Wentworth, and her three sons, Shackles features original paintings by local artist Leslie Darwin Pratt-Thomas. The Adventures Of Sammy The Wonder Dachshund: Sammy In Space Jonathan Miller, Author and Illustrator The third and latest installment of this series leads Sammy—an outgoing, human-like wiener dog—on an out-of-this-world adventure to settle questions about Pluto. Is it a planet or dwarf planet? Released in May, Sammy in Space is an entertaining book that teaches lessons on astronaut training and our solar system while encouraging children to dream big. Author and illustrator, Jonathan Miller, a Charleston resident, created each unique illustration by layering pieces of construction paper, a process that takes 30-40 hours per page. AZALEAMAG.COM



Field Guide Books Gotcha! By Fern Michaels Kensington Publishing Available Now The latest edition in the Sisterhood Series proves that sometimes, justice is a long time coming. That’s the case with Julie Wyatt, whose story strikes close to home for the original founder of the Sisterhood, Myra Rutledge, and her best friend, and fellow Sister, Annie. Julie is convinced her greedy daughter-in-law Darlene had something to do with the mysterious circumstances surrounding her son Larry’s death. She desperately wants to get a confession out of Darlene — and to ensure the safety of Larry’s daughter, Olivia. As Myra, Annie, and their cohorts dig deeper into Darlene’s shady dealings, events unfurl in a way that no one could have predicted, bringing to light the true meaning of loyalty and courage — and the kind of friendship that can create miracles.

The Summer Girls By Mary Alice Monroe Gallery Books Release date: June 25, 2013 Sea Breeze, eighty-year-old Marietta Muir's ancestral summer home, sits amidst ancient live oaks and palmettos, overlooking the water. At the onset of summer, Marietta, affectionately called "Mamaw," seeks to gather her three granddaughters—Carson, Eudora, and Harper—with the intent to reunite them and heal the wounds that have driven them apart since their summers together as children. Carson's astonishing bond with a dolphin helps her renew relationships with her sisters and help them face the haunting memories of their ill-fated father. In The Summer Girls, surprising truths are revealed, mistakes forgiven, and precious connections made that will endure long beyond one summer.




Enemy of Mine (A Pike Logan Thriller) by Brad Taylor Penguin Books Available now

A tentative peace between Israel and Palestine has been brokered by the United States. But the Taskforce—a clandestine team operating outside of U.S. law to protect the country from terrorism—gets wind of an assassination attempt on the American envoy sent to solidify the treaty. Follow taskforce operator, Pike Logan, and his partner, Jennifer Cahill, as they contend with terrorist organizations, independent killers, and shaky allies to uncover the biggest threat of all: an American citizen hiding a secret that may destroy everything.

The Wisdom of Hair by Kim Boykin Penguin Books Available now

In 1983, on her nineteenth birthday, Zora Adams says good-bye to her alcoholic mother and their tiny town in the mountains of South Carolina. With the help of a beloved teacher, she moves to the coast to enroll in the Davenport School of Beauty. As she practices finger waves, updos, and spit curls, she also comes to learn what’s really permanent in this life—real love, lasting friendship, and ultimately, forgiveness.




Field Guide Etiquette


Though quite innocent looking, a napkin comes with a set of simple rules. When given a napkin, use it. Do not let it sit beside your plate. It is to be used for dabbing your mouth, and to protect your lap from spills. Be it cloth or paper, your napkin goes in your lap as soon as you sit down. Never tuck a napkin into your shirt, belt, waistband or between buttons. Do not shake a napkin to open it. Unfold it discreetly under the table. While small napkins should be unfolded completely, large napkins should be folded in half and the fold placed towards your body, the open end of the napkin toward your knees. The napkin should remain on your lap throughout the entire meal and used as often as you feel the need, but only to blot and never to wipe! Your napkin is not to be used as a handkerchief or to blot lipstick. Never dispose of "unpleasantries" in a napkin. Should your napkin fall to the ground, refrain from picking it up. Instead, signal a waiter and ask for a new one. A napkin does not go back on the table until the end of the meal - ever. If you need to leave the table during a meal, place your napkin on the seat of your chair and push your chair under the table. This placement signals to the wait staff that you will be returning. At the end of the meal, if your plate has already been removed, loosely fold and place your napkin in the center of the place setting. Otherwise, place your napkin loosely on the table, to the left of the plate. Do not refold the napkin, or put it on your plate. If napkin rings were used, return the napkin to the napkin ring, with the point facing the center of the table, to the left of the plate. The intention of rules of etiquette is to make you more comfortable. Now that you are familiar with the proper use of napkins, you can sit back and enjoy your next meal‌ while showcasing your lovely manners. AM












A Bowl Full of Lemons

A Look at Blogger Toni Hammersley’s Growing Empire of Organization by

Katie DePoppe




Clockwise: A dresser and home-made chalkboard flank the dining room table, a stylish and well organized pantry, Toni Hammersley

When Toni Hammersley began blogging in November 2010, her intention was to create a simple online organizing journal to display her latest home-improvement projects for family, friends, and the occasional stranger who stumbled upon her work. “I didn’t think I’d have 100 followers,” she says laughing, “and I certainly didn’t think it would be a job.” But when her family moved from Ohio to the Lowcountry in July 2012, and she added photos of her new and thoughtfully styled home, the following of readers that Hammersley likens to “a snowball” was in reality more comparable to an avalanche. Today, her blog, A Bowl Full of Lemons, has nearly 29,000 Facebook fans and 42,000 Pinterest followers.

A self-proclaimed neat-nick at heart, Hammersley “had things a certain way,” from an early age but graduated out of her orderliness as she entered her teenage and college years. “I wasn’t as organized as I am now,” she says. Her later stint in the military helped to rekindle her passion for tidiness, followed by her growth into organization when her children were born. “When the kids came, the stuff came, and then I had to have a system,” she explains. “I had to do something about it—three kids in three different stages of life yield a lot of stuff !” What began as a hobby quickly replaced Toni’s full-time job as a nurse. Suddenly her days were consumed with answering emails,




shopping for, planning and writing new blog entries, editing photos, and working through product placement deals with the likes of Office Depot and Gladware. At one point, she had so many emails flooding her Gmail account, she crashed the system. “I feel like Dear Abby,” she says, “People will email and ask all sorts of things—what kind of cups do you use? What do you use to clean your kitchen? What kind of basket is that? It’s so interesting.” Her mission to become organized was a process that spread far beyond the family’s home, and she chronicled it all with beautiful photos. Her signature color palettes help in the visual appeal. While her home is neutral—nearly all white, with bright accessories that she changes often, Hammersley uses a myriad of rainbow hues in organizing. “It really works,” she says, “White is so timeless, and the splashes of color really show up, but if it’s not my style [meaning a product provided by a company], I’m not going to share it with my readers.” Also, a trained photographer, Hammersley lends much credit to the blog’s popularity because of the visual interest. “God had a plan,” she says, “I was supposed to learn how to take pictures first.” Readers are looking for lovely images and substance. Hammersley lives by the adage that a cluttered home equals a cluttered mind. While her original purpose for starting the blog was a personal log, the original “cute” meaning behind the name

A Bowl Full of Lemons, as well as her perspective, has changed with its growth. “If my blog can help somebody else—whether with debt, their home, their health,” she continues, “that’s what matters. It’s grown into a worldwide community about a bunch of different things that enrich people’s lives, and for that, it means more to me now than it did back then.” “My blog is about organizing every aspect of your life,” Hammersley explains in earnest, “so you’re going to hit every part of what’s important to every person.” From

the heights of her kitchen cabinets to the depths of her closets, and from the practical home management binder and portable filing system to her emergency preparedness station, Hammersley sees the world in terms of order. “Organization simplifies your life,” she says, “Not spending ten minutes looking for a sharpie has value. That’s one less thing

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A Bowl Full Of Lemons Continued

to think about.” Practicality is another reason. In times of emergency or chaos, as the case of her family’s displacement from their home following a hurricane 14 years ago which rendered them temporarily homeless, being organized is not only a saving grace, but could mean the difference between life and death. The blog is indeed about much more than stuff. So, does being this organized mean Hammersley has mastered the art of time management? “I admit I have an obsession with day planners,” she says smiling, “Filofax is my favorite. And they don’t pay me to say that.” She has one for her family’s budget and financial data, one for scheduling the blog, and one for keeping everyone’s daily schedule in check. “It’s a lot to keep up with. I try to shut everything off on the weekends to spend time with my family,” she says. And while Hammersley guards her time carefully, she also admits the more organized she becomes, the more she wants to do. So what’s next for the young entrepreneur who, in her realm of cyberspace, is changing the way women (and men) order their fastpaced lives? “Every day I get emails from women saying I’ve saved their homes and letters from people saying how much a system or a series has helped them. I want to continue to do that—help people.”AM Visit Toni’s blog at

A river cabin is a perfect setting for an office, kayaks ready to explore the Edisto


Edisto River Adventures (Outdoors)

On The River

Edisto River Adventures provides the opportunity for blackwater discovery in Summerville’s backyard by Jana Riley At the far reaches of Summerville, one of the area’s most hidden gems, the Edisto River, lies in wait for explorers to seek and find. The longest free flowing blackwater river in North America, the Edisto meanders over 250 miles from its sources in Columbia and Augusta, all the way to the Atlantic Ocean near Edisto Beach. Much of it flows through Dorchester County, and public access sites allow opportunities for warm-weather activities




like swimming, tubing, fishing, and kayaking. Susan Stroman, co-owner of Edisto River Adventures, provides comprehensive access to the latter. After years of sharing her real estate services with South Carolinians, Stroman, with the help of her husband, began her own search for a dream house. They found a fixer-upper on the Edisto River, and Stroman quickly fell in love with the diverse, coffeecolored waters bordering her new home. Just four years ago, she bought her first kayak in an effort to explore her new surroundings, and took to the waters every chance she had. Describing the river as “magical, soothing, and peaceful,” the amateur paddler soon became an expert as she explored the various inlets and coves along the water’s edge. In February of 2013, a friend of the Stromans offered the couple the opportunity to buy Edisto River Adventures, and Susan jumped at the chance to share her newfound love with the people of the Lowcountry and its visitors. She immediately began making preparations for Summer 2013 and beyond: purchasing single and tandem river kayaks, charting out routes, hiring qualified

guides, planning summer camps for teens, and setting up the Edisto River Adventures outpost. By spring, the company was completely reborn, and after attending the Flowertown Festival as a vendor, Stroman began taking calls and setting up outings.

