The Front Porch Philosopher

To Kill a Mockingbird

2010-07-20T14:42:00.000-06:00

This last weekend was a triumph for Monroeville, Alabama. It was the 50th anniversary of the book “To Kill a Mockingbird”. It may turn out to be the fiction bestseller of all time. Almost every student in America reads it at some time. It is a multilayered work telling the story of life in a small rural town with the good, the bad and the ugly with honesty and humor. Those of us who live in the area will find ourselves, our lives and our ancestors embedded somewhere in its pages. This book has probably done more for us in the South to examine our prejudices and lay them aside in honor of the plight of the whole human race than the author ever imagined as she pinned her narrative. It is a morality play told through the fresh eyes of a child.

We here in rural Southwest Alabama have learned to appreciate our lives and opportunities because of it, the people in Monroeville, Maycomb’s model, perhaps most of all. They never denied that these things could have happened here. They took the lemons of the situation that could have made they have fingers forever pointed at them and made lemonade. They have been doing it for years with the annual productions of the play about the book.

This weekend, they all banded together to welcome the world to celebrate the birthday. People literally came from all over the world to be part of this. There were four days of activities. The schedule included a variety of activities. All of them were successful. The biggest hit was the dinner party held at the Hybart House, a property owned by the Monroe County Heritage Museum. A dinner was prepared by a husband and wife chef team from the Little Savannah restaurant in Birmingham. The menu consisted of foods mentioned in the book. There were 275 people who showed up for supper. Some came without tickets, which were sold out, but like good southern hosts, they were allowed to come anyway. The vegetables were all locally grown and fresh. There was fried chicken, of course, because frying is a sacred ritual of the south. There was sweet tea, which has been called the table wine of the South. Nothing was served that could not have been found on the table in the 1930s.

There was something for everybody during the celebration. There were children’s games of the Mockingbird era every day on the Courthouse lawn. There were daily walking tours with local stories led by local volunteers. There was a continuous reading of The Book in the courtroom that Hollywood replicated for the movie. There was an art show at a local gallery across from the courthouse. There were barbeque lunches served every day on the courthouse lawn prepared by the locally famous Chrtty Street Barbeque. On Saturday night there was a premier of the documentary “Our Mockingbird” by producer Sandy Jaffe followed by a reception on the courthouse lawn billed as “under the stars”. At the evening events Tequila Mockingbird was served. It was invented especially for Monroeville and oculd be had in a commemorative glass for $10.

The best thing about the whole celebration was how excited and involved the whole community was about being host to the world. Lest you think I am exaggerating, check out the Monroe County Heritage Museum’s website to see the articles written and the broadcasts produced about the event. Two major networks spent three days in this small rural town. Major dailies did stories in advance that helped to promote the event. The people of the town volunteers in whatever capacity they were needed. They manned the museum, lead the tours, lent their art, sold the tickets and whatever else was needed. They were unfailingly polite and cooperative to visitors. The museum staff set the tone with their own style of hospitality and grace. They were never too busy to answer questions and greet guests. The Chamber of commerce supported them in every way. It is amazing how a small town can pull together to pull off an event of national prominence.

The locals were all around town to share their Mockingbird stories. One man in a store located right across the street from the site of Harper Lee’s childhood home shared a reference on the Boo Radley character’s prototype. He said such a person really did exist. The man really was kept in the house. He was spied on by local children just like the book described. He was often seen to beat a stick against the wall in a rhythmic pattern with his head pressed against the wall to listen to the vibrations. There were other stories, too that were shared – speculations as to why Harper Lee denied interviews. People are not defensive about the topic of the story that related to the rape of a white woman by a black man who was innocent but still convicted. Most recognize and verbalize that those were different times. Today, all the people of Monroeville work together to keep the message alive in its real location of the story that has been heard around the world.

Food Equals Love

2010-07-07T16:10:00.000-06:00

I don’t think southern culture is the only one that equates food with love in the family sense.All cultures have their equivalent. I just think that here in rural Southwest Alabama we have distilled the tradition to a meaningful fine art.

Several things have happened recently, tht have brought this fact home to me in a personal way. The first was the gift of my Aunt Hazel. She was literally at death’s door 6 weeks ago. I mean literally. She quit breathing twice. She is on oxygen around the clock. She smoked her lungs away. She was so addicted to tobacco that she would slip and smoke after she was told it would kill her. She unhooked the oxygen and lit up a cigarette. She was in the hospital for weeks. I just had a birthday. She cooked me dinner for my birthday present. She knew I loved her cooking, so she prepared food for my special day. It was one of the greatest acts of love anybody has every given me. It was not just a simple meal. She had made stuffed peppers, fried eggplant and green tomatoes, her famous potato salad and a butterscotch pie for dessert. Each dish had several steps in its preparation. The fried eggplant and tomatoes had to be individually pan fried. I don’t know when I have enjoyed a meal more. There was love in every bite.

Another recent example was when a long lost relative we had never met came to town to put a marker in the family cemetery named for a relative who was the first person buried there. She knew who some of us were because we had emailed family genealogical information back and forth. The local family, who had never met this woman got together and fixed a special supper for her and her husband. When she remarked on how nice it was of the local branch of the family to do this, she was told “If you will come all the way from Texas to dedicate this marker, the least we can do is fix supper!”All the local relatives were invited. Several came, all bearing dishes. One friend of the hostess had a garden full of the fresh vegetables. She lived 18 miles away. She came on Saturday morning bringing fresh string beans, cucumbers, okra, squash, corn and new potatoes. Not only did she bring them, but she sat down and helped the hostess snap the beans. We are still eating leftovers, which is a really good thing. One of the out of town relatives came. She brought 6 people with her, who ended up being my houseguests. I was the fortunate recipient of the leftovers. We had barbeque, snapped beans, squash casserole, coleslaw ( 2 kinds – broccoli and regular), baked beans, lemon rice, sliced tomatoes, cucumbers and bell pepper rings. For dessert, there was chocolate pound cake and strawberry cake. There was sweet tea and cherry limeade to be had by all. This was another labor of love, which the guests apparently enjoyed. They didn’t leave until midnight.

