Feature: A Folly Feast

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“Slow Down, it’s Folly.” The edict set forth by a hand-painted sign posted along the beach road is one that Folly residents Sylvia and Buist Rivers effortlessly abide on their own. With an allegiance to the laid-back, the Rivers would host nothing if not a relaxed, no-frills sort of gathering—just the kind you crave once the holiday fervor has died down and the relief of a new year has set in. Appealing to the familiar calm of their waterfront home, the Rivers decided to host a post-holiday “soup and stews” get-together. “You could say it’s a New Year’s party, even though for most, that would have been a week or so ago,” says Sylvia. “But there’s no need to rush in and celebrate right away. We just took our time.”

Even the Rivers’ long dirt driveway, shaded by Spanish moss-laden oak trees, encourages arriving visitors to take it easy and enjoy their surroundings as they bump down the two ruts worn into the road. Pulling up in front of the house, guests are greeted eagerly by Dixie, the family’s yellow Lab, the flapping of a weathered American flag, and a breathtaking view of the Folly River. The property has been the Rivers’ personal paradise since they arrived as newlyweds 15 years ago, and it has seen its share of history: the land was owned for generations by the Seabrook family, whose former home still stands next door, having served as both a Union headquarters and a hospital during the Civil War. Today, it’s the oldest home on Folly Beach.

Charleston natives, Buist and Sylvia each moved away for nearly a decade before settling down back home. Now they’re as immersed in the Lowcountry lifestyle as you can get, both pursuing careers that center on the local cuisine they love. Sylvia’s venture, Buster’s Lowcountry Baskets—so called for the name long ago bestowed on her husband by his hunting buddies—offers goodies like Double Dipped Chocolate Pecans, John’s Island Honey, and of course, Buist’s signature Buster’s Rub. More recently, Buist opened his own business—Lowcountry Eats, a catering and take-out lunch company.

For this evening’s party, they’ve called family, friends, and neighbors—or “Folly people,” as Sylvia refers to them—and let them know that “Buster’s cooking.” And that means the menu will boast a hearty assortment of hot food: jalapeño cornbread, chili, fish chowder, and a venison, duck, and sausage pilau. “This isn’t white-linen dining,” says Buist. “We eat venison year-round, and shrimp, crab, and fish taste so much better when we catch them in the Folly River.”

Guests clearly agree as they dig into mugs full of steaming soup, with cornbread balanced on the side and a glass of wine in hand. The kids help themselves, setting sights on a basket piled high with the makings for s’mores. Eventually, with sticky hands and faces, they too find seats on hay bales and things settle down—way down.

With all eyes on the colors changing on the water in front of them, Sylvia looks around and exclaims, “Happy New Year!”
Lots of laughs follow, as well as jokes about how they’d be considered rather tardy by most standards. The hostess just shrugs off the suggestion with a smile. “Well, anyway, here’s to life on Folly,” she calls out, raising her glass. “What could be better?”