Maiden Voyage On a warm Sunday in April, my husband Dan and I headed to the Edisto River Adventures outpost to participate in one of the company’s first voyages down the river. Just a short 30-minute drive from our home near downtown Summerville, we passed pick-your-own blueberry farms, Bee City, a few vegetable stands, Givhans Ferry State Park, and scores of beautiful sights. As we took our final turn, the scenery changed from pines and oaks to a swampy paradise full of Cypress trees and knees. After parking and walking down a long, beautiful boardwalk, we arrived at the Edisto River Adventures outpost; a sandy beach bordering the river, replete with activities and relaxing ways to spend an afternoon. One couple was engaged in a fierce cornhole tournament, while two men tossed horseshoes and others rested up in porch swings. We met Stroman in the outdoor kitchen, where she doled out waivers to the day’s guests. We were a diverse group to be sure; among us were couples, singles, a birthday party group, and one fairly pregnant woman—the ages of everyone spanned at least four decades. Still, we all shared an excitement about the day’s activity, and the consensus was that none of us could wait to get on the water. After trying on life vests, everyone slathered on sunscreen and bug spray and loaded into the van. As we headed down the road toward the launch spot, the van slowly filled with the chatter of strangers becoming familiar. By the time we pulled into the gravel lot ten minutes later, some seemed like old friends and continued their conversations out into the daylight. Stroman and her husband assigned kayaks and paddles, gave a few instructions, and answered questions. Then, one by one, we slid our

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On The River Continued

kayaks into the waters of the Edisto and the adventure began.

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As we headed down the river, we discussed our levels of kayaking experience. Only a few were seasoned paddlers; most had been once or twice before, and one or two had never set foot in a boat. Regardless, everyone agreed they felt comfortable once on the water, as the Edisto lends itself well to paddlers of all levels of expertise. The current was gentle and continuous, allowing us to stop paddling occasionally while still keeping with the group. Always within a few hundred yards of each other, paddlers enjoyed socializing while taking in the surroundings. Like a long country road, the river would bend and curve, instilling in us a constant curiosity as to what lay around the next corner. At one point, Stroman directed the group into an intriguing inlet, where the water was more still, the trees denser, and the atmosphere quieter. Our eyes darted everywhere, seeking to find an elusive alligator or snake, but we were only met with lazy turtles sunning themselves on partially submerged logs. A few kayakers stopped to take photos along the banks, and after sufficiently exploring the hidden waterway, we headed back to the main stretch of river. Stroman suggested that we remember to “look up,” and as I craned my neck toward the blue sky, I understood why. While the waters and banks of the Edisto offer incredible scenery, the canopy above is a stunning addition. The branches of cypress, tupelo, and pine trees weave together in a spectacular tapestry against the sky, while eagles, hawks, and smaller birds dot the landscape. Some three hours later, our journey ended back at the Edisto River Adventures Outpost—nine miles down the river from where we began. Stroman’s husband fired up the grill for hot dogs while the tired group settled into porch swings and rocking chairs. A few of us compared notes on birds sighted along the trip; hawks, woodpeckers, cardinals,





and eagles seemed to be in abundance that day. One couple laughed as they told us how, in a moment of inattention, they kayaked right into a bush, and had the scratches to prove it. When it was time to pack up and say goodbye, everyone exchanged hugs and well-wishes as we

Like a long country road, the river would bend and curve, instilling in us a constant curiosity as to what lay around the next corner.

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• Compassionate one-on-one pregnancy care • Treatment of problems such as abnormal paps, pelvic organ prolapse, urinary incontinence, abnormal uterine bleeding, and osteoporosis. • Specializing in minimally invasive surgery, including daVinci Robotic surgery. walked to our cars. Soon, my husband and I were headed back to civilization, away from the calming waters of the Edisto and the generous hospitality of the Stromans and Edisto River Adventures. Before we even made it back into town, we had already planned our next trip, eager to paddle down the beautiful blackwater river once again. AM To find out more about Edisto River Adventures, visit them online at

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Leslie Wade with some of her students

Growing Opportunity

A therapeutic gardening program in McClellanville, S.C. provides a creative and vocational outlet for students across the Lowcountry by Jana Riley


n the activity shed at Adaptive Gardens of the Lowcountry, handmade posters line the walls. Covered in photographs of smiling children and teens with produce in hand or posing in front of garden beds, every poster shares the same message; in large block print, the words “thank you” are clearly visible. Just beyond the shed, a class of middle schoolers gathers around a raised plot of soil, all eyes on a woman directing their attention to new shoots of spring peas. Nestled in a grove of trees on Thornhill Farm in McClellanville, South Carolina, Adaptive Gardens is a 100-acre beacon to many local students—a horticultural therapy program for people with disabilities and special needs. Founded in 2009 by Maria Baldwin




of Our Local Foods, the program began with just two schools: Wando High School and Georgetown Middle. Now in its fourth year, Adaptive Gardens works with ten schools and organizations, equating to approximately 150 students a week. The majority of its daily operations are handled by Leslie Wade, Executive Director and expert horticulturist. Today’s class is from Georgetown and consists of eight students. They come every three weeks, though other school groups come more or less frequently. The students’ disabilities and special needs are widely varied, but they all have one thing in common: they love coming to the gardens. Clustered around "Ms. Leslie" at one of the program’s raised garden beds, the students listen with rapt attention...mostly. A few become distracted, and their teachers gently nudge their focus back to the lesson at hand. Ms. Leslie plucks a few spring peas from the garden and offers them to the students who are happy to oblige. After sampling the produce, they are directed over to a gardening table, where Ms. Leslie announces their next task: creating organic potting mix. The kids have done this before, earlier in the year, but the supply has run low and it's time to make a fresh batch. Leslie reminds the students of the steps and asks for a volunteer. A few boys express their desire to help, and take turns measuring, weighing, and mixing the ingredients together. When they are finished, Leslie suggests a crowd favorite: pulling up carrots. The students rush to the carrot beds and begin grabbing at the stalks, eager to see them emerge from the soil. Plucking the

vegetables from the dirt, they cheer triumphantly at the size of each find, no matter how large or small. This excited activity continues, and the enthusiasm never wanes. When the beds are sparse and few carrots remain, the teachers usher the students inside for lunch. The carrots are then gathered, washed, and chopped for the hungry kids to eat, and for a while, the place is calm and quiet, save for the munching of sandwiches and crunching of fresh vegetables. This is a fairly typical day at Adaptive Gardens, whose mission is “to enrich the lives of persons with disabilities and special needs by promoting healthy living, social bonding, and vocational and recreational pursuits through horticultural activities.” Earlier in the morning, the students collected eggs from the resident chicken, Oreo, the last surviving member of a “special needs flock.” The other birds, comprised of disabled or otherwise “special” chickens from Thornhill Farm, died from natural causes over the last year, but Oreo remains a survivor—only happy to interact with the students each week. Many of the activities in which the students participate on a daily basis are economical endeavors, existing to teach them marketable skills while bringing in money to continue funding the program. This setup has been so successful that the organization was able to begin hiring former students to help with the programs and oversee the production of cottage industry goods. “There is an entrepreneurial spirit ingrained in this program,” explains Leslie. “The idea is that the more we do and sell, the more people with special needs we can actually employ.” Some days, students plant

scag_007158.11_FOTM_azalea_mag_7.5x4.8859.indd 1

seeds in small pots, nurturing them to seedlings that will later sell at the Adaptive Gardens annual plant sale. Other days may include creating soaps from lemongrass and luffa, grown and harvested on-site, or making wildflower seed paper cards—both sold at local farmer’s markets, Our Local Foods, and online at The organic gardening mix that the students enjoy creating is bagged and sold regularly. Also in the works is a container gardening subscription service, where time-crunched Charleston residents will be able to order a large recycled container pre-planted with herbs or flowers, all assembled by the Adaptive Gardens classes and crew. No matter the activity, Wade and the rest of the crew ensure that it is an enriching and satisfying learning experience for all, and serve to strengthen the student’s social and vocational skills. After all, she says, horticulture is an industry that is alive and well all across the world in some degree. By providing disabled and special needs students with a strong skillset in such an active trade, they can have more opportunities after high school ends and the “real world” sets in. As the students wind down for the afternoon, their teachers ask them what their favorite activity was today, and what they are excited about for next time. The answers are all different, but the energy and enthusiasm behind the responses is a telling sign— Adaptive Gardens of the Lowcountry is making lives better, happier, and more promising. AM For more information on Adaptive Gardens, visit