The gift of the leftovers has served me well. I fed 6 guests for 4 days on them. The guests left yesterday, but the leftovers remain. I had another guest yesterday from Arizona. He was here researching his own roots. I live in what was his family home. I treat any of the Dunnings who come through as family. I had a family reunion for them here several years ago, so they know that the door is always open. I fed this man more leftovers for his dinner yesterday. He said he wasn’t hungry and didn’t want much to eat, but he made a liar out of himself. He didn’t eat many choices, but ate a lot of what he did eat.

Southern hospitality is what most people would call having all these people in to feed. Did I mention that some of the people who came with my sister, I had never met in my life? They came highly recommended by my sister and included 4 teenagers. Yes, you heard me right – 4 teenagers. I have observed one thing about teenagers, If you treat them like people, they will act all right. They giggled a bit and spend a lot of time on the computer, but they were pleasant and helped eat up the leftovers. Alll in all, there was a lot of love and a lot of food floating around these past few days. It’s a southern thing and we are celebrating our culture. Hurray for rural Southwest Alabama!

It Just Had to be Cornbread

2010-05-07T14:33:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, if you are from the South, nothing will do but cornbread. We in rural Southwest Alabama are the quintessential southern eaters. All my childhood growing up, we had it every day for dinner. Dinner was in the middle of the day. We had fresh vegetables, maybe a meat dish unless the vegetables were at their height of freshness and flavor and needed to be the centerpiece of the meal, and always, sweet tea. No meal was complete without the cornbread. Vegetables without cornbread were just not done.

I was a picky eater as a child. My mother as all southern mamas, was a food pusher. You had to eat. I was thin little thing as were my brother and sister. None of us are now as a result of Mama’s food pushing and our subsequent love of food that developed through her persistence. My downfall was peas and cornbread with lots of pot liquor. Until they became a summer diet staple, I didn’t really savor food. I liked it, but didn’t live to eat. It was the potlikker (in southern vernacular) that did it.

For those of you not versed in the preparation of peas and beans southern style, I will explain the process. A piece or two of bacon or Conecuh sausage if you are lucky enough to live where you can get it, is put into the pot where it gets brown and leaves drippings. Water is added to the drippings to create a broth. The peas or beans are then added along with a pinch of sugar to bring out the flavor. Be careful not to put in too much water to dilute the broth. Note: when I refer to peas, I am speaking of the southern kind, not the English kind. There are tons of varieties from pink eyed purple hulls to red ripper to my personal favorite, white crowder pea. Frozen peas are equally delicious to the fresh, though there is something mystical about locally grown fresh peas or beans. Butterbeans are either the homegrown kind picked young, which have a nutty sweet flavor or if you MUST serve frozen, use butter peas, the fat little kind. The peas should just be covered in liquid. Do Not salt the broth until the peas are just tender. If you do, they will be hard and take a lot longer to cook. When the peas are almost done, whole pods of okra can be laid on top until they are tender. At this point, our family removes the okra and serves it on the side. I used to wonder why when other people mushed the okra up in the peas. I found out later that my aunt Mary Jim would not eat okra, so my grandmother both flavored the peas and fooled her by serving it on the side. The pot liquor is a byproduct of the process.
The way I learned to love pot liquor was by crumbling cornbread on a plate, then dousing it with pot liquor and peas. It was delicious. It is even more enhanced by slices of fresh tomato. The corn bread and peas have a nice texture, with the liquor providing the savory compliment of moisture. My daddy swore I made humming sounds, a sort of uuuhhmmm when I ate it.

There is no way to duplicate the flavor of this mixed up dish without the cornbread, and cornbread for this dish needs to be made in a skillet. The crust is good for just out of hand eating, but it’s the dense, firm interior of the cornbread that is needed to uphold the pot liquor. There is a special small skillet in all traditional southern kitchens that exists to hold a pone of cornbread. It is just the right size for a family meal. It is always served warm cut in triangles. It is also good served with gravy of any kind, soups and chili. It is the thing that makes the dish substantial enough to be a meal. There is no substitute for it. When I think of food of my youth, I always see cornbread right there.

Historically, cornbread was what we had. It is truly an American thing, but after the Civil War when food was scarce, it was the main thing. When there was nothing else, there was cornbread. It became wired into southern genetic makeup to represent security – home, family, food. John T Edge has called us in the south “the Cornbread Nation”. He was so right.

In my childhood, we ate our big meal in the middle of the day. If there were leftovers, we might have them for supper, but frequently, supper was a lighter meal. I can remember my grandmother electing to have cornbread crumbled into buttermilk for her supper many a night. In the winter, she’d pull up in front of the gas heater and eat. I tasted it, but didn’t develop the taste for it that she had. I wanted my cornbread warm doused in pot liquor and studded with peas. Either way, we agreed on one thing. Nothing would do, but cornbread!

Eiffel Tower – Been There Done That

2010-04-30T06:05:00.000-06:00

I have seen the Eiffel Tower in every possible place but in real life. It is in books, movies, advertisements, television and its face is recognizable anywhere. It is part of every Paris tour. That is how I got there. I signed up for an excursion from London. We got up at 4:30 in the morning and took the Euro Star through the “chunnel”.

I loved Paris as a whole. I think I liked the city better than London. I know that is sacrilegious coming from a WASP from the Deep South. Most of my ancestry came from the British Isles, so when I say that Paris was prettier than London, I do so quietly. We did a bus tour before we got to the Eiffel Tower. We had a young guide who was good at laughing at his own jokes, but little else. He put the bus full of us out and said “Go up the tower, get something to eat and be back in an hour and a half. Obviously, he like us, had not done this much.

