Oyster roast

Once a year, come rain or shine, Bluffton Rotarians have an oyster roast, except during COVID, when public socializing in the Lowcountry came to a screeching halt.
The much-anticipated Rotary-sponsored oyster roasts began by offering these delectable delights in the Michael C. Riley Elementary School parking lot, a bare-bones affair with folding tables salvaged from who knows where, all fancied up Bluffton style with cloth napkins furnished by Resort Services Inc., multiple bottles of ketchup and sleeves of saltine crackers.

You were smart to bring your own oyster knife. Soft drinks were cooled in ice-filled washtubs, and naturally, there were kegs of beer. You can hardly eat oysters without beer, even if it’s an O’Doul’s. More importantly, there was Bluffton Gemütlichkeit. You could count on one hand the people you didn’t know.

That was back in 1988, and they were only held there for one year before moving down to Toomer’s Oyster Factory at the end of Wharf Street on the Maye River. In case you’ve forgotten, Arizona and Andrew Palmer were the first cooks, with son Al taking over in 1997.

Things have changed.

These days, Bluffton Rotarians use Oyster Factory Park for their annual roast. Fancy. Organized to a fare-thee-well and then some.

This year’s roast was supposed to be on Jan. 31, 2026, but freezing temperatures were expected, which scared even hardy Rotarians born and raised in Chicago, so they moved the date to March 6, which proved to be a mild, sweater-weather sort of day.

Unfortunately, sand gnats, also known as biting midges or no-see-ums, miserable blood-sucking creatures that they are, also love warm weather and like to swarm at sunset, or, put another way, just as you get out your oyster knife at 5 p.m. and prepare to indulge, they get you. So those in the know bring bug spray, wear long sleeves and go where there is a breeze.

The Rotary Club oyster roast entrance fee covered everything. There were French fries, grilled brats and chili. No limit. Want another brat? Get in line. You did pay for water, soft drinks, beer and wine, if that was your pleasure.

Best of all, there was music from 5 p.m. until 9 p.m., with scarcely a break. Vannah and the Rump Shakers. Savannah Edwards, what a voice that girl has. John O’Gorman and Mike Allen played songs from the ’70s, songs with understandable lyrics, toe-tapping, finger-snapping tunes.

I sat listening to the group, looking across the Bay of Bluffton and remembering other oyster happenings, simpler times.

Mama picking up oysters from under our dock on Myrtle Island, just a few, shucking enough to make Daddy his favorite oyster stew.

Stopping by Dolores Highland’s cottage on Kirk’s Bluff one afternoon, where her children were roasting oysters, and I just happened to have my handy-dandy oyster knife with me.

The elegant oyster roast Lucy and Harry Cram gave on Devil’s Elbow Island, where Sarge acted as self-designated major domo. First time I was ever offered champagne with oysters.

Bluffton Men’s Club held their annual oyster roast inside the factory building, a marvel of concrete floors and two waist-high counters that ran the length of the room, counters with holes where shells were dropped into containers, and, bless the saints, you didn’t have to worry about gnats. Sometimes at these roasts, Cecil Reynolds, who claimed not to like oysters, would stand next to me and shuck them for me. Between my knife and his, I managed to get my share and more.

Oyster roasts at our house on Myrtle Island were a familial mélange of grownups, children and dogs, where soft drinks and hot dogs were on the menu, where we used a piece of metal from an old water tank supported by bricks, a wood fire burning hard underneath, the oysters laid out on the slab, covered with a croaker sack, spritzed with a water hose and steamed just that long. Dip in melted butter. Wash down with icy beer.

Nothing better.

Annelore Harrell’s journey is a tapestry woven with fascinating experiences and extraordinary accomplishments. Even at 92 in 2025, Annelore’s energy and zest for life continue to inspire. Annelore Harrell’s story is a testament to living with passion, resilience, and an unquenchable thirst for adventure.