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Caleb Taylor pours a cold one; A fresh porter on the bar


Homegrown Brewhouse (Drink)

Raising The Bar

A fervent passion for brewing led Caleb Taylor and his wife Amber to open Homegrown Brewhouse, an establishment that sets its sights squarely on all things local. by Jana Riley Caleb Taylor is a self-described beer nerd. At his post behind the long wooden bar at Homegrown Brewhouse in Summerville, he looks confident and comfortable, holding a glass to the light and inspecting it for any imperfections. "The glass is crucial to the beer experience," he explains. "If it isn't perfectly clean; if there is any residue on it at all, that will reflect in the taste of the beer. If it is the wrong shape for the type of beer you're drinking, it will not taste as good as it could, simple as that." Taylor sets aside the glass and selects another, inspecting it the same way he did the first. Satisfied, he takes the glass to one of the 40 taps lining the wall behind the bar and fills it to the brim, setting it before a patron with care. Originally from Hilton Head, 30-year-old Taylor and his wife, Amber, fell in love with Summerville while students at Charleston Southern, and have lived in the area for nearly six years. Shortly after

they relocated, Taylor’s sister-in-law gifted him with a home brewing kit, and a love affair with beer and brewing began. Instead of following the recipe book provided, he would choose a style of beer unfamiliar to him, and spend days researching the history and particulars of the brew. Only after his curiosity was satisfied, would he then begin the brewing process. As a result, over the years, Taylor has built a knowledge base of beers and brewing techniques broad enough to impress any beer aficionado. His beverage creations were such a hit with friends and family, they urged him to share his talents with others. Over time, Taylor began to build a vision for a local brewpub—a place where he could brew his own beer and serve it to the masses, though his college education did little to prepare him for such an endeavor. Having majored in Youth Ministry with a minor in Christian Leadership, he went on to attend the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary until Hurricane Katrina hit and brought him back to South Carolina. He worked in the ministry for a while until AZALEAMAG.COM



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Raising The Bar Continued

he decided to pursue this latest venture, though his faith remains a key component in his life. “There’s a reason I am closed on Sunday,” he says with a smile. After years of planning and dreaming of opening a local brewery, the Taylors finally secured a lease on the perfect location: the old Trident United Way building in downtown Summerville. They signed the papers in January, and what followed in the next few months was a labor of love; while his wife often worked overtime at Summerville Medical Center, Taylor transformed the space. He built the bar himself, which his wife later stained. He designed and built three custom walk-in coolers, rigged the 40 taps, and did his fair share of demolition and framing. They officially opened on March 30, but not without a frantic rush to the finish line. “We opened on a Saturday,” explains Taylor. “We got the alcohol license on Friday morning, and the beer didn’t come in until Friday afternoon. It wasn’t until 4:30 pm on Friday that the town approved the building to be ready for occupancy, and I ran after that to get my retail license—got it right before 5:00 pm.” The opening went off without a hitch to a crowd of revelers. Taylor credits the hometown atmosphere of Summerville for much of the bar’s success thus far.

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“People in this town have no problem helping each other out and supporting one another,” he says. “The word spread quickly with zero advertising.” That sense of camaraderie runs deep through Homegrown Brewhouse, and Taylor has teamed up with local dining establishments to provide snacks for hungry patrons. Hummingbird Cafe and C. Coop Catering offer pretzels, lunchtime meals, and pastries for purchase, and Famulari’s Pizza is also on the menu. While he has no plans for an in-house kitchen, Taylor hopes to begin brewing his own beers on site by the end of 2013—he already has the beer fermenting room and

voted best beer cellar built in the back. He is also working his way up to having at least 80 beers on draft. In everything he does, he strives to stay local. When he does start brewing on-site, he will be using locally sourced ingredients whenever possible. And you won’t find many national “big name breweries” on the menu, as he mostly offers beer made in South Carolina. Still, Taylor is adamant that Homegrown Brewhouse is an “everyman’s bar,” rather than reserved for some subset of cultured beer drinkers. “Beer isn't supposed to be off-putting,” he says sincerely. “It's a drink for anytime or anyplace. The craft beers we serve often have more mainstream cousins that taste similar, but these are made better and they’re more local. You're doing yourself and the community a favor by drinking a local craft brew as opposed to something that is made thousands of miles away.”

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The establishment has a clean industrial feeling, with lots of metal, wood, and concrete. Above the flock of taps, a chalkboard sign declares, "This bar is dedicated to those merry souls who make drinking a pleasure, who reach contentment before capacity, and whatever they drink, can take it, hold it, and remain ladies and gentlemen," making a strong statement that while this is a bar, it is not that kind of bar. And looking around, there is a curious lack of televisions, video games, blaring music, and other standard bar staples. "There are plenty of places to drink beer in Summerville,” explains Taylor. “There are plenty of places to watch the game, and plenty of places to get drunk. I wanted to provide a different sort of place: a nice chill spot where you can socialize, meet up with people, and not have your attention distracted by something else." Cozy and comfortable in its Main Street digs, Homegrown Brewhouse is a destination for beer fans and superfans. At the helm: Caleb and Amber Taylor, who have poured their passion, drive, and creativity into the local endeavor, ensuring that a bright future remains on tap. AM AZALEAMAG.COM



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Some Days, I’m Not Myself by Susan Frampton

I met one of my neighbors yesterday in town. Normally this would be a nice, but fairly unremarkable event. He shook my hand and introduced himself. Again, unremarkable, except for the fact that I’ve lived in the same house for over twenty years and had more than a few conversations with this person in my front yard. I haven’t cut my hair. I might be up a pound or two, but really, a little bit of a double chin shouldn’t render me unrecognizable, right? It was a little awkward. Call him out, or play along? It isn’t as though we borrow cups of sugar from each other regularly, but we’ve talked about the weather, St. Augustine versus Centipede, his grandchildren, my dogs, and the usual things that you talk about to neighbors in passing. Then it dawns on me. The only times we’ve really talked have been

in my yard. I work in my yard; and by work, I don’t mean pruning a few petunias. I throw myself into the yard with total abandon. There I dig deep to bury the injustices of life and count my blessings with each wheelbarrow load of leaves and pine straw. The weeds I whack resolve my frustrations; the creeping wisteria I yank from shrubbery pulls the stress from my shoulders, and I gain instant gratification from the swaths of smooth grass left by the lawnmower. As mental and physical therapy, it is priceless, but admittedly, it isn’t pretty. It doesn’t help that my usual yard work uniform looks more like it came from the floor of the football team’s locker room than from Martha Stewart’s gardening line. (I’m sorry, but anyone whose khakis retain their creases in the 100% humidity of a ninety-degree day is either not human or not working very hard.) My face has





a tendency to turn beet red under my tattered USMC baseball cap, so don’t even get me started on my hair. Happily, my vanity disappears when I slip on my worn leather gloves, and I wear the grime on my face like a pricey beauty product. I’m not the slightest bit embarrassed to shoot myself with the garden hose, chat with a neighbor, and return to lopping the ligustrum without batting an eye. It’s an attractive look, I’m sure. Sometimes I sing out loud. Cars have actually swerved at the sight of me lip-syncing into a garden trowel when my iPod lets loose a tune I really like. I am particularly fond of edging my brick-lined driveway by hand, which requires that I perform a sort of stomp-slide dance, complete with weirdlooking lawn implement in tow. I then tidy up by scooting along on a wheeled bench which sports a miniature South Carolina vanity plate that reads “Jasmine.” It’s amazingly cathartic, but probably looks a bit odd, and it’s usually hotter than seven hells by the time I get to the street end of the driveway. This has me wondering if those who stop to chat might actually be examining me for symptoms of heat prostration; their fingers poised to dial 911 on their cell phones. As these things ran through my mind as we stood in the bank parking lot yesterday, I opted to play along, sticking out my hand. “So nice to meet you,” I said. It isn’t entirely impossible that without the sweaty T-shirt and knee-high pink rubber boots, he had no clue that the woman in the high heels and pin-striped suit is the same strange woman he regularly encounters belting the Rolling Stones while on her knees pulling Florida betony one tiny stem at a time. It’s also possible that he was mortified for me, and was attempting to save me from acknowledging my dirty doppelganger. Part of me thinks it might be a nice gesture, but another part is




oddly indignant. Either way, it’s probably best if neither of us brings it up in the future—ever. I gave it a little more thought this morning, and actually paused to weigh the idea of dressing, putting on make-up, and fixing my hair for a run to the grocery store rather

Sometimes I sing out loud. Cars have actually swerved at the sight of me lip-syncing into a garden trowel when my iPod lets loose a tune I really like.

than stepping out wearing pajamas, dark glasses, and a really bad hat. I won’t totally rule the idea out for next time. On that note, one day you just might encounter a pajama-clad woman in pink rubber boots, who wears dark glasses, and sings to herself while contemplating mulch in the home improvement store. It might be me, but it could also be that other me – the one from my front yard. If she sticks out her hand when you greet her and says, “So nice to meet you,” please play along and pretend we’ve never met. The next time we run into each other, we can both pretend it never happened. AM

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FIREWORKS & FRIENDS LET'S CELEBRATE OUR NATION'S BIRTHDAY! Summer is a special place in "The Ville"! Join us for a good old fashioned Fourth of July celebration at Gahagan Park Sports Complex (515 Boundary Street in Summerville). This family-friendly event will begin on July 4th at 4:30 p.m. with food, fun, & music. Then we will top it off with a fantastic fireworks display at 9 p.m. so bring your blankets and chairs and come celebrate with us!