I had heard all the tales about pickpockets who made their whole living at the Eiffel Tower. We had already encountered a horde of them at the Changing of the Guards at Buckingham Palace, so we were not quite as naïve as we would have been. People from rural Southwest Alabama are naturally trusting. We think because we like everybody, they are going to like us, too. Furthermore, if you like somebody, why would you bother their stuff? Nobody that I ever heard of in rural Southwest Alabama makes a living as a pickpocket. There are good reasons why. One is that if they got caught doing it, whoever they were hitting on wouldn’t wait for the police, they would beat the living hell out of the pickpocket on the spot. Plus, since everybody knows everybody else, they’d tell the whole town and that would be the end of the pickpocket career. Reason two is that very few people carry enough cash to make this form of thieving profitable. There are a few kleptomaniacs around scattered in the general population, but since everybody knows who they are, including their families, items taken are quietly returned, so nobody beats hell out of them.

The pickpockets at the Eiffel Tower are a whole different breed. In fact, they are several breeds. There are the run of the mill pickpockets who sell souvenirs out front. They work in groups so that one can distract you while the others surround you. The one nearest the pocket will strike so quickly your never know what hit you. The thing to do is stay with your own group if you are a tourist. The other pickpockets mingle with the crowd on the tower itself.

I had only one companion with me on the Paris trip. The others in our party had done Paris last year and spent the day shopping London. The two of us tried to follow the instructions about going up and finding something to eat after a look at the city. The entire day tourist population of Paris had the same idea. With our limited time and threat of being left behind, we decided to forgo lunch. It took 20 minutes to get in the bathroom which had a traffic director letting you in 3 at a time. WE couldn’t even find the way to the elevator, so we decided to walk down. Walking down the Eiffel Tower is a bad move. Remind yourself never to do it, given any other option other than jumping. It didn’t seem too bad at first, until we got surrounded by a group of 4 girls going very slow. Apparently, they, too were in the pickpocket business. When it dawned on me, I said to my companion. “Go around them. Start walking fast and don’t ask any questions.” We took off at a gallop. Put that on your list of things not to do at the Eiffel Tower. The girls sped up, too and a couple passed us. WE saw them coming back up shortly. They passed us and went to look for new tourists. Who goes back up the Eiffel Tower, for goodness sake, except someone up to no good? Going down is hard enough. I was making pretty good time, so I hazarded a look toward the ground. It scared me good. It made me realize how far I still had to go as well as how far up I still was. We made it down in time to load the bus. I didn’t realize the full impact of the walk down until the next day. My legs have never been so sore. For three days, I felt every bend and step I made in a bunch of places I didn’t even know existed.

Luckily, our next stop was on a barge to travel down the Seine. We got to sit the whole time on it. I think the barge ride was my favorite part of the day. I don’t know whether it was for the scenery or for the chair I sat in.

We still hadn’t had lunch and it was 4pm Paris time. We got to the Louvre and went to find something to eat. It took practically the whole time allotted to eat at Marley’s, their most famous café. We got to sit down there, too. I saw very little of the museum itself. I really felt like I missed a great experience. I intend to go back there and back to the Victoria and Albert Museum in London before I die. I really felt like that death could be imminent for the few days after walking down the Eiffel Tower. Been there. Done that –mark it off my list of things to do!

TIPSY TEA AT THE WINTER COURT

2010-04-26T11:27:00.002-06:00

My dream has always been to go to High Tea at some good place in England. I have always loved British novel and tea. I wanted to go to an authentic place and have it. When I knewI was going to Britain that was the first thing I put on my to do list. Just as some of my friends wanted to go up in the Eye and I went along to be a good sport, so did they accompany me to my dream scenario. We couldn’t get in the Ritz on short notice, so we went to the Winter Garden at the Landmark Hotel. It is new by British standards, late nineteenth century. It was all we hoped for. It was a courtyard under glass that looked just like an upscale mall in Virginia that seems to be copied from it. It was light airy and had huge potted palms like the conservatories in many of the novels I read. In the mall in Virginia, they had potted palms, but they were made of copper.

There were seven of us. I had the regular tea menu, but some of the group had a chocolate tea, which I would choose next time because everything about it, but the sandwiches was chocolate. Thank goodness, the friends who did the chocolate tea were generous in sharing, so we got to try it all. The high tea was accompanied by champagne. I do not generally like champagne, but with the tea goodies, it was delightful. Waiters in tuxedos hovered over, refilling glasses and teapots regularly. We got slightly tipsy. We are proper ladies, so it was as much a surprise to us as anybody. We had a delightful giggly time.

I often go to tea at the Windsor Court Hotel when I am in New Orleans, so the whole ceremonial effect was to new to me. The menu was the same. We started out with tea sandwiches = chicken salad, cucumber. egg salad,and salmon. That must be traditional because they were the same on both continents – only the English sandwiches had no mayonnaise or cream cheese on the bread. I found this to be true of all british sandwiches – rather dry. Next came the scones in the US, whereas in England, they were served last. They came with clotted cream. In the US, we had lemon curd as well as the clotted cream and raspberry jam. The sweets were a lovely assortment. Which we enjoyed, but I envied the chocolate tea. I had Earl Grey tea, which is my favorite. We tried several different pots among us. Some of my friends had herbal tea with no caffeine. I always feel like what’s the point if you don’t get your caffeine jolt, especially if you’ve walked a hundred miles around the city. They piano music was softly tinkling in the background. It was all quite elegant. We giggled and sipped our way through a delightful afternoon. Some of the group was not were not too keen on going to tea, but once they got there, they were glad they came. I don’t know whether it was the atmosphere, the whole experience or just the champagne, but the Tipsy tea is a must do if you ever get to Britain.

