For all the evidence that remains to tell future generations about Lowcountry rice, the story of this crop remains obscured. Lowcountry rice, a crop that built beautiful and wealthy existences for some while causing suffering and death for many more, remains a mystery to most visitors and residents of the South Carolina Lowcountry. Even the untrained eye can spot the long-abandoned banks and canals that dot the landscape. But, do we really know the story of Lowcountry rice?
The authors do not think so. Speaking of other scholarly research on slave society and economy and the plantation economy of the south: "Most of these works, however, contain only brief sections on market preparation of Carolina rice, and those discussions rely on earlier historians whose accounts were often erroneous and inadequate, or at best superficial and lacking detail." (Porcher & Judd, 2014, p. xxi). If the story of rice has been told from other angles, why is this approach so important? Again, the authors: "One cannot fully understand the role Carolina rice played in the South and the Lowcountry without knowing how it was prepared for market." (Porcher & Judd, xxi).
Much separates this volume from previous attempts to tell the story of rice in the Carolina Lowcountry, but two areas are crucial. First, Porcher, through his years of field work in biology, has access to sites, tools, and machines that simply do not exist any more. Drawing on his personal photo archive, Porcher has access to images of places long since developed and buildings long since destroyed. Second, William Robert Judd's illustrations are exquisite. Bringing an artist's hand and an engineer's mind, Judd's contribution to this work is, in some ways, the most important part of the book. Without the images, many created from vague descriptions and incomplete recollection, this book would be a exhausting exploration of rice culture that only the most creative and mechanically inclined readers could decipher.
The authors approach Lowcountry Rice systematically, beginning with a history of rice as a crop (there are two strains), moving to the need to find a commercially successful crop in the colonies and then exploring the biological record of the rices that came to the Lowcountry. Of greatest interest to those living in the South Carolina Lowcountry may be the third chapter, where the authors explore the story of the rice fields. The chapter includes a history of two approaches to rice culture and then delves into the work of creating and maintaining the fields. For those who find themselves surrounded by the physical memories of Lowcountry rice, this chapter will increase your appreciation for the hard and deadly work that created the vistas and views you now enjoy.
The book follows the path of rice: preparing fields, harvesting, threshing, and milling. Much attention is paid to milling operations. In fact, nearly half the book is dedicated to exploring the milling operations that turned rice into a marketable and profitable crop. This section of the book also contains a plethora of drawings of each machine and a detailed explanation of their operation. However, for the average reader, the detail is overwhelming. While incremental improvement from one machine to the other was vital to squeezing out every bit of profit from this crop, it is difficult to follow at times.
In fact, if there is one universal critique for this work it is this: There is more detail here than is possible to process at once. Porcher and Judd, through their hard work, their personal connections, and private access to archives, have enough information for a series on Lowcountry Rice, not simply a single book. But, the historian must start somewhere. It is for later authors to further explore, to find other hidden gems of the history of Lowcountry rice, to tell another story of the grain that shaped the South and the nation.
A Southerner in Exile
The South's a very strange place. As we settle into our lives here in Lowell, we're often asked to describe our last home, Beaufort. We're more than just the token Southerners, to be sure, but we're still a bit of a cultural oddity. But, even with a lifetime spent in the South, I find it difficult to explain where I come from with clarity and accuracy. Living in the South, whether born there like I was, or being a recent addition, is a complicated and difficult experience.
On one hand, the South is home to some of the most striking natural beauty. Anyone who has hiked through the Blue Ridge, or watched the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean knows what I mean. But the beauty of the South is deeper than that. There is something almost supernatural about the salt marshes that wrap around the Lowcountry, delighting locals and visitors both with the sweeping green fields of marsh grass and the brown contrast of the pluff mud. Watching the same patch of spartina grass fade from lush green in the summer, to dull brown as winter sets in, only to be reinvigorated when the spring rains again nourish the dormant roots is nothing short of a miracle.
Living in the South, one becomes more in-tune with the natural ebbs and flows of the world around you. Being so close to the ocean, as we were in Beaufort, you start to understand the nature of life more deeply, and begin to see that there truly is a season for everything. You begin to appreciate nature's cycles. As the spring starts to give way to summer, the shrimp season opens. Tables, both at home and in restaurants are covered in shrimp, a sure sign of the bounty of the earth and sea. As the regular season draws to a close, shrimp baiting season opens, giving inhabitants of the Lowcountry one last chance to fill their freezers with enough shrimp to last the winter. Just as with the shrimp, so too are the tomatoes, and the okra, and the corn, and every other manner of wonderful fruit and vegetable that you can imagine. They are served fresh, straight from the farm or garden, but also cut, boiled, frozen, or pickled to keep enough a family well stocked through the short winters.