God’s Glory in Earthen Vessels Discovering gold in a homeless family by Michelle Lewis

My gas needle is below empty and my wallet mimics the tank. With only a handful of pennies in the cup holder, I doubt I'll make it home. Well, I doubt my car will make it home. Oh, the glorious consequences of leaving home without my purse! Knowing I need a mere gallon of gas to make it to the house, I feel confident I can scrape up $3 from somewhere. Since I'm at a public park there's a slight chance I'll find some change laying in the grass. (And if all else fails, I know I can call someone to rescue me.) With my eyes to the ground, I begin my quest for treasure. The value of a quarter has suddenly multiplied. No longer do I view it as mere pocket change. It’s now a superstar amongst pennies and nickels (though I'd be pleased to find a few of those as well). Surely some jogger had a hole in his pocket. Or maybe a cartwheeling kid let a few coins escape. But alas, the only silver I see is a bottle cap. Scanning the grassy knolls, I eventually reach the woods at the edge of the park, and my search turns to curiosity. Abandoning my mission, I duck into the trees. A silent forest swallows the sounds of Charleston as I press in deeper. My hair gets tangled in a low-lying branch. Briars try to capture me—they pull my shoelaces loose and leave tiny pinpricks in my clothes. I discover a trail. Trails are meant to be followed, so I do what feels right. It crosses my mind that perhaps I'm traveling an alligator track. I am on the river after all. And if not an

alligator, then probably a fisherman. I continue onward until a chain-link fence cuts across my path. It seems to have lost its authority a long time ago. A twisted gate creates a narrow opening and the trail continues undeterred; the logging chain and padlock a moot point. I squeeze between the metal arms and follow in the footsteps of my predecessor. The NO TRESPASSING sign tells me Don’t Get Caught. From the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of color. I see clothes hanging from tree limbs, a tent, a few tin cans scattered around. I've stumbled into a campsite and three pairs of eyes are staring at me. I laugh. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm caught by surprise. Or maybe because I'm happy to have found what will clearly be interesting conversation. “Hey there. I'm Michelle.” I smile. They smile back. I grab a patch of grass and take a seat. It just seems appropriate. The tenants look to be about my age. A woman and two men. Friendly folks living on prime real-estate—riverfront property. One after another they introduce themselves. I soon learn that instead of finding coins, I have found gold. Jason and Amanda are a couple who have traveled alongside one another for years. Married by all intent and purposes, they lack only






a bit of paperwork to make it official. When they ask how I found them, I confide that I have been looking for change. Immediately Jason holds out his hand. "Will this help?" Fifty-four cents. He gives me everything they have. I think to myself, I have just witnessed the story of the Widow's Mite. I stick it in my pocket, telling them I may have something they can use. Amanda and I walk to the car. Rummaging around in my trunk I find some peanut butter, a pillow, some ramen noodle soup, a pan, and a couple other items. One of the benefits of having a messy car, paired with a love of camping and a recent grocery run. Meanwhile Amanda has asked another person to donate to my cause—something I would never have been able to do. She immediately takes the burden of caring for me. A man parked next to me gives a charitable donation—nearly $2. In return, I give him a bottle of Tide that is sitting in the backseat. I now have almost three bucks. Enough to get me back home. I hug Amanda, hoping that she and Jason know how much their kindness means to me. Then I take my precious treasure and trade it for fuel. A few weeks later I'm in that same park. "Michelle!" It's Jason. We greet each other, happy to be re-acquainted. "You need money?"

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I laugh, and assure him that I'm alright. (But I know if I did, he would give it up in a heartbeat.) "Come on," he tells me. "Amanda's mad at me. But if you're here she'll talk to me again." He escorts me to his wife. She's sitting in

the sunshine. I plop down next to her, and the three of us spend the next couple hours laughing, learning about one another, and enjoying a friendship that is beginning to flourish. During our conversation I share with them an insecurity, a fear that I have. Suddenly the two team up and begin to fill me with words of beauty, nourishing me with the detail of their declarations. They speak to me of God and of the promises in the Bible. They give me their opinions of who I am. And they make me feel absolutely precious. Extraordinary even. Jason speaks like a preacher, full of knowledge. "I haven't forgotten the things I learned in jail," he says. He turns up a beer can. "I just don't feel like I have any right to talk about God because of this," motioning to the six-pack sitting next to him. This was last spring, but I think about the encounter often. I’m glad Jason decided to step out of his comfort zone that day. He and Amanda reminded me of things I had forgotten, and they showed me things I had never considered. I only saw them twice, and they’ve since moved on to Colorado, but the three of us still keep in touch. They have continuously covered me in prayer, and I wonder how many blessings have come to pass because of them. They've probably impacted my life more than any of us will ever know. “The Word of God would die if no one tells it." Those are Jason's words. He and Amanda—homeless, impoverished, former drug addicts—are God's Word revealed to me. God's messengers are sometimes the most unlikely suspects. They may not look the way we expect. They may not behave the way we think they should. And they may have never sat in a pew. But if you pay attention, you will see that the Glory of God is indeed hidden inside earthen vessels. AM

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Prior to BrainCore Therapy, Casey was scattered, disorganized, and had great difficulty focusing. He was always losing things, forgetting the time and falling behind in school. Following BrainCore Therapy, Casey is an organized and focused young man. He always has his homework; no longer runs late and is very informative to us, his parents, regarding his whereabouts. I know that this sounds fantastical, but it is true. Just ask those folks who know the before and after Casey.

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The Demise of Guys The Rise of the Boy-Man by Will Browning

How do I say this and not get myself into trouble? I probably can’t, so I guess I’ll just say it. There is a significant demise in the essence of manhood in the twenty-first century. The women’s rights movements of the twentieth century helped, rightly I might add, to level the playing field between men and women, but the unfortunate and unpredictable outcome was that men have ever-so methodically continued to step backward as a result. Over the last half-century we have seen the boys of our nation take a meteoric plunge in educational commitment, in-

terpersonal aptitude, and transitional maturation. Psychologist Phillip Zimbardo reported these statistics in his March 2011 address at the TED Conference in Long Beach, California: • Boys are 30% more likely to drop out of school than girls. • Two out of three kids in remedial programs are boys. •Girls outperform boys at every level from grade school to graduate school.




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While boys are focusing less and less on their schoolwork, they are spending more and more time on the internet and gaming systems. It is true that all men have an innate desire for adventure and camaraderie. The growing problem is that their adventure and relationships are being lived out in a virtual world rather than the real world where they must figure out how to function to thrive. According to Zimbardo, by the time the average boy reaches manhood (age 21) in America he will have played 10,000 hours of video games and will be viewing 50 clips of pornography every week.

He will never get a career because that would force him to get off the couch, get out of his boxers, and actually be a man! If you are a young lady, this should frighten you. Our culture has created this Boy-Man and one day he is going to come asking to be your husband. He is a boy who’s had facial hair for ten years. He wants to find a woman he can mooch off both financially and physically. He is looking for someone to take the place of his mother, who by the way, is tired and worn out from nearly three decades of cleaning his room, cooking his meals, and picking up his toys.





Mind you ladies, he will make no commitment to you, but he is motivated to get everything that marriage has to offer, although you shouldn’t count on him to do his part and provide. That's too much to ask a boy who’s focused on ‘leveling up’ on Call of Duty for five hours a day. But he will be happy to live in your house and let you pay the mortgage, and while you are working all day, he will watch porn and from time-to-time bounce around from one dead-end job to the next. He will never get a career because that would force him to get off the couch, get out of his boxers, and actually be a man. You are right—this is an unfair caricature of all men. We all know plenty of men who do not fit this category. The point is that today’s culture has methodically crippled our sons’ development with hushed, duplicitous schemes. An intervention is necessary, a modern-day revival of sorts, to save manhood. First, fathers we need to be exemplary men who our boys can confidently emulate. Our boys need us to call them into a real-life adventure on the world stage rather than on a screen. They are seeking real adventure and their fathers must be the vanguard to this new undiscovered world.

