Walk down any street in the Holy City and you’ll hear the same recommendations. Go to the Battery. Eat some shrimp and grits. Visit the Market. But if you’re looking for the real pulse of local craftsmanship and the "old school" feel that made this city famous before the cruise ships arrived, you eventually run into My Three Sons of Charleston.
It’s a name that sounds like a 1960s sitcom. Honestly, it’s a lot more interesting than that.
Most people assume it’s just another retail spot or a generic souvenir hub. They’re wrong. Located in the heart of the historic district on North Market Street, this place is basically a time capsule for the Gullah Geechee culture and the incredible artistry of sweetgrass basket weaving. It’s not just a shop; it’s a focal point for one of the oldest African-originated handicrafts in the United States.
The Reality of Sweetgrass in the Modern Era
You’ve probably seen the ladies weaving on the sidewalk. It looks peaceful. It looks like a hobby. In reality, it’s back-breaking, finger-cramping labor that requires decades of muscle memory. My Three Sons of Charleston serves as a bridge between these traditional artisans and a world that increasingly buys plastic junk from overseas.
The materials aren't just "grass."
We’re talking about Muhlenbergia sericea. It grows in the coastal dunes. Because of massive real estate development in Mt. Pleasant and surrounding islands, this grass is actually becoming harder to find. When you walk into My Three Sons, you’re looking at a dwindling resource. The weavers often have to travel deep into Georgia or Florida just to harvest the raw materials now. That’s a detail most tourists miss while they're checking price tags. They don't see the gas mileage or the hours spent in the marsh dodging gnats and heat exhaustion just to get the "thread" for the basket.
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Why the "Three Sons" Name Matters
Naming a business after your kids is a classic move. It screams "family-owned," but in Charleston, that carries weight. The city is changing fast. Luxury condos are replacing corner stores. In this climate, My Three Sons of Charleston stays relevant because it’s rooted in the idea of legacy.
It’s not corporate.
The shop is known for its collection of Gullah-inspired art, locally made jewelry, and, of course, the baskets. But there’s a nuance here that gets lost: the distinction between "tourist trap" and "cultural conservator." You can find cheap knock-offs in some corners of the city—baskets made of straw or seagrass that will fall apart in three years. My Three Sons sticks to the authentic stuff. Palmetto fronds, longleaf pine needles, and sweetgrass. If you buy a basket here, your grandkids will probably be fighting over who gets it in the will.
The Art Nobody Talks About (Beyond the Baskets)
While the sweetgrass gets the limelight, the shop actually houses a broader spectrum of Lowcountry identity. Think about the "Rice Culture." Charleston was built on it. The art pieces you find here often reflect that heavy, complicated history.
It’s heavy stuff.
You’ll find vibrant paintings that capture the "Sunday Best" culture of the Gullah people. You'll see ironwork motifs that mimic the famous gates of Christopher Werner or Philip Simmons. People come for a souvenir, but if they stay long enough to talk to the staff, they leave with a history lesson. Most folks don't realize that the "fanner" baskets—the flat, wide ones—weren't originally for bread. They were tools for winnowing rice. The wind would catch the chaff, and the grain would fall back into the basket.
That’s the soul of My Three Sons of Charleston. It’s the preservation of a tool that became art because the tool wasn't needed anymore, but the skill was too beautiful to let die.
What to Look for When You Visit
If you’re heading down to North Market Street, don't just wander in aimlessly. Look for the "nail."
Wait, what?
Authentic sweetgrass baskets are sewn, not woven like a wicker chair. The artists use a tool—often a sharpened spoon handle or a large nail—to poke holes through the previous row to pull the palmetto binding through. You can actually see the "stitches." At My Three Sons, you can examine the tightness of these stitches. A "museum quality" basket is so tight it can almost hold water.
A Few Insider Tips:
- Smell the grass. Real sweetgrass has a faint, hay-like aroma that lasts for years. If it smells like chemicals or nothing at all, keep walking.
- Check the bottom. The "start" of a basket is the hardest part to master. A clean, tight spiral at the center of the base is the mark of a master weaver.
- Ask about the artist. The staff at My Three Sons of Charleston usually knows exactly who made what. Many of the weavers are from the 17-Mile community in Mt. Pleasant.
The Economic Struggle of Authenticity
Let’s be real for a second. The prices can be a shock. You might see a small coaster for $40 or a large basket for $500.
People complain. They shouldn't.
Think about the math. If a weaver spends 40 hours on a single medium-sized basket—which is common—and you pay $400, that’s $10 an hour. And that doesn't even count the time spent harvesting and drying the grass. Shops like My Three Sons have to balance the need to pay artists fairly while surviving the astronomical rents of downtown Charleston. It’s a tightrope walk. When you buy here, you're essentially subsidizing the survival of a craft that is on the UNESCO-level of "endangered."
My Three Sons of Charleston in the Community
This isn't just a place for tourists to buy dust-collectors. It’s a landmark. Over the years, the Market area has faced fires, hurricanes, and massive shifts in how the city manages its public spaces. Through all that, the focus on Gullah heritage has remained the anchor.
The shop stands as a reminder that Charleston isn't just a "pretty" city with cobblestones. It’s a city with a deep, often painful, but ultimately resilient African heartbeat. The "Three Sons" represents a future—the idea that the next generation will still care about these traditions.
Misconceptions You Should Ignore
You might hear people say that "all the good stuff is at the roadside stands in Mt. Pleasant."
Kinda true, kinda not.
While the stands on Highway 17 are iconic, My Three Sons of Charleston curates their collection. They do the legwork for you. They vet the quality. If you don't have a car to drive out to the suburbs or the time to hunt through thirty different stands, this shop is the gold standard for high-end, authentic work in the city center.
Another myth? That you can't use the baskets.
Total nonsense. These things are incredibly durable. In the 1800s, they were used to carry hundreds of pounds of cotton and rice. Your sourdough bread or car keys aren't going to hurt them. Just don't let them stay damp, or they'll mildew. Give them a little sunlight occasionally, and they’ll outlive you.
How to Get the Most Out of Your Visit
Don't go on a Saturday at 1:00 PM if you can help it. It’s chaos. The Market becomes a sea of cruise ship passengers and bachelor parties.
Go early.
Get there right when they open. Talk to the folks behind the counter. Ask them about the current state of sweetgrass harvesting. You’ll find that they are incredibly passionate about the ecology of the Lowcountry. They’ll tell you about how the rising sea levels and coastal development are the biggest threats to their business. It’s a perspective you won't get from a generic tour bus guide.
Your Next Steps for a Lowcountry Experience
If you're planning a trip or just want to support the craft, start by researching the history of the Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor. It stretches from North Carolina down to Florida, with Charleston as its crown jewel.
When you finally visit My Three Sons of Charleston, do these three things:
- Examine the "Starter": Look at the center of a basket to appreciate the sheer physics of bending dried grass into a circle.
- Ask for the Story: Every piece of Gullah art in the shop has a narrative. Ask who the artist is and what inspired the specific pattern.
- Invest in Quality: If you’re torn between a cheap souvenir and a slightly more expensive piece of hand-sewn sweetgrass, choose the grass. It’s a piece of American history that you can actually hold.
The city is changing, but as long as places like this exist, the real Charleston isn't going anywhere.