Sunday, February 24, 2008.  Nichole Seitz,  "The Spirit of Sweetgrass."
 
MS. REA:  Ladies and gentlemen, as we move into the sweeter part of the evening, we're going to hear from somebody who has worked with and learned about sweetgrass.  I'm Charlotte Rea.  I'm the head of the Williams School in New London, Connecticut, and before we actually move into the next and final part of our evening, would very much like to thank Aladdin Food Services.  They gave us this lovely wine.  And you are all invited to take home with you one of these little wine charms.
 
But as we finish our dessert, I think it's right and proper that in a meeting like this -- and of course, I think it's right and proper, because I was an English teacher -- that we hear from somebody who has written about the local life and has written about what happens to people not only in Hilton Head but in general.  Nicole Seitz graduated from Hilton Head Prep, as we heard earlier this afternoon, and while she was at Hilton Head, she went on a People-to-People ambassador program to the then Soviet Union, just at the time -- and I'm sure many of us remember well -- of Gorbachev, the time when the Soviet Union was beginning to collapse, and she met and was touched very much by the Russian people.
 
And she brought a lot of that back, having grown up here on Hilton Head, and it has very much informed her writing.  She came back and went to the University of North Carolina and majored in broadcast journalism, and then went on and married both her visual talent and her linguistic talent and became an illustrator at the Savannah College of Art and Design, where she was an MFA.
 
Nicole said something very interesting about writing as we were talking at the back of the room among her books and the wonderful sweetgrass baskets.  She writes the stories that won't leave her alone, and that is a real writer.  So I'm very happy to introduce her to you.  She's written two books, which we have here tonight, and she has contracts for four more books.  This woman has two children, a full career as a writer and illustrator and she still has four more books to do.  So I think we're very lucky to hear from Nicole Seitz.
 
MS. SEITZ:  It is such an honor to be here.  I have to thank Sue at Hilton Head Prep and Bruce for bringing me here.  It's not often that I get back to Hilton Head Island.  Isn't this one of the most beautiful places you have ever been?  I live just two hours north, in Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina, and I wanted to talk to you about a sense of place.
 
As you're driving around Hilton Head Island, looking at the trees and the Spanish moss, there is such a sense of place here.  Now, this is a lesson that I didn't learn until after I moved to Mt. Pleasant and had passed the 30-year mark, married, and was beginning to have a family.  I learned a very important lesson from a woman named Essie Mae Laveau Jenkins, who is a character&emdash;my main character&emdash;in The Spirit of Sweetgrass.  The story chose me. I don't know how it happened, and I'm not going to spend a lot of time telling you how it happened, but I was six months pregnant when the story struck me. I woke up the next morning with the story, the character, everything fully in my head, and I just truly penned this voice. And I'm just thankful for it.  It opened up a whole new career path for me.  Not just a career path, it's as if I found that thing that I was supposed to be doing all along. I know it's rare when people find that.
 
So I'm happy to be here today to be telling you, because you're leading our children. And it's the children that I want you to tell that there is a thing that we're all here for, and when you find it, it is like magic.
 
Essie Mae says this&emdash;she's 78 years old, she's a sweetgrass basketmaker&emdash;"See, lots of folks is lost.  You might be stumbling 'round life just itching to find whatever you s'posed to be doing.  But the answer's there if you look for it, sure 'nough.  You got the place that you was raised, and the people you gonna meet along the way.  Mix that up with the gifts the good Lord give you, and if you look real hard, you gonna see what He put you on Earth to do."
 
I didn't learn that lesson until Essie Mae taught it to me, and it's one that I value.  The place that I was raised is right here on Hilton Head Island.  I carried this place with me until I moved to Mt. Pleasant, a place where we value and really celebrate sweetgrass basketmakers.  Growing up on Hilton Head, we didn't know much about Gullah culture.  It wasn't necessarily something that was celebrated back in the 1970s and early 1980s. Thank goodness it is today.
 
Once I was in Mt. Pleasant, I learned about all the hardships of the sweetgrass basket ladies who have the roadside stands on the side of Highway 17.  They were getting ready to lose their stands because of development coming through, getting ready to lose their sweetgrass because the natural resource was becoming more scarce.  There were all kinds of issues that they were facing.  And I guess I was reading a lot about it in the newspaper and ingesting it subconsciously, when the story struck me.  So without too much more, I'm going to introduce Essie Mae.  This is the prologue of The Spirit of Sweetgrass.
 
"This is what I remember about that night -- my last night alive.  After having me a fine meal of crispy cornbread and dipping it in buttermilk just like Daddy used to do I headed on back to the bathroom.  I turned on the water in the tub, not too hot, but good enough to get my blood moving.  I wanted to feel the life tingling through my veins.
 