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Second, mothers stop enabling your sons, but rather encourage your boys to find joy in earning a wage and spending their earnings on others. Also never let your son talk down to you. I often overhear mothers allowing their sons to talk to them in ways they would not dare let any grown man speak to them. Teach your sons to value all women and to see them as the crown of creation. Finally, find a place of worship to call home where your son’s manhood can be developed with humility and meekness. Your son needs to see and hear how Jesus, the ultimate Son, lived his life. (Philippians 2:1-11) AM







Short Central Summerville’s Historic Village District

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Short Central Summerville’s Historic Village District

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The Rebirth of a Plantation

The Wimberly Family has breathed new life into a once forgotten rural farm photos by Dottie Rizzo




STYLE The Rebirth

of a Plantation

In 1992, Dr. William and Pat Wimberly purchased Maybank Plantation, originally a rice plantation, as a hunting site for William and their three sons. The two original structures of the pre-1850 estate, the main house and the slave quarters, had all but fallen into ruin. So much so, that once the overgrowth was removed from the slave house, the structure collapsed, leaving only the chimney remaining upright. William and Pat were determined not to see the main house succumb to the same fate. After a contractor’s inspection of the house deemed the foundation safe, the family set out on an extensive campaign to restore the home. With a busy medical practice in Summerville where both William, a family physician, and Pat, a registered nurse, spend most of their week, free time was minimal. “We worked on weekends and made decisions as we went along,” says William. The first project was the conversion of a large shed into a guest cottage, where the Wimberlys stayed during the restoration process. Like most houses pre-dating 1850, an outdoor cookhouse was part of the original set-up, so the Wimberlys added a kitchen in an existing room of the house. They also added a large addition to the rear, which eventually became their master bedroom. Today, Maybank Plantation is reborn. While originally seen by the Wimberlys as a 462-acre property to chase deer and ducks, it has now become a haven for the family. William and Pat spend every weekend on the plantation, and the boys and their families come for holidays, hunts, and birthdays. While Maybank Plantation was originally in the business of growing rice, today the Wimberlys are content to cultivate memories. AM




STYLE The Rebirth

of a Plantation

Clockwise from top left: The avenue of oaks as seen from the front porch; one of the two guest bedrooms in the main house, the main house is surrounded with azaleas; the chimney from the old slave cottage; the claw foot tub in the guest bath; the living room in the guest house is a favorite spot for family visits or watching a big game




STYLE The Rebirth

of a Plantation

Clockwise from top left: The formal living room in the main house is bright and brimming with antiques; one of the many massive oaks that adorn the property; the tree house for the grand kids is perfect for sleep overs and birthdays; one of the two guest bedrooms in the main house





The master bedroom was a new addition to the rear of the main house





V I N TA G E H A I R S T U D I O . U S


M o n 9 - 4 , Tu e s - F r i 9 - 7 , S a t 9 - 4




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STYLE Local Character

Southern Fabric

Local designer Julia Faye Davison may soon be a household name interviewed by

Margie Sutton

DESIGNING WOMAN Julia Faye Davison amongst her creations




STYLE Local Character

Q: When did you first realize that you liked designing, that you had that talent? A: Oh gosh! My mom taught me how

to sew when I was 11 years old, and I used to make baby doll clothes. Once I got to high school, nothing fit me, as you can tell I am really tiny, so I would alter clothing that I already had and make new things. I didn’t think I was really good until that summer after I graduated from high school everyone told me, “You should be a designer.” That was when I decided I should go to school for fashion design. When I went to AIU in London that’s when I realized that I was pretty good at it. It was natural and fun. When something is fun and easy you just have to do it.

Q: How long were you at AIU in London? A: From 2005 to 2009 I went back and forth from the US to London.

Q: Where do you find your inspiration? A: I like to see what other designers

are doing for their Spring and Summer lines to see what the trends are and what people are wearing and then I always like to switch it up and do something artistic. I am very inspired by art and architecture.

Q: How did you hear about the Belk 2013 Southern Designer Showcase?

A: I was actually contacted by a model

who told me about it. I only had a month before the deadline, but I decided I wanted to enter. It was a last minute kind of thing. I always do that. I don’t know why.

Q: How many entrants were there? A: I am not sure about the number of

entrants, but there are 28 finalists from the South/Southeast, all Southern states.

Q: That’s pretty cool though, making it to the finals. That’s a great accomplishment. A:

It’s funny because the day of the annoncements I was like, “Man, I really hope I make it to the finals.” I was really worried because someone said they were already out, and I hadn’t received an email yet. Then it came and I was like, “Oh my gosh! Yay I made it!” I was pretty excited.

Q: If you win the competition, what will be the next step? A: Belk will produce the whole line and

it will come out next year in Spring 2014. This past year the winner’s line was sold in 40 Belk stores and online.

Q: I’ve seen previous designs you have created. What differentiates this new line from your previous collections?

Q: Do you have any interest in competing in something like Project Runway in the future?

This line is more geared to the young modern Southern woman, very traditional yet also some modern in there. I wanted to appeal to the young college aged professional, so it's different and more wearable. It still has my little twists in it but I designed it specifically to be sellable in Belk stores and on my website.

couple of those shows. Part of me wants to, but I am somewhat camera shy. I do like competition, but I don’t like “in your face” drama competition. The thing is, I am really good on crunchtime. I think I do my best when I have a very short deadline, although I stress to the max. I think if it comes up again and I am





A: I have been invited to interview for a

in the right mindset, I may do it. I am more flat pattern and little draping and most of them do mannequin draping and I just wasn’t trained that way. My mom wants me to do Project Runway and wants me to be this big star. A couple of my friends from college have done the show. Christian Siriano, I went to school with him. He did my hair in college. He is actually really good at what he does and that’s how he was in college. So all of my friends are doing all of that stuff, so I don’t know. Maybe I should be more pushy but I just have never been that kind of person. Whatever falls in my lap, falls in my lap. The one thing I don’t want to be is a fake person.

It’s our differences that make us great.

Q: As a designer, what is your goal? A: Everyone asks me that and I say that

I don’t really care, as long as I can pay back my student loans. That’s all I care about right now (laughs). I would like to have local stores carry my clothes, but I wouldn’t mind having my things in department stores as well. I want to be self sufficient and independent on my own and enjoy what I do. I don’t want it to be a chore. I’d like to have people work under me to help. I think that’s what every designer wants. I don’t mind sewing, I don’t think you are a real designer if you don’t know how to sew it. If you don’t know how to sew it or how it’s put together, then you're just playing house. That’s how I feel about it. There are a lot of people who just do a sketch and say, “I’m a designer.” But I want to say, “ You don’t even know how to put that together!”

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Q: When will you find out if you win the Belk 2013 Southern Designer Showcase? A: Winners are announced June 12th. AM


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A South Carolina photographer set out to photograph over 100 World War Two veterans, and walked away forever changed by Jana Riley


most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. If a man’s wife had passed, however, more often than not he acted like an 18-year-old boy,” Morris laughs. “More than once, especially at retirement homes and communities, I heard, ‘Man, there are some good looking girls in this place! I can’t remember their names, but they sure are pretty!’” With each new introduction, the photographer heard more stories and gleaned even more wisdom. After meeting only a few of the veterans, he had no doubt as to what the title would be: “The Greatest Generation” was the most fitting moniker for the caliber of men being profiled.

When the Electric Cooperatives of South Carolina approached Milton Morris to photograph a half-dozen World War II veterans for their “Honor Flight Book” last year, Morris happily signed on for the task—and then upped the ante. “The editor told me that they needed 113 South Carolina veterans photographed, but initially only asked me to shoot the people that were in the Florence area where I live,” explains Morris. “I said, ‘that sounds great, but how about I just photograph all of them for you?’” After giving it some thought, the editor agreed, and gave Morris six to eight weeks to complete the project. As the photographer planned his upcoming photo shoots, an idea began to form that Morris called “a project within an assignment.” Morris decided that he would photograph the veterans exactly as the Electric Cooperatives requested: creating sharp, colorful digital portraits with the subject smiling into the camera. When he had time, however, he would pull out his vintage Sinar X or Hasselblad film cameras and shoot the veterans in a retro and artistic black and white style. Over the next month and a half, Morris traveled the roads of South Carolina, meeting and photographing the World War II veterans in every corner of the state. Scheduling up to four sessions a day, the photographer utilized available light and backdrops for the portraits rather than bringing his own setup. As he photographed the subjects, Morris let the conversation flow organically. Expecting war stories and military memoirs, the photographer was instead regaled with tales of everyday life, kids and grandkids, jobs and homes, wives and girlfriends. “It was funny,” remembers Morris, “If a man’s wife was still alive, he talked about her like she was a goddess. You know they had ups and downs in their life together, but while he was talking to me about her, he was convinced that she was the most wonderful,




“I mean, my goodness, these are the most humble and wonderful people. They fought for us and then came back and built the greatest country in the world,” Morris emphatically explains. “They are truly great men. Most of us don’t have enough greatness about us to share, but we keep talking about ourselves and what we’ve done through Twitter, Facebook, blogs, and other social media. Yet you have these amazing, true heroes, and they never tell you about it. They aren’t saying, ‘let me blog about my experience in the foxhole so I can get some recognition.’ Any time I expressed gratitude or awe at their stories, these guys shrugged and said things like, ‘I was just doing what they trained me to do, and was just fortunate enough to live through it.’ They were incredibly humble.” Morris completed the assignment in just seven weeks, and walked away with everything the Electric Cooperatives needed for their Honor Flight book, hundreds of film images for his own project, and countless life lessons. Perhaps the most memorable lesson he gained from the project as a whole was one of contentment. “Some of these guys had been very successful doctors and lawyers, some worked in factories their entire lives, but their social or economic status seemed to matter little to them. At their cores, they were all very similar in their morals, their generosity, and their appreciation for life. The guy who didn’t have as much was just as happy as the guy who had tons. No one was saying, ‘I didn’t get enough breaks in life,’ or ‘what about me?’ when things didn’t go their way. It was a learning experience for me and I took that and applied it to my own life.” Looking back on the assignment and his own project, Morris notes that things did not go quite the way he had planned, and he is thankful for it. “It became an experience for me,” he shares. “I started out thinking that I was going to influence this project; instead I became influenced by it. I started out just looking for great photographs, but I ended up with 113 veterans who changed me.” AM Milton Morris is a photographer living in Olanta, South Carolina, with his wife and two sons. The Honor Flight book can be purchased through the Electric Cooperatives of South Carolina.