Souvenirs of England and Paris

2010-04-05T13:04:00.000-06:00

I left home knowing I was not going to buy much. I knew that the pound and the euro were worth a lot more than the dollar at the moment, even after the Greeks pulled their money stunts, I knew that food was not included in the cost of the tour and that most of my resources would go toward that end. I also had gotten a good deal on a triple strand of small pearls on ebay exactly three days before departure. I’m glad I got those pearls. All jewelry was very expensive in Europe. I got my mother a fake rhinestone flower basket pin at Windsor Castle and it cost me $50.

I did my limited souvenir in the gift shops of the historic sites and at the National Trust stores which benefit the historic sites. Their shops are stocked with things picked out by cultured little old ladies with taste. Also, they must be impoverished gentlewomen because the prices are reasonable. Notice, I didn’t say cheap. My souvenirs need to have a sense of place to be meaningful. Also, these days, one suitcase is all you get unless you pay dearly. I did take a fairly large shopping bag from an American shopping mecca that is trying to get us to use recyclables. I put my purse in it on the return trip to make it my personal carryon item. Still, the things I bought were small. I bought music twice - a choral and organ CDs at St Paul’s Cathedral (where Charles and Di got married) and a set of 3 CDs of symphonic music by famous classical orchestras called “A Walk in the Countryside”. I have been playing the music constantly since I got home. The music gives me a great sense of the places I have been. I bought a heavy plaid wool throw (they call it a lap rug). I was a little worried about its weight, but I didn’t go over my 50 lb limit with it. It was cold enough when I got home with what our nanny used to call “the Easter snap” that I sat under it all day Sunday when I got back listening to my imported music. I always tend to buy music, books, and something to eat.

I love food. I tell everybody that food is one of my religions and I worship at every shrine I pass. What you can bring in to eat as limited. I .of course, got tea. England is famous for its tea drinking. I did a good bit of tea drinking there. Earl Grey is my favorite for everyday drinking, but I love fruit flavored teas. I looked all over to find some. There was this sleazy little shop across the hotel that had some. I didn’t like dealing with them because they cheated one of our party out of her change the first night. They were from a county that doesn’t much like tourists, especially women. Once they did that to her, I didn’t like giving them business. When she objected, they returned the right change, but it’s buyer beware. I searched all over for my tea. I didn’t want English Breakfast or Afternoon Tea. I finally found some flamboyant fruit varieties at Harrod’s. I think of the Food Halls at Harrod’s as a branch of heaven. I had read about them years ago in Gourmet Magazine. I had put a trip there on the top of my wish list. It didn’t disappoint. I went into the take away bakery and go some interesting things. I got a cheese and onion bread that was filled with browned onion slices and topped in the cuts with real sliced parmesan cheese. I can make that at home as I can the other pastries I tried. In fact, my favorite souvenir of all was the tastes I brought home to try. There was a cream cheese filled pastry that was flavored with lemon juice. The lemon made it probably the best cream cheese pastry I ever had. I’m going to make my special cream cheese braids for Easter and this time use lemon juice instead of vanilla. The best thing I got there was given to me by a friend who bought and didn’t want to keep up with it. It was a kind of pizza like bread that had fresh tomatoes and pesto baked on top. When you bit into itr, it was loaded with stuffed olives. I am an adventuresome cook who rarely uses recipes. I can taste something and tell what is basically in it. I knew I could make this. I came in today and did it. I whipped the pizza dough up in my food processor. I pulled it out thin and put the olives on. I used sliced olives because that is what I had. I have some very good pesto in a refrigerated jar from Sam’s. I bought some roma tomatoes at the grocery store because they are the only kind fit to eat this time of year. The English love their tomatoes. They even broil them for breakfast. We had a full English breakfast buffet at the hotel where we stayed that included the broiled tomatoes. It also included pork and beans. Of course, I tried them and decided beans on toast was a taste I had yet to acquire.

I guess my favorite souvenirs are the food memories I bring back and try to recreate in my own kitchen. The pizza bread is rising on the counter as I write. Some friends are coming over this afternoon to hear about the trip. I’m going to try it out on them, so they can tangibly share my souvenirs. I couldn’t fit them presents in my suitcase, but they’ll having something I made just for them that I’d never have known about without the trip!

I have a confession to make. Alongside the pizza bread rising, I have a pot of butterbeans and okra seasoned with Conecuh sausage cooking. I was hungry for some home cooked food that tasted like rural Southwest Alabama.

Auditioning Shoes for England

2010-03-19T06:58:00.000-06:00

As you read this, I will be touring Merry Old England! I have always liked why my college history professor said about England. He always referred to it as “The Mother Country”. One of the students asked another “What part of England is Dr. Smith from?”. The other answered wryly “Mobile”, which of course, is in our own rural Southwest Alabama. Along with Dr. Smith, I have always been something of an Anglophile. I love all things British. Team, hot, not the sweet tea that has been called the table wine of the South. Okay, I admit it, I make the tea hot in the morning to drink at the start of the day, but in the afternoon, I pour the leftover tea into a big glass of crushed ice. I don’t sweeten it, though. Really sweet tea sets my teeth on edge! I’m really looking forward to drinking tea with the locals over there.