"For being seventy-eight years old, I can't say as I ever felt more alive than I did that very night.  It's a funny thing knowing you gonna die soon.  I felt the air kiss my skin.  The sound of water rushed in my ears like a river.  And I seen colors like I was seeing 'em for the very first time -- like I'd been blind up 'til then.  I wanted to look back on my life and taste every speck of it, the good and the bad.  It had been a good life, sure 'nough.  I'd had me a fine mama and daddy, a sweet husband, and a beautiful grandbaby.  My daughter had been my only real grief, seeing as she ain't loved me too much, but I done the best I could with her, and I had peace with that.
 
"I lay there in the water feeling it tickle down over my shoulders.  I remembered when Jim would touch me like that.  Oh, Jim, it won't be long now, I thought.  I was getting right excited about what I was gonna do.  My blood was a-boiling and my fingers was itching to weave.  By the grace of God, this was gonna be the finest basket I ever made.  And everything that was bothering me -- my house I was getting ready to lose, and the nursing home I was fixing to get stuck into, the stretch of highway I was gonna get kicked off of, and the tension 'tween my daughter and me -- it was all gonna be over soon.  Hallelujah, praise Jesus! Jim'd told me if I made one of my love baskets just one last time, that we'll be together forever -- and I could touch his sweet face again and meet Jesus just like I always wanted.
 
"I reached down and pulled the plug by my feet and watched as the water and all the dirt that was on me just a-washed down the drain.  I grabbed on to the white porcelain and tried to pull myself up real slow.  I wrapped my towel around me and looked in the mirror above the sink -- at my gray hair still in them cornrows I been wearing forever and my shoulders all drooped from carrying this extra weight.  But my eyes was what struck me the most.  It sure is a strange thing looking into your own eyes, seeing the life in there, knowing it will all be gone soon.
 
"I turned real quick and headed 'cross the hall to the bedroom, changing into my most comfortable nightgown.  I'll always remember that smell.  I been using the same washing powder since forever, so it was the same smell Jim used to have when I'd hug him tight 'round the neck.
 
"I'd already pulled my sweetgrass up onto the bed.  I reached over and grabbed the picture frames propped up next to me and traced each and every face.  There was Mama, God rest her soul, and Daddy, right beside her.  I guessed I'd be seeing 'em again real soon.  I looked at the one of  Henrietta and my sweet grandbaby EJ.  I sure was gonna miss my sweet EJ, but he'd be all right without me.  He was a fine young man and had his future to look after -- ain't no need to waste time looking after me no more.
 
"The last picture I seen was of my Auntie Leona with her hair pulled up tight.  She looked back at me, and I swear I could hear her say, 'You can do it, Essie Mae.  You got a strong head and an even stronger heart.  Girl, you can do anythin' you set your mind to.'  So I pulled out my big-print Bible and grabbed Jim's hair I'd stuck down in there.  Then I used my free hand to reach 'round and pull one of my own hairs out my head.  After twisting 'em up real tight, I closed my eyes and prayed, 'I love you, sweet Jesus.  Help me out now, Lord.  Let this one work, please, and bring me on home.  Sweet Jesus, go 'head and bring me on home.'
 
"I weaved all night long 'til my fingers and my back were sore.  My mind was racing so much, I ain't felt it none 'til I was just about done. Once I realized it was almost finished, I said, 'Whoa, now.'  Not sure what was gonna happen to me. I'd asked God not to hit me with a Mack truck, but ain't thought about what else might happen.  Was it gonna hurt?  Lord have mercy, all of a sudden I was getting kinda scared.  I decided to set my basket down and wait to finish it while sitting with Jim at my stand next morning.  That way, I wouldn't be alone when the good Lord called me to heaven, however he decided to take me there."
 
There's something that I learned since writing this book.  I wrote the book within five months, had a baby, was on bed rest, the whole thing. It just rushed out of me.  I learned a lot about the Gullah culture after the fact.  Now, wherever this character came from, I don't know.  I think that sense of place and the people around you and the gifts that God gave you truly are all in there. The good stuff you take with you and the bad stuff you rise above.
 
I learned a lot about honoring ancestors. I learned that when we honor those who came before us, it's a good thing.  When I finished this book -- long story short -- I just came back today from Columbia, from the South Carolina Book Festival.  It's my first time presenting there.  Two years ago, when I first signed my first two-book contract, I just wanted to be part of that, so I drove to Columbia and just wanted to be seen and see.
 
And my mother told me a story.  You know, we grew up here on Hilton Head.  My aunt passed away in 1996 from breast cancer.  She was very close to us, and we lived here on the island together until she moved down to Florida.  My mother was telling me on the way, "Your aunt would love to be with you," and I said, "Yeah, I really wish she was here. She'd love this."
 