" These are the most humble and wonderful people. They fought for us and then came back and built the greatest country in the world." - Milton Morris 70



Angler Marc Deschenes just might be the best fresh water fish guide in the South–and that's just his day job by Jana Riley photos by Dottie Rizzo

HAWK EYE Deschenes looks for the perfect spot

It’s a sunny spring day, and Marc Deschenes is in his element.

Deschenes releases the bass, and everyone begins to settle down again.

Perched on the end of his bass fishing boat, rod in hand, he is explaining a slide casting technique to two young anglers-in-training. Pointing to a tree in the water, Marc talks casually and confidently to his enraptured listeners.

Marc flashes a white grin as he watches the boy talk about his first catch. “You know, I wasn’t much younger than him when I caught the bug,” he reflects. “My dad showed me how to fish when I was six or seven. He taught me just enough to be dangerous.”

“See that tree? I’mma bet there’s a fish there.” He casts the bait just underneath the lowest visible branches, skipping it along the water toward his target and says, “I’mma let this worm sink. If I see this line jump, that means he just ate it, and we can reel ‘im in.” The kids lean forward, watching and waiting. Holding the attention of young people is something of a specialty for Deschenes. As the owner of a local martial arts school and teacher of bass fishing to countless high schoolers, his skills at directing focus are well-honed. Soon, the line shakes, then jumps, and Deschenes pulls the rod back hard, hooking the fish. Handing it over to the youngest fisherman, he yells out instructions excitedly, “Reel it in! Reel it in! That’s it, keep going! Whooo-heeee, you got ‘im! Now pull it back, pull it back, and keep reeling!” The boy’s face lights up as he follows the instructions, and soon, he is eye-to-eye with the first bass he ever caught. After a few photos,




After his first lesson in casting and reeling, Deschenes fished every chance he had. By the time he attended Summerville High School, he was fishing seven days a week with his friend, Brent Riley. “Oh yeah, when I was in high school, I went crazy with it,” he reminisces. “Every day after school, Brent and I would go to the hatchery and fish. Other kids spent their money on alcohol and pot. We spent all our cash on fishing lures and rubber worms. Seemed like everyone else was partying and messing around...but we was fishin’ ‘til midnight.” After high school, Deschenes went on to attend Potomac State College in West Virginia and began searching for an athletic outlet. Soon, he was training at the Jhoon Rhee Institute of Tae Kwon Do in Falls Church, Virginia. He received his black belt in record time, and moved back to Summerville shortly after. For a while, he worked at Friedman’s Jewelers in town, until a fateful largemouth bass fishing tournament changed the course of his life. Partnering with his old fishing buddy, Brent, the two took home the

grand prize—a brand-new fishing boat. Instead of sailing the high seas with the craft, the friends sold it for $15,000. Deschenes took his half and opened up a martial arts school in Summerville, The National Karate Institute. Now in its 28th year, the National Karate Institute has seen over 2000 students, young and old, come through its doors. Deschenes is now a 7th degree black belt, and 49 students have made the journey from white to black belt under his leadership, while 39 have gone on to be named Tae Kwon Do world champions. Over the years, Deschenes has served as a father figure and mentor to many of his students, and many of them maintain contact long after they move on from the school. While Marc spends each Monday through Thursday mentoring and teaching children and adults in the disciplines of karate, his weekends are still spent with his first love—fishing. “Fishing has always been my passion,” he admits. “I was going to be out on the lake fishing anyway, so 23 years ago, I started V.I.P. Adventures.” As the owner and Master Guide at V.I.P. Adventures, Deschenes shares his extensive knowledge with anglers as he guides them around six private, well-stocked lakes in Summerville. He supplies the boat, bait, and tackle, and visitors come from all over to spend time on the water with the expert fisherman. ESPN has filmed dozens of bass-

fishing shows with the company, with Deschenes serving as the guide for some of the biggest names in the sport. Marc smiles proudly. “You know, I used to watch the professionals on TV. Shaw Grigsby, Hank Parker, O’Neil Williams...I always wanted to be one of those guys. Now, those guys come to me!” Over the years, Deschenes has found a way to combine his passion for working with kids with his keen interest in fishing. He helped start a fishing club at Ashley Ridge High in Summerville, and trains interested students in the art of bass fishing. A dozen times a year, a crowd of those students converge upon Marc’s lakes in Ridgeville, where he holds monthly tournaments for the high schoolers. Students walk away with trophies, prizes, and a sense of accomplishment. The angler is passionate about the impact fishing can have on a teenager’s life. “You get a kid fishing, and they’ll stay off the street,” he says. “Simple as that.” Between karate and fishing tournaments, belt tests and casting practice, Tae Kwon Do classes and bass fishing tours, it is clear that Deschenes is heavily invested in the subjects he finds meaningful and interesting: fishing, karate, and teaching kids. Sharing his time, skills, and heart with the young people of Summerville, he has already left behind a legacy of mentorship in his wake, and shows no signs of slowing down. AM AZALEAMAG.COM






Special thanks to Michael T. Owens, who contributed to this article

OBSERVING THE PAST Edwards stands in front of the laudromat hey owned and operated for many years

A handwritten sentiment from Benjamin S. Bacon, 196 Bradhurst Avenue, New York City, dated January 1946, sits on Rollins Edwards’ dining room table: “Let’s hope this is truly the last lap in your role as a soldier and that shining life as a civilian is just around the corner…”— the final words of a fellow soldier, written as the two said their last goodbyes and returned home from the second World War. Memories like these fill the walls and bookshelves of Rollins and Juanita Edwards’ home—a testament to rich and busy lives. A calendar, tracking circled social engagements and appointment times written in ink, and featuring a magnificent Clydesdale, is pinned prominently above the kitchen table. “I’ve always loved horses,” he tells me and points to a nearby photo of his father. “My father had horses.” Photographs and awards, mementoes and news clippings, all chronicling the joyous moments of their lives—growing babies, celebrations, graduations—intertwine with reminders of the painful, yet triumphant past Edwards is compelled to share from his experiences in World War II. It just happens to be the day before the 91-year-old veteran is to leave for Washington, D.C. to see the World War II memorial for the first time via Honor Flight Lowcountry*. He pulls a coin from the pocket of his bright blue suit. “I met General Patton’s grandson—you know I served under Patton—and he gave me this,” he says. The coin, with the famous General’s silhouette, bears the inscription: “Thank you for your service to our country with deep respect from George Patton Waters, grandson of General George S. Patton.” Edwards keeps it with him at all times, and today he’s concerned if he’ll be permitted to carry it on the flight. “I’m not gonna leave it, I’ll tell you that,” he says. “I didn’t know until a few years ago that anybody wanted to know my story,” says Edwards, a nearly life-long Summerville resident. “But I think people like to hear about General Patton and people who’ve gone down in history. I tell the story the same each time. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about it. That’s how I remember. And I’m the only one left that went through the testing, so I do it to educate people—I guess even those with PhDs like to hear me talk,” he says with a humble laugh. “The testing” refers to the repeated mustard gas, tear gas, and Lewisite exposure that Edwards endured in the bowels of central Louisiana’s Rapides Parish at the hands of the United States Army. In the winter of 1943, Edwards, barely 21 years old, was drafted to fight in World War II. Although young and patriotic at the time, he makes a point to mention the draft. A gifted musician with an IQ of 142, he had hopes of going to college and making a career of his musical abilities. He was sent to Louisiana in the spring of 1943 as a member of the headquarters and supply (H&S) company. Little did he know that shortly after his arrival, his life would forever change. Early one May morning, Edwards was instructed to return to the barracks and check his supplies; he was told a truck would pick him up at 10 or 11 am. When the truck arrived, the driver didn’t even know the mission of the trip—he’d only been instructed to gather the men on his list and drive them to Louisiana’s Camp Claiborne. Hours later, Edwards and approximately 19 other young black soldiers—two or three from each surrounding state—arrived at the 23,000 acre camp site. As they unloaded from the truck, a lieutenant