I have made up my mind not to buy many souvenirs. The pound is made up of two dollars, which means everything costs twice as much. I learned a shopping lesson in Italy, a few years back. I debated hard about whether to buy this beautiful pottery pasta bowl. I was afraid I would break in on the way home. I didn’t buy it. I came back to the US and found a very similar one by the Italian pottery maker at a local discount chain. It was less than half the price of what it would have been in Italy. I plan to try to buy some tea that I can’t get at home. I may treat myself to a scarf or something easy to bring back. I have learned that if your bag (we are only allowed one) weighs one pound over 50lbs, we’ll have to pay $150. That will cut down on your buying quick! My everyday china is by Portmeirion, an English company. I can get all I want of it at the same discount store I bought the Italian bowl at. I’ll let you know how well I stuck to plan when I get back,

As I write this, I should be packing. My clothes are lying next to the suitcase for editing. I know that I am limited on what I can put in my 1 suitcase. I will debate with myself the rest of the night about what to take. Everybody tells me it will be damp and chilly, so I am planning accordingly. I am going to layer my clothes. The one thing that I know for sure about my wardrobe is that I will be taking two pair of the most comfortable shoes I own. I have been auditioning shoes for months to find the best candidates. Believe me, it was not a beauty contest. Neither pair is very pretty, but they make my feet feel well cared for. I promised my feet long ago, that I’d never do anything to hurt them again! If my feet are warm, I’m warm all over. If my feet are not hurting, I can walk many miles. My goal is to see everything I can in the short eight days allotted to the trip. I am going with friends that I have traveled with before, so I know we’ll be a congenial group. The only place I anticipate any trouble is try to drag my dear friend into an Indian restaurant. My daughter has traveled to England a number of times and says that the best food is the Indian food. There are a lot Indian restaurants because of its being an English colony for so long. Nobody has anything nice to say about English food except the pub food. I love to eat. I am like an army, I travel on my stomach.

The one thing I must do while I am there is to have a high tea somewhere. I love to go the Windsor Court, the English hotel in New Orleans for tea. I feel so elegant eating the frilly food served on those pretty little stands while harp music is being played in the background. Another thing on my MUST SEE list is the food hall at Harrods, which I understand cover several floors. There is bound to be something special amongst all those. Anther on the list is the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London.
We’ll also be making excursion to Stonehenge, Bath, Salisbury, Windsor and a very long day trip to Paris via the Chunnel (the tunnel that runs under the English Channel). We leave at 4:30 am for that, but some things are worth it.

I can’t begin to predict how things will go, but I can predict one thing – I’ll be wearing comfortable shoes. The two pair that made the cut will assure me of that!

I love living in rural Southwest Alabama. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see the world. I must admit, though, it is hard to leave now that the cold has gone away and I can sit on the porch. A neighbor and I enjoyed wine on the porch last night. I’ll have the rest of my life to do that, Going on this trip will give me some new stories to tell on the porch.

Weather Looking Up!

2010-03-12T08:17:00.002-06:00

It’s grey, cloudy and warm! I love it! I’m back on the porch which is where I belong, not huddled by the fireside. As one of my friends said yesterday “If I had wanted to be this cold, I’d have moved to Vermont. This has been a weird, cold, not all together pleasant winter. The best thing I can say about it is that I’ve learned to build a mean fire! I have used almost two racks of wood in the process. That isn’t normal for rural Southwest Alabama! I live in a big old house that was designed for cool summer living. I do have insulation and storm windows, but there are still drafts I have to plug up. My heating bill hit the stratosphere this winter, as did everybody's that I have talked to. We got through it. Like Forrest Gump. That’s all I’ll say about that.

This week I’ve been able to get back on the porch. My wind chimes are kicking up a mighty tune because it is windy... but, hey, what else do we expect in March. I’ve had two meetings on the porch already this week. We’ve gone through a whole German stolen and a package of cookies – both procured from that local storehouse of the incredible – Dirt Cheap. You just never know what you might find there. I found a shipment of foreign baked goods. They had all kinds of holiday treats. They have upgraded my porch entertaining to a whole new level.

I don’t mind the cloudy weather a bit. I don’t even mind the stormy deluge I drove home from Montgomery in last night because I WASN”T COLD!! I hate it when I can’t enjoy the yard. I love the daffodils that are raising their frilly heads now. I love the camellias that brighten the landscape this time of year. I watch for the first roses to go on sale. I don’t like those prima donna tea roses that have to be petted. I like the heritage ki9nd that the settlers brought here from the colonies with the clippings stuck in a potato to keep them moist. There’s a historical fact for you. I often wonder about how the earlier generations did things. I just love to think of them riding in a wagon holding potatoes with rose cuttings. I have planted my first roses at the end of last month. I went to a lecture at the Rural Heritage Center on roses and the speaker told us that November was not too early to plant roses and that February was not too late. So why do they just go on sale now? I put them out anyway. My roses live, but in the past season droughts, they have not thrived. I did better last year because I bought some organic rabbit fertilizer locally from John Hall who raises rabbits. It is fine fertilizer and roses really love it. I’m going to buy more this year.

This time of the year, I love to walk around my yard and see which buds are swellings. When you see a lot of buds on the shrubs, it generally means that spring is just around the corner. I really love living in Rural Southwest Alabama where the growing season is so long. We enjoy flowers months longer than most parts of the country. My goal is to have something blooming at every season of the year. I’m getting there! All my life, I have been a flower picker. I just couldn’t resist picking flowers and making bouquets. It’s my way of celebrating life. If I’m at home, I’m going to have a bouquet in the living room. Right now the bouquet is daffodils and “Koss ME at the Gate” as my grandmothers called it. I think the pass-along plant name is winter honeysuckle. It smells loudly like the finest French floral fragrance.

I just hope that his is not a false alarm. I hope spring really is just around the corner. I think it must because the red maples are blooming along the roadsides. After them come redbuds, then dogwoods and finally the beautiful purple clusters of wisteria. It is beautiful alone the roadsides, but is scourge of my yard! I spend more time that I’d like to getting rid of it. I have an erstwhile gardener who works hard for me when he needs a few dollars. He spends a good deal of his time in jail (for not paying child support) or drinking. He is a very hard worker, He is not reliable about coming at specified times, so when he shows up, I let him work a few hours. He usually shows up on the weekends when he is short of cash at around 3 pm and works until dark. I take him when I can get him because plants seem to love him. I think he must have a good heart underneath all that liquor smell. If I let him borrow money, he will disappear for a few months until he thinks I’ve forgotten. I never let him borrow over a few dollars, so I don’t worry much about it. I take the gardening help where I can get it. I have a good friend who has turned her husband into a gardening helper. We jokingly call him “Leroy the yard boy”

I never dreamed I’d feel the pull to getting my hands in the dirt that I do this time of year. It’s like something is missing from my life if I ‘m not planting. Pulling weeds doesn’t evoke the same longing, but I’ll do that, too just to get my hands in the dirt. Welcome Sweet Spring Time to rural Southwest Alabama!