She was an aspiring writer, an aspiring artist, but she was always aspiring, and she never actually became published.  There was always something that was holding her back.  My mother said&emdash;there's a little bookseller called The Island Bookseller, the bookstore is still here&emdash;one day my mother and my aunt were in there back in 1986, I think it was.  The Prince of Tides was out.  This was my aunt's favorite book.  Pat Conroy walks in to do an impromptu book signing and my mother was nudging my aunt, "Go talk to him.  Go talk to him." And she froze up.  She couldn't do it.
 
And so my mother's telling me this story two years ago, driving to the festival.  I carried that with me, and I was walking through the antiquarian section, and I found a book.  It was an advance copy of Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides. It was $130 and boy, I was on a budget, but I had to have this book.  I knew my husband would kill me, but I had to have this book.
 
And two weeks later, I'm flipping through that book, and I had a crazy idea.  I thought, why don't I just ask Pat Conroy if he has any advice for a new writer?  I wrote him a letter, and I told him about my aunt who passed away. I told him that she never had the gumption to go and introduce herself and meet him.  So in her honor, I was writing him and asking the biggest literary legend that we have here in the South if he had any advice for me. I knew it was a long shot. Pat Conroy called me the very next day, and he blurbed my very first book.  And you know, that's really unusual for a baby novelist to have something like that.
 
In that conversation, I asked him some really terrible questions, "What's it like to be an author?"  I cringe when I think back at this conversation.  And he would have none of it.  He just said to me, "Your aunt would make a fascinating novel."
 
And I said, "You think?  Well, there is a lot of anger there."
 
He said, "Anger's good."  You know Pat Conroy. "Anger's good."
 
The anger was that she was sick and she never told us she was sick until the very end. We were with her in her passing.  So speaking of honoring ancestors, I just got back from that very same festival two years later with my first book out, and my second book is now hitting the shelves. It's called Trouble the Water, and it's inspired by my aunt.  I thank Pat Conroy for planting this seed.
 
I'd like to read just a little bit out of this book.  It also deals with the Gullah culture, but it's not told from a Gullah perspective. It's about three women, three very flawed women, who find themselves on a South Carolina sea island and are learning to live again and find healing within a Gullah community.
 
This is Duchess, who's 68 years old, talking about summer of 1948.
 
"The first time I met Ms. Blondell I was seven years old, just a little thing when I wandered out to that big ol' empty clearing by the marsh of St. Anne's.  Mama and Daddy gave me run of the island back then, mostly to get me out of their hair, but I loved it.  Freedom.
 
"There she was, picking weeds, her skin black as licorice.  Blondell stood straight when she saw me, her hands full of long green sprigs.  There was a dirty bag draped over her shoulders stuffed with more of the same.
 
"She wasn't old back then, only thirty or so, but to a little girl she seemed old, you know. She's always seemed old.  I stared at her.  I'd never seen a woman so tall or so black.  Or so scary.
 
'What 'ya say now, chile?  Where yo' mammy?'
 
"She put her hand on her hip, and I couldn't speak.  I just clenched my hands, wondering if I should run.
 
"'Gw'on now, shoo.  Ah'z busy.  Ain't no time fa fool 'roun'.'  She bent down and pulled another weed up.  I didn't budge.  'Well ef you gwine stay ya, make use ob ya'sef.  Come ya!  Pick um up.  Like disya.  See?'
 
"She stooped and pointed to a weed by my feet.  I looked around and saw nobody -- Mama was too far to holler -- so I just did what she said.  I bent down and pulled that weed.  Then I did it again and again, and I liked it.  It was a game now. Blondell would point.  I'd pull the weed and stuff it in her bag.  I was part of something -- she was letting me help -- something at that age I'd wanted desperately to do.  And though she didn't say much more after that, I recognized an ally in Miss Blondell that very day.
 
"Throughout that summer and the ones after, I met Blondell and some island kids, black mostly, in the fields for more pulling.  She never had any children of her own as far as I know, but Blondell lured us back day after day with three-inch pieces of sugar cane, cut fresh.  We'd flock around likes she was the Pied Piper or some such.
 
"To this day, I can taste the sweetness of those summers, though I had no idea then what Blondell was doing with those weeds we pulled.  I still can't say for sure, though I've heard all the rumors.  All I know is -- her being a root doctor and all -- my back-breaking work went toward things more powerful than I could ever imagine."
 
I'll just tell you that Miss Blondell is my God figure in my second novel, and I'll leave you with that.
 
I'll be signing after dinner tonight and also tomorrow morning during breakfast.  Thank you so much for having me.
 
 
MS. FORD:  Thank you so much.  That was a really wonderful introduction and appetizer to what I know will be wonderful reading for all of us.
 
I hope all of us will have a chance to take a closer look and to join you with your book signing.  Enjoy the rest of your time together tonight, and we will reconvene tomorrow at 8:00 for breakfast.  Thank you.
 

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