ON AN EARLY MORNING IN MID-AUGUST, THE SWEETGRASS FIELD OFF OF RIVER ROAD SHIMMERED GREEN AND GOLD IN THE HEAT. VOLUNTEERS BENT TO THEIR WORK, HANDS WRAPPED AROUND THICK BUNDLES OF FRESHLY CUT STALKS. THE AIR SMELLED FAINTLY OF VANILLA AND NEWLY MOWN HAY, THE SCENT THAT GIVES THIS PRIZED GRASS ITS NAME. ZIP TIES CLICKED SHUT AS ARMFULS OF GRASS WERE GATHERED, STACKED, AND READIED FOR DELIVERY. BY NOON, THE FIELD LOOKED TRANSFORMED— HARVESTED GRASS NEATLY BUNDLED, THEIR SOFT BLADES DESTINED FOR THE HANDS OF SWEETGRASS ARTISANS WHO CARRY ON ONE OF THE LOWCOUNTRY’ S MOST ENDURING TRADITIONS.