ordered them all to roll up their left sleeves. “We went through a door with two white lights, and they tattooed our left arms between the elbow and our wrist,” recounts Edwards. Unbeknownst to him, the tattoo marked him for the experiments that would follow. The scar is still visible today. After receiving the tattoos, the men were led deep into the woods to a hut, no bigger than an average bedroom, made of plywood. They were locked in and the door was barred. Edwards has relived the events that followed a thousand times: “A little sergeant—he was black—told us not to put our gas masks on until we smelled gas. I put mine on before I smelled the gas; that’s what saved my face. You felt like you were on fire [when the mustard gas was released from the ceiling]. It felt like there were a million fire ants on you. Some of the guys fainted. They were all screaming. Some of the guys messed themselves. And when it was over, they told us to come outside and sit down? ‘What do you mean sit down?!,’ I thought. No one could eat. No one even told us to take our clothes off. When it was over, we fell across our beds and fell asleep.” For the next 29 days, following the final mustard gas tests and exposure to tear gas, Edwards and the others were made to crawl through trenches as Lewisite, a poisonous chemical compound containing arsenic spilled from canisters above their heads. The Lewisite burned their hands, knees, and backs primarily, and caused blisters to form on all areas of their skin exposed to the chemical. “By the time we left [that area of the woods], all of the vegetation was dead,” recalls Edwards. Many of the soldiers’ bodies were poisoned to such a degree that they did not survive, and those who clung to life, suffered from chronic nausea and vomiting—common side effects of mustard gas and Lewisite exposure. “Two or three men would go to the hospital,” says Edwards, “but only one would come back.” Edwards was one of eight who he knew survived the ordeal. His best friend at the time was one of the unlucky ones. “I woke up in the middle of the night, and they were shoving him out the window,” he recalls. Scars still cover Edwards’ body, and the chemical poisoning has caused several outbreaks over the years, which resulted in the sloughing of layers of Edwards’ skin. One of his worst documented cases was in 1997. Raw sores covered his entire body, and he lost 85% of the skin from his backside. After the testing ended, the surviving men were warned to tell no about the experiments, and Edwards was given a sealed letter to take to his commanding officer, Henry Haskell. “They told us it was a secret experiment, and if you open your mouth, you’re going to the federal penitentiary. To this day, I don’t know what the letter said,” he recalls, “but I think it told him I was sick in some way.” Haskell told Edwards he didn’t have to do anything under his command. “I was too sick mostly to do anything,” he says. “They saw the skin start to peel off me, but they sent me off like that.” Instead of being discharged, Edwards spent the next three years deployed throughout Europe and the Philippines. On Christmas Day, 1943, he left for Glasgow, Scotland. Seven days later his ship arrived. From there he was sent to Stafford, England, and then to Liverpool to help load the Third Army in preparation for D-Day on June 6, 1944—the now famous date of the Normandy landings that initiated the Western

Allied effort to liberate mainland Europe from Nazi control. “Hitler was a bastard, wasn’t he?” he asks, seeming to replay in his mind all the atrocities of war he saw in an instant. “You know, he ordered those beautiful Lipizzans destroyed?” Lipizzan horses are rare, solid-colored horses, usually born bay or black in color, and become lighter as they age—eventually turning completely gray by the time they are ten years of age. While the horses appear to change their color from black to white, they are, in actuality, gray. Their skin and eyes are black, while their coat is white.

chemical testing was released to the world in the 1990s following an extensive investigation. While Edwards’ official military records burned in a fire in St. Louis years before, an anonymous letter sent to President Roosevelt in 1944, revealing the chemical testing and also exposing the Tuskegee syphilis experiment, resurfaced under President Clinton’s presidency. The investigation took a number of years and required significant help from political leaders at many levels. “Over those years, Senator Hollings, Governor Sanford, Strom Thurmond, Colonel Gerald Musselman, they all helped me. They didn’t look at political party. This was about justice,” he says of the eventual apology and formal recognition he received as the truth slowly became public knowledge.

The rescue of the Lipizzans by the United States Army, made famous by the Disney movie Miracle of the White Stallions, took place primarily on May 12, 1945. The Second Calvary of Patton’s Third Army, under the code name “Operation Cowboy,” began herding, riding, and trucking the 1,200 horses, including 375 Lipizzans, to safety. Edwards, under the order of Colonel Humphries, was charged to help load the horses on a ship headed for Spain—a trip that finally ensured their non-extinction.

While the testing was a defining moment in Edwards’ life, he did not allow it to define his entire life. Nearly seventy years have passed since he was discharged from the United States Army—many years to heal and reflect on what he endured and what he overcame. “I was bitter for a long time,” he says, “but I had to let it go. I’ve enjoyed myself very much in this life. I’ve had lots of pleasures and met a lot of people.”

Rollins Edwards can tell stories like this all day. Talking to him is like re-living history. He sits patiently, rattling off the familiar names of people, places, and events—part of his life—that most have only ever read about in a book. Finally discharged from the Army in 1946, Edwards came home to Summerville. A few days after arriving home, he met his first wife, Lucille, who passed away in 1981. They later lived in Boston, where he attended the Berklee School of Music for a time and enjoyed a successful music career as a jazz drummer for 15 years until his wife fell ill.

I’m the only one left that went through the testing, so I do it to educate people.

“I wouldn’t take nothin’ for that time,” he says, “All those swingin’ groups…It was a good time. Oh, I loved it!” He smiles and claps his hands. “But when Lucille got sick, I chose her over my career,” he says. “I chose her, and I never regretted it.” Edwards took Lucille’s death hard, but two years later, he met his second wife, Juanita, in an airport—a fitting location for the two avid travelers. “You can’t compare people,” he says. “I loved my first wife. I have to be the luckiest man in the world to have had Lucille and then meet Juanita.” Over the last thirty years, Juanita has cared for Edwards through his outbreaks, supported him as he served as the first black member of the Dorchester County Council, and stood by him when the secret of the

Just like the beautiful horses he loves and helped to rescue so many years before, Edwards embodies strength and dignity. Perhaps, that’s his unspoken connection. Just as they change from black to white, he has overcome such matters.

It seems as though that long-ago written wish from Benjamin S. Bacon came true. Now all that remains are well-documented memories of a hard, wonderful, surprising, well-lived life of a patriot who never gave up hope—a patriot who, tomorrow, is finally honored for his sacrifice. A “shining life” indeed. AM *Honor Flight Lowcountry is a local chapter of the non-prof it organization Honor Flight Network, whose mission is to “fulf ill the dream of visiting the memorial to as many veterans from the Lowcountry of South Carolina as [they] possibly can.” Find them at **Michael T. Owens is a College of Charleston alum and professor who f irst met Rollins Edwards while working on a project for his Master of Arts in English. He is currently writing a book about the subjects discussed in this article. Follow his progress on Twitter at @ Edwardswarstory AZALEAMAG.COM



Fried Green Tomato and Cornbread Grilled Cheese

Grilled Green Tomatoes Caprese Salad




Green Tomato and Fresh Corn Salsa

Fried Green Tomato and Cornbread Grilled Cheese

• Deep-fry until golden brown and drain on paper towels. Keep warm. • Melt 1 tbsp butter on medium heat in pan and fry the 2 halves of cornbread cut side down for 4 minutes. • Add green tomatoes and cheese on top of one of the slices of cornbread then top with remaining slice of cornbread. Continue to cook until slightly browned, then flip sandwich with spatula and let remaining side brown.

• Preheat grill to 350°. Remove tomatoes from marinade, reserving marinade. Grill tomatoes, with grill lid closed for 4 minutes on each side or until tender. • Arrange alternating slices of warm grilled tomatoes and mozzarella cheese on a large, shallow platter. Drizzle with reserved marinade; season with salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle with basil and parmesan cheese. Green Tomato and Fresh Corn Salsa

Grilled Green Tomatoes Caprese Salad



• In a skillet, heat the oil for deep-frying over medium-high heat. • Combine eggs with milk in a shallow dish and whisk. • Place breadcrumbs in a shallow dish, and flour in another dish with a dash of pepper added. •Dredge the tomatoes through the flour, then dip in egg and milk mixture, then dip both sides in breadcrumbs.



Ingredients: Ingredients: 1/2 cup olive oil 1/4 cup white balsamic vinegar 2 garlic cloves, minced 1 tbsp brown sugar 1/8 teaspoon salt 4 medium-size green tomatoes, cut into 1/4-inch-thick slices 16oz mozzarella cheese ball, sliced 1/4 cup shredded parmesan cheese salt and pepper 1/3 cup thinly sliced fresh basil Preparation: • Combine olive oil, vinegar, garlic, brown sugar and salt in a large plastic container with lid, add tomatoes, and shake well to coat. Chill for 1 hour.


Ingredients: 4 cups low-sodium chicken broth 1 1/4 cups yellow grits 1/2 cup heavy cream 6 tbsp drained and chopped pimentos 1 cup grated sharp cheddar yellow cornmeal 4 large green tomatoes (diced) 1 tsp salt/ 1/2 tsp pepper 1/2 tsp garlic salt vegetable oil

green tomato vegetable oil3/4 cup flour 2 eggs 2 tbsp milk 1/2 cup breadcrumbs pepper salt 3 tbsp crumbled queso fresco 1 thinly sliced piece of cornbread 2 tbsp butter

• Slice the tomatoes 1/4-inch thick. Lay them out in a shallow baking pan and sprinkle with salt. Place the tomato slices in a colander and allow time for salt to pull the water out of the tomatoes, approximately 30 minutes.