Snow in Southwest Alabama

2010-02-13T09:12:00.000-06:00

Wow! It is snowing hard outside in rural Southwest Alabama. I can’t believe it. We will on occasion have a day of snow. This may last a whole weekend. The whole world stops for snow when it happens here. I know the people further north laugh at our behavior. They don’t know us Southerners. They are descended from the pilgrims. We come from the cavaliers and scoundrels with some younger sons thrown in for flavor. We will celebrate anything.

Isn’t Mardi Gras coming from a cowbell and rake (the Cowbell de Rakin Society) proof of that? It started Mardi Gras in Mobile just south of us, They are celebrating their own snow right now. We do our snow celebrations in predictable ways. Those with children go out in snow with them, making snow men and having snowball fights, then coming in and making snow ice cream. The mature citizens have their own way of celebrating. I can speak for them because some people would put me in their ranks, though not to my face. We settle into the house with a good book, good music and movies we have recorded meaning to watch for months. We cook something hearty and warming, sharing with neighbors because we always cook too much. How can you cook a little stew or small pot of dry beans to eat with a small pone of cornbread? We treasure the chance to escape from as normally busy life and vegetate with the blessings of God who sent the snow and society which is taking its own vacation from normality.

My brother and grandson are the family weather men and disaster preparedness designees, We don’t have to sort through the weather bulletins. They do it for us. According to my brother, There is another snowstorm (for us that means a steady snow, not a call for St. Bernard dogs), right behind this one. That means the snow won’t be gone today. We will have snow the whole weekend. Since Monday is President’s Day, we’ll have a long weekend to extend our snow adventure. According to the family sources, the snow is going to be wet and heavy, which could cause some of us to loose electricity. I started to say power, but we are in control of the ourselves, which is our power. I’m using my power to charge my cell phone, halogen lanterns I keep for hurricane time and am cooking up way to much food in case a starving stranger comes to the door during the storm ( I have watched way too many old movies already, apparently!).

I visited with my 91 year old friend, Kathryn Tucker Windham last night. She gave me a book from her southern literature collection to ready while I am reveling in my solitude. It is called “The Last of the Whitfields”. It came out about the same time as “To Kill a Mockingbird” and was eclipsed by it, She recommends it highly, so I ‘m going to start it shortly. I hear the news on Public radio in the background. It says there has not been snow accumulation on the coastal plain like this for 20 years.
I will enjoy the solitude for a day or two, but I can predict what we descendants of those cavaliers and scoundrels will do next. When we’ve had enough of the solitude, we’ll get together and throw parties to use up all the abundance of food we couldn’t help but cook. We are natural born cooks and natural born socializers. Where two or more are gathered, there will be a party. Remember who invented Mardi Gras! (photos courtesy of Billy Milstead, our resident GPS guru and motorcycle enthusiast.)

Another View of the Same Place: Haines Island in Monroe County

2010-02-03T10:06:00.000-06:00

I just finished reading Don and Judy’s Off the Porch blog. As always, I really enjoyed it. I love the Haines Island Park they wrote about. I enjoy it, too, but from a different perspective. If I were going there, I’d enjoy it just as much, but for different reasons. Don and Judy are outdoor people. They will get up before the crack of dawn to catch sight of special birds. I prefer to wake up at home later and ease into my day with a good cup or tea or a Coke Zero with crushed ice, depending on the season and whether I’m by the fireside, in the sunroom upstairs, or on the porch. I like to get up early enough not to have to rush out for appointments, but late enough that the sun is already up. I like to think philosophical thoughts and read something inspirational. I might also check my email at the time they are out sloshing around the sloughs communing with nature.

I ran into Don and Judy at Lakepoint Lodge recently. Neither of us had a clue the other would be there. They were there for a big birding event and I was there for historic preservation. We were both having fun, but doing different things. They were looking for birds and I was looking for historic culture. If we were both at Haines Island, we’d have different agendas. I would be sitting on a blanket with a good book, a notebook, and a chicken box from Joe McKissick’s store. It is only store on the way. He is way out in the country, but people from Monroeville drive out to get his fried chicken. It is worth the trip. I’d have a cooler of soft drinks and tea with lots of ice. I would have packed a whole series of snack. I’m always all about food not matter where I go. I’d probably invite a friend to go, too, but not one that was very chatty. When I go out in nature, I like to be quiet and ponder things. I would only take a friend that like to read as much as I did. We might go into Monroeville and get a new book from the Beehive bookstore. Chrissy, the owner always has something good to recommend. I ‘d probably also bring along the magazines that I hadn’t had time to read earlier. I’d have a big blanket or bedspread to sit on. It used to be a quilt, but now that we’ve learned what valuable folk art they are, I wouldn’t dare take one.

I am sure I will be going that way this spring. The road to Haines Island is called “the Mountain by the locals. It is very high and one of the only places in rural Southwest Alabama where mountain laurel grow by the side of the road. That is a rare treat in this part of the world.

Another thing I would do at Haines Island is to take the ferry across to Packer’s Bend and right back. It is an old ferry that is powered by a gasoline engine. It’s a fun little excursion. I wouldn’t set up my contemplation site very close to the ferry, though, because the engine is loud. This is the original Gees Bend ferry that was moved in the 1960s/ There are pictures of it in operation in the early 1900s at the Camden Ferry Terminal and Welcome Center.