The South isn't just a place of natural beauty, however. Spending just a little time there, you'll find personal beauty that exceeds even the beauty of the salt marshes. That Southerners are hospitable is well known and doesn't need further exploration. But their beauty doesn't come from just their willingness to open their homes to strangers. No, the real beauty is in their stories and histories. The stories of families who have lived on the same land for generations makes you long for a similar connection to your own piece of the world. Stories of slavery and oppression, of ownership of other humans, of discrimination and segregation abound. These stories and histories flavor every interaction between local and tourist, between White and Black, and between "binyah" and "comyah", Gullah words for people who have been here and people who have come here, respectively.
The South in general, and South Carolina in particular, are strange places. I was born in South Carolina, grew up and went to college and grad school there, and thought I left for good in 2005. I soon returned, settling in Beaufort with my wife, Heather, for seven years. Now, freshly moved into our new home in Massachusetts, I find it difficult to express how I feel about the South and the South Carolina Lowcountry. I certainly miss many aspects of our lives there, the friendships we built over the years, the temperate winters, and the Spanish Moss that draped the trees in our yard. However, I'm happy to not be a South Carolina resident after the recent presidential primary. I guess that's the nature of the place, or any place; you have to accept those things you don't love so you can love the things you do.
As we settle in here in Lowell, I find myself more interested in the connections I have to the Lowcountry and to South Carolina. We've long enjoyed A Chef's Life, but being away from the culture of the South, we find ourselves enjoying the show even more. Just the other day, we enjoyed a presentation at my alma mater, The Citadel, on rice and rice culture, Requiem for Rice. Maybe distance does make the heart grow fonder, or maybe we're just influenced by the cold weather and are missing the mild winter. I'm excited about our new adventure and our new home in Massachusetts, but it's nice to find time to connect with the culture and places that we've left. There's nothing quite like a -12 degree day to make you fell like a Southerner in Exile...
On one hand, the South is home to some of the most striking natural beauty. Anyone who has hiked through the Blue Ridge, or watched the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean knows what I mean. But the beauty of the South is deeper than that. There is something almost supernatural about the salt marshes that wrap around the Lowcountry, delighting locals and visitors both with the sweeping green fields of marsh grass and the brown contrast of the pluff mud. Watching the same patch of spartina grass fade from lush green in the summer, to dull brown as winter sets in, only to be reinvigorated when the spring rains again nourish the dormant roots is nothing short of a miracle.
Living in the South, one becomes more in-tune with the natural ebbs and flows of the world around you. Being so close to the ocean, as we were in Beaufort, you start to understand the nature of life more deeply, and begin to see that there truly is a season for everything. You begin to appreciate nature's cycles. As the spring starts to give way to summer, the shrimp season opens. Tables, both at home and in restaurants are covered in shrimp, a sure sign of the bounty of the earth and sea. As the regular season draws to a close, shrimp baiting season opens, giving inhabitants of the Lowcountry one last chance to fill their freezers with enough shrimp to last the winter. Just as with the shrimp, so too are the tomatoes, and the okra, and the corn, and every other manner of wonderful fruit and vegetable that you can imagine. They are served fresh, straight from the farm or garden, but also cut, boiled, frozen, or pickled to keep enough a family well stocked through the short winters.
The South isn't just a place of natural beauty, however. Spending just a little time there, you'll find personal beauty that exceeds even the beauty of the salt marshes. That Southerners are hospitable is well known and doesn't need further exploration. But their beauty doesn't come from just their willingness to open their homes to strangers. No, the real beauty is in their stories and histories. The stories of families who have lived on the same land for generations makes you long for a similar connection to your own piece of the world. Stories of slavery and oppression, of ownership of other humans, of discrimination and segregation abound. These stories and histories flavor every interaction between local and tourist, between White and Black, and between "binyah" and "comyah", Gullah words for people who have been here and people who have come here, respectively.
The South in general, and South Carolina in particular, are strange places. I was born in South Carolina, grew up and went to college and grad school there, and thought I left for good in 2005. I soon returned, settling in Beaufort with my wife, Heather, for seven years. Now, freshly moved into our new home in Massachusetts, I find it difficult to express how I feel about the South and the South Carolina Lowcountry. I certainly miss many aspects of our lives there, the friendships we built over the years, the temperate winters, and the Spanish Moss that draped the trees in our yard. However, I'm happy to not be a South Carolina resident after the recent presidential primary. I guess that's the nature of the place, or any place; you have to accept those things you don't love so you can love the things you do.
As we settle in here in Lowell, I find myself more interested in the connections I have to the Lowcountry and to South Carolina. We've long enjoyed A Chef's Life, but being away from the culture of the South, we find ourselves enjoying the show even more. Just the other day, we enjoyed a presentation at my alma mater, The Citadel, on rice and rice culture, Requiem for Rice. Maybe distance does make the heart grow fonder, or maybe we're just influenced by the cold weather and are missing the mild winter. I'm excited about our new adventure and our new home in Massachusetts, but it's nice to find time to connect with the culture and places that we've left. There's nothing quite like a -12 degree day to make you fell like a Southerner in Exile...
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