Diced Fried Green Tomatoes Over Pimento Cheese Grits

2 cups of green tomatoes, diced fine 2 cups of grilled corn, cut off the cob after grilling 1 cup black beans 1/4 cup diced red onion 1 tbsp lime 1/4 cup cilantro, chopped 1/4 tsp cumin 1/4 tbs black pepper 2 tbsp olive oil 2 tsp sea salt 1 small hot pepper, diced Preparation: • Mix all ingredients together except hot pepper and salt. Add a little of both until at the desired heat and flavor. Allow flavors to meld for an hour before serving with tortilla chips.

For Pimento Cheese Grits: • Bring chicken broth to a boil over high heat in a deep pan. • Slowly whisk in the grits and stir vigorously to avoid lumps. • Continue to cook the grits over medium-low heat, stirring frequently for about 6 to 10 mins. • Cover the pot, reduce heat to low and allow the grits to sit for 5 min. • Stir in 1/4 cup cream, pimentos, and cheese. • Just before serving, if needed, add the additional cream to thin the grits out. For Diced Fried Green Tomatoes: • Heat oil in pan with enough oil to just cover the bottom. • Put diced tomatoes in a large bowl and sprinkle 1 tbsp of salt on top and stir. • Add enough cornmeal to just coat the tomatoes, sprinkle pepper and garlic salt and stir. • Add to hot pan and cook. • Once it begins to brown, flip in sections and continue cooking until browned through. • Serve over top of grits.

Diced Fried Green Tomatoes Over Pimento Cheese Grits

Keeping theFaith






A child of the Lowcountry

Today, just as surely as if dipped into the cool black water of the Edisto, this child has been baptized as a child of the Lowcountry; into a religion as old as pluff mud and water oaks, and as powerful as moonshine.

he boy’s arm trembles as he holds the shotgun to his shoulder. Sweeping back the dark hair from his forehead, he takes a deep breath, squeezes one eye shut, and then the other. He is only nine and the gun is long for his stillgrowing frame. He is a bit afraid of the noise and troubled about whether it might kick. The man guiding him leans forward to adjust the boy’s hold. “Snug it up now, and make sure you look straight down the barrel. You’ve got it. You’re ready.” It is a lesson he has taught many times, and one that he never tires of. Though over sixty years stand between them, the anticipation on each face is the same. The boy shoots, and as the puffs of dust rise many yards away, grins break across the faces of those of us gathered in the pasture at the Tupper Farm. Tiny goats bleat softly across the field, and the lone horse in the pasture is gently shooed away each time he ambles by to nose through the snacks we’ve laid out on the tailgate of the truck. It is a scene that has been played out on Lowcountry Saturday afternoons for generations, and one I have witnessed many times. But today I am struck by what this day really represents, because I know that it is far more than a simple shooting lesson. Today, just as surely as if dipped into the cool black water of the Edisto, this child has been baptized as a child of the Lowcountry; into a religion as old as pluff mud and water oaks, and as powerful as moonshine. On this day, he has been passed the gifts of the generations of those who have come before him and charged with the sacred trust of the land and the responsibility for loving and preserving it.

To be a child of the Lowcountry is to be gifted with a kinship with the land that cannot be explained. Though priceless, it cannot be bought; yet for it, there are those who would pay fortunes. Some are born into the faith with the inexplicable bond; others washed in the water later in life. They are tuxedo-clad businessmen at a swanky gathering and sweat-soaked farmers in the feed store, and their feminine counterparts are just as likely to be clad in high heels as snake boots. There is no stereotype, but there is a look that comes over each of them at the mention of the stand of hardwood where the forest meets the field or the turn in the river just as you pass the old pilings on the Ashley. It is a look of reverence worn by those for whom the land is holy, and with it, a bone-deep gratitude for every creature that crawls or walks or flies or slithers across it. I have watched the delicate white-gloved hand of a child of the Lowcountry rest in the crook of a proud father’s arm on Saturday night, and hold firm to the throttle of an outboard motor speeding across Lake Moultrie at sunset on Sunday afternoon. I’ve seen the head of a frail and silver-haired Lowcountry child lift up at the scent of pines and the sight of wild azaleas in bloom. With them I have visited the fields and forests of ancient memories and run barefoot under perfect summer skies. One taught me to preserve the abundance of a summer tomato crop, while another led me through dew-stained grass to follow the music of a wild turkey’s morning call. I have tasted the salty bounty of their overflowing cast nets and watched them weep at the destruction of giant cypress trees. Perhaps it is arrogant to think that no other place inspires people with the same devotion, respect, and sense of responsibility, or that those who dwell outside the land that stretches from somewhere south of Savannah to north of Georgetown are not endowed with the same blessings. However, if you are a child of the Lowcountry, you know in your heart that there are no people or places as special, and you count yourself blessed to live here among them. I see all of this in the look that passes between the boy and the man, and for a moment something almost tangible hangs in the air. Will this child keep the faith? He may never again feel the weight of a shotgun on his shoulder or even remember the lessons of this golden afternoon, but hopefully, somewhere amidst the spent shotgun shells and broken clay pigeons, the gift has been given and received, and a new child of the Lowcountry walks this holy land. AM










An official BBQ competition offered up delicious Southern delectables while Bluegrass and rock bands entertained the crowd under the oaks at The Ponds. This event benefited the Summerville Miracle League.


For more information on on this charity visit



Benefiting the Evening Rotary Club, this sock hop-themed event featured dancing, live music, a silent auction, great food, and drinks. For more information on this organization visit or






O'Lacy's Pub


The Historic District's Neighborhood Pub





The Summerville Junior Service League uses proceeds from their annual golf tournament and tee-off party to make numerous charitable donations to benefit local civic organizations. For more information on this organization visit







Held in the Charleston Place Ballroom, this elegant black-tie gala included a live auction, fabulous hors d’oeuvres, and an open bar. For more information on SEWE visit




Real Estate Appraisers and Consultants If you can’t draw a stick figure, or even color within lines, When you encounter a real the estate issue that requires an you can be the a part of an experienced artistic expert resolution, highly professionals of Appraisalrevolution. Services are available for consultation. Join us.

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Summer is almost here and Varicose Veins are not only unsightly, they’re also a sign of a treatable, underlying medical problem. Call now for a FREE screening

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The Inaugural Charleston Trials was held at the Plantation at Stono Ferry with a fun-filled day of flat and steeplechase races. For more information on this event visit




Melanie A. Maes

Attorney and Counselor at Law

Separation Agreements/Divorce • Child Custody/Support/Modification • Stepparent Adoption Advance Health Care Directives/Wills/Probate • Certified Family Court Mediator Name Change • Civil Matters • General Counsel 207 East Third North Street / Summerville, SC / 843-501-0602 /

Southern Rambler / by Chris Campeau

Deeply Rooted

A family legacy cultivated by heirlooms—tomatoes that is I grew up in a family deeply rooted in Southern cuisine, and I come from a long line of inspired Southern cooks. My mother was Paula Deen before Paula Deen was “Paula Deen.” She even looks a bit like her, and has the same smile sharpened with wit. I swear they share the same recipes; recipes with field peas straight from the vine and heirloom tomatoes still warm from the sun—fresh ingredients are her secret. And like any true Southern cook, she’s particularly fond of the tomatoes—fried green ones, ones for pies, ones for sauces, and the ones in between white bread with a little mayonnaise and black pepper. Mom gets it honestly. Her mother and father grew up next to a garden in the countryside of South Alabama, just outside Mobile, and when they had a home of their own, they too had a garden that overflowed with abundance. Beginning with my wee early years, one of my first memories of my grandmother, “Maw Maw,” is of her returning from her garden, with a bright red tomato almost too big to carry with one hand. I can still remember the smell when she cut it. Maw Maw lived to be 102, and at her funeral last year, we learned of a family that survived because of her and my grandfather’s generosity from their garden. He made sure, that if nothing else, the neighbors always had fresh vegetables. For years, during the lean times, he dropped a brown paper sack full of food on their porches each week. My childhood is filled with memories of weeding the field peas and training the tomato vines. I know the effects of too much




water and not enough, how to control disease, and how to keep the birds away. And I’ve seen the end result: baskets of squash and zucchini, buckets of peas, and tomato vines with fruit aplenty. Yes, throughout our family legacy, vegetable gardens have been a way of life. I too carry on the legacy of my mother, of her father, and his father. And I plant my garden every year, paying special attention to the tomatoes. But, just like mom’s secret recipes, I have a secret to share too. In fact, one that could cost me my Southern Card: I can’t stand tomatoes. Not the taste. Not the smell. And definitely not the gelatinous glue that holds the seeds of the fruit together. There is absolutely nothing I like about them. And, yet, I tend to them with special attention, toiling through the mosquitoes in the heat of summer. I care for them delicately and with purpose. Why? One: that deep, dark red that can’t quite be duplicated in any paint store is worthy of admiration. Two: the look of exuberance on my lovely bride’s face when I walk in with fresh tomatoes from the garden brings joy to my home. Three: each one seems like a piece of edible art from our Creator. Four: Because they’re part of my family history. They tie me to generations of Campeaus, Logans, Pressleys, and Hines. And for those reasons, they’re really, really good. AM

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margie sutton makeup by shannon wetherholt photograph by megan mcgee

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