Local Folklorist, Buster Singleton and others have written about the ghosts at Haines Island. There is supposed to be a group of Indians there as well as “Crazy Nancy Haines”. I have been on ghost finding expedition with the Central Alabama Paranormal Investigators there one cold fall night. The stars were magnificent that night and we actually registered some paranormal activity on the ghost meter. We also got a picture of 3 balls of light where we found the activity. Buster Singleton, according to his book, said that he saw the Indians in the daylight. I’m willing to chance it. Haines Island is too pretty to miss.

Playing Pioneer in the Cold

2010-01-17T09:13:00.000-06:00

It’s been a long time since it has been this cold in rural Southwest Alabama. It has been over 20 years since that Christmas Day when it went from 78 on Christmas Eve to 5 degrees in the morning. For over a week, it’s been really cold here. We have had overnight temperatures as low as 11 degrees. That is not where we are playing pioneer. It is because our little town has been without water for a week. The official word is that there are multiple reasons. The native are getting restless, also for multiple reasons: they can’t bath, flush toilets or send the children to school. There are a few who still have water, but they are not making a big deal of it – jealousy is a bad thing when it is from those you normally know and love. For those still with water, they have been officially informed to not drink the water unless they boil it for one minute first.

Many of us are not good sports about it. I went to the library to return some books. I figured more people are reading by the fireside these days and might need the books. A normally friendly librarian was downright surly. She said she didn’t have any water.

Last night I got thirst during the night and went scouting around for something to drink. I thought my bottle of vitamin water would be perfect, but I could get the top off. I drank some bottled green tea, which may be why I was awake for hours.

I had a group of church ladies over last week for soup. I didn’t have any water, which is a key ingredient in soup. I had already soaked the beans for 15 bean soup, so I just added 2 cans of chicken broth and a can of tomato sauce. It was the best I ever made. I understand now why all the famous chefs use stock in their soups because it does taste delicious. I didn’t have either the time or the inclination to simmer meat and vegetables for hours to make the soup, but on another less harried occasion, with 2 days to spare, I might. The other soup I made was potato. I used a milk based white sauce (béchamel, to those who know the difference) and thinned it with the same chicken broth. Yep, I had a cupboard full because I was visiting relatives around Christmas and didn’t use up my supply. It, too, turned out well. Soup is the perfect cold weather food and great for entertaining because it stretches easily. Just add another can of chicken broth!

We all have bathtubs full of water if we are lucky. We don’t bathe in it, just use it for flushing. Indoor plumbing is a wonderful thing. I can’t imagine having to get up and run down the path to the outhouse when nature called. I certainly would have put a slop jar in the bedroom if it came to that. Here in rural Southwest Alabama, many of our parents and all of our grandparents had the experience of using outhouses at some point in their lives. It certainly made them closer to nature. Today, many of us can empathize with the ancestors – the real pioneers. When we see a movie about the past, we see the candles and kerosene lamps, but never do we see the toilet facilities. The movies would not seem nearly so romantic with visible facilities.

What we are getting right now is a big dose of what it was like for our ancestors to survive. We do have certain advantages, though. We have paper plates to eat off of and throw away. We forget all about living ecologically green when we are in desperate times. None of us are desperate enough to go out in 20 degree weather and wash dishes in a pot of water and scrub them with sand and corncobs. We have bottles of water to guzzle after we exercise to stay fit. All our ancestors had to do was go about their daily lives to get their exercise. We have a better appreciation of how good we have it when we don’t have it for a few minutes.

I will have to close by saying that I don’t intend to move because of these brief hard times. For at least 6 months of the year, I can sit on my porch and be at peace with the world. Life is good in rural Southwest Alabama. It’s even better with soup made with stock (canned chicken broth is quite fine)!

WINTER IN RURAL SOUTHWEST ALABAMA

2010-01-08T13:58:00.000-06:00

Well, at long last –winter has arrived. It is as cold here today as it is in Vermont. After sitting on the porch in December and reading my Christmas cards. Today, I am stoking the fireplace and sitting by the heater. There is just one catch – I am having a family party tonight and the pipes are frozen. There is no water. Thank goodness that I did my washing yesterday. I think clean underwear is important when you are giving a party. I did some other chores yesterday that will make me be able to go ahead with the party as planned. I soaked the beans for my 15 bean soup. In fact, I found out about the water being frozen when I started to put more water on the beans to cook. Fortunately, I am well provisioned in my pantry. I found 2 cans of chicken broth and one of tomato sauce that I used instead. It may be the best bean soup I ever made!

My menu is a choice of 15 Bean Soup with Conecuh Sausage or Potato Soup with Ham served with cornbread as the main course. Appetizers are Mexican Cheese Dip with Hamburger served with corn chips plus the wonderful okra chips from Fresh Market and Homemade Party Mix on the side. Dessert is a Chocolate Fondue with pound cake, flavored marshmallows and leftover Christmas cookies. Everything is hot and heavy. It will be in the teens tonight. We will drink wine and hot Fruit Punch. I’m calling this the Last Christmas Party. I wanted to do the party on Jan 6 because that is the last day of Christmas, but Wednesday night is church night in the rural south, so I made it one day sooner.

I spent the whole Christmas Holiday traveling, so I didn’t have a Christmas Party. I wanted to have a few people in before I HAD to take down my tree. My house has lots of red and green all year, but at Christmas, I add lots of velvet and sparkle. I wanted to give Christmas one last whirl. Tonight is it. I don’t care if I don’t have water. I just won’t tell anybody until they get here. It is really an adventure to plan a party without running water. We in rural Southwest Alabama have a pioneer spirit. Many of our parents didn’t get electricity until they were grown. My granddaddy had a battery powered radio to listen to the Grand Ole Oprey on, so all the neighbors came to his house on Saturday night to listen. He entertained without amenities and so can I.

