Sweet little tale set in Mount Pleasant (which is essentially part of Charleston where I live). It's told by Essie Mae Laveau Jenkins, a 78-year-old sweetgrass basket weaver. (Interesting to me especially since I just bought 2 sweetgrass baskets for wedding presents. Javaczuk and I were given a sweetgrass basket for a wedding gift 25 years ago, and it graces our supper table all the time.) What's especially interesting to me is that so many Charleston based tales focus on the historic or plantation culture, or have a strong African American woman as a "supporting actress" category. This book plunks us down right int the middle of the basket weavers, and keeps us there. The story is Essie Mae's, and while others enter into it, she is the central character, discovering her strengths as we do, too.
Essie Mae spends her days sitting in her sweetgrass stand on the side of Hwy. 17 in the company of her dead husband, Daddy Jim. I loved that element. As she sews her baskets, she weaves a tale that involves her family, the art of sweetgrass basket-making, Gullah culture, love, sorrow, and a little voodoo mixed in. There's a bit of heaven thrown in there, too, as well as strength of family.
I found it a gentle tale, and was quite impressed that the artwork on the cover was done by the author, and that this was a first novel.