The “Mouth of the South,” South Carolina radio legend and newspaper columnist Charlie Walker had plenty of people speaking his praises as he received the Order of the Silver Crescent, South Carolina’s highest honor for volunteer and community service.

In our last heart-stopping chapter of “As The Bull Flies,” Peggy’s licorice stir-fry cake had been banished to a life of solitude on the third floor of Carolinas Hospital System.

Dorn Smith brings Peggy red ripe tomatoes. Peggy retaliates by baking Dorn her fabulous licorice stirred-fried jalapeño pepper, USDA choice croutons, okra and tomatoes, ox tails, Oreo cookies and a can of McCall Farms’ world-famous hopping johns. One bite would put King Kong in a coma. Dorn’s health insurance doesn’t cover Peggy’s cooking, playing in traffic on I-95 or sipping Sevin cocktails.

I was as weak as a nickel cup of coffee. It had been so long since I had eaten anything. Dr. Dorn Smith sent my teeth to Florence-Darlington Tech for a refresher course in Chewing 101.

I’ve known James Vernon Epps for 50 years, and I still don’t know how he was able to accomplish so much with only two hands and one heart.

In the Pee Dee, we have two seasons: football and waiting on football. And almost every plate on every table is decorated with rice or grits. We complain about the price of gasoline, but Armageddon may be just around the corner. Suppose the world ran out of rice, the poor man’s caviar?

The Floyds and McKenzies have shed their long johns. The snakes have shed their skins and the sound of lawnmowers and air conditioners are heard throughout the land.

I’m certain my gentle readers will be happy to hear I’ve been accepted into the Gamecock Admiration Society in Greeleyville. My membership was based on a fact that this column and Gamecock football has something in common: Both are full of miserable exuberance, both are about as appetizing as meringue on fatback.

Happy Birthday Olanta! It is 100 years old. Only heaven has more Floyds, past and present, than Olanta. The number of Floyds not in heaven is classified information, but the old devil required two references for Floyds to be eligible to enter Hades.

Leroy Nettles Sr. is the Perry Mason of the city without a lake. He and his wife, Beverly, have been married 55 years. Leroy says, “The longer I am married, the better it gets.” When I told him Peggy and I would celebrate our 49th wedding anniversary May 24, he congratulated me and sent Peggy his condolences.

For Mother’s Day I did good: I took Peggy to Phil Nofal’s in Florence. I bought roses for her feet.

Whoever said love is not having to say you’re sorry, you never ran for public office.