I do know how to build a glorious fire in the fireplace. I learned by trial and error, with an often smoked up living room until I got the hang of it. Now I can build a blazing fire almost every time. The only catch to a roaring fire in the fireplace is that mine is in a wood burning heater in the living room. My house has 4 fireplaces, but when the second story was added to the house, the chimneys were knocked down to make way for progress. After I moved in, a hearth and wood heater were added. The reason that it was a heater and not a fireplace was because my roof is so steep, that the only place we could put a functional chimney was between the two front living room windows. It was narrow and would accommodate only a wood heater. Fortunately, we found one with a wide opening so we can see and enjoy the fire. Often in old houses, the placement of things seems funny. Usually there is a functional reason why. Just like the case of the party with no water, we just make do with what we have, take it in stride and move on. Happy New Year!

Decorating for Christmas

2009-12-08T10:08:00.000-06:00

I hear so many people saying right after Thanksgiving “Why are people decorating so early for Christmas?” Now that I am getting older, I begin to understand why. When you reach 50, it seems like Christmas starts coming every three months because time is passing so fast. It’s almost like if we don’t catch it when it comes by, we will miss it all together.

I have always loved Christmas. I love the color. I love the ceremony. I love the festivities I love the celebration. I never understood the people who were too busy to savor it. I do understand how working parents are stressed. I remember the days of hunting that one certain most popular of the season toy. That was when I wished there really was a Santa Claus so he could do all the looking for the Cabbage Patch doll.

Now that the children are grown and gone, I enjoy the season more. I still decorate like there are toddlers all over the place. I didn’t realize what a repertoire of decorations I had accumulated over the years until I went into the attic and started looking for them. I found things I had forgotten about and things I swear, I never saw before.

I went to a big warehouse sale this year and got carried away with the bargains. I got things I still have to figure out where to use. Some of them I just passed on to others in hopes that they could figure out where to put them. I got 2 glitter covered twig wreaths that were marked $70 retail for $5 each. I had a hard time fitting them into my red, green and gold color scheme, but I finally figured out how to do it. I added a small glazed fruit and greens swag to the top half of them and tied it with the ribbons that made them match with everything else (which I also got at the sale).

I am not a hanger of outdoor lights. I am pretty clumsy with a ladder and can’t risk ruining my holiday with a sprained ankle or worse. I just festoon the door and its surroundings. I use lots of ribbons and color in my swage. The swags around the door are not as elaborate as last year, because it was too heavy and kept falling on my guests as they entered. That is not a good way to say “good will to men”.
I am a true southerner in that I like sparkle and slightly gaudy. Rural Southwest Alabama is in the heart of Dixie, and we keep Dixie in our hearts. We know we are different from the rest of the nation because we like more glamour and noise in our Christmas. There is nothing puritanical about our decorating = our politics maybe, but not our decorations. We are the colorful birds of plumage in our Christmas sweaters and our holiday decorations. As for myself, I love a glittery mantle. Since all my chimneys were knocked down when they finished the second story of my house, none of the mantles are functional. Therefore, I don’t have to worry about catching the house on fire from the greenery on the mantles. I don’t use real greenery, anyway, because I leave it up so long. It would be dead as a doornail by New Years.

I always leave my decorations up until January 6th. Somewhere in my ancestry there were Anglicans who celebrated Epiphany and early settlers who came down the Federal Road who called it “Old Christmas”. There must have been some Druids way up the line, too, because I am crazy about greenery. I do have some that is read, because nowhere else can you get that smell, but from real cedar? I left two bowls on the dining room mantle to be filled with holly and cedar. They’ll have to be fresh when company’s coming. I plan to have lots of company this holiday season. But I want it in small groups so we can sit and catch up on our visiting. I don’t plan to have a soirée’ that keeps me hopping too much to have fun at my own party! I consider (like the rest of the South) where 3 or more or gathered – it’s a party.

Dressing or Stuffing?

2009-12-06T13:31:00.002-06:00

Since holiday time is arriving, the one thing we see the most of, no matter what else is on the menu is dressing. At least that’s what we call it in the South. On television, they call it stuffing. I guess that’s because they stuff the turkey with it. I can’t imagine anything worse than soggy bread crumbs flavored with sage stuffed up a turkey’s behind. That is what stuffing looks like to me. In rural Southwest Alabama, we make dressing instead. I don’t know why we call it dressing. It must be an ancestral thing. We’ve just always called it that. My Uncle Daddy, who came originally from Ohio called it pudding the first time he saw it. He was used to the soggy bread crumb stuff, so when he saw the nicely browned pan of cornbread dressing, he thought it was some kind of savory bread pudding. I guess by definition, that is what it is. We first cook a pan of cornbread, and then we crumble it up. We add lots of celery, onions, (and a little bell pepper, if we are so inclined), cover it with rich well seasoned broth We may then add some bread or biscuit to give it more body and bind it with eggs. We chop the aforementioned vegetables fine. We may put them in raw or we may sauté them in butter. I prefer to sauté them in butter, the way my friend Patsy taught me. I remember reading in one of Paul Prudhomme’s cookbooks that sautéing the vegetables gives more definition to the flavor for most dishes. I know that is true of dressing.

One thing that I find totally amazing is how legions of people can take the same recipe and it will taste entirely different from one cook to the next. Dressing is the most outstanding example of this. The dressing that my two grandmothers made was made identically in process, but tasted like two different recipes. Both were good, but nothing alike.

I guess that dressing is my favorite food of all time. I used to work with senior citizens and each of the 17 groups would have a Thanksgiving dinner every year. I had dressing 17 times, plus the family gatherings. I never got tired of it. We had it again at our holiday banquet. Nobody complained about too much dressing.

Stuffing just can’t hold a candle to dressing. The only really delicious stuffing I ever had was some made by my neighbor from Wisconsin when she roasted a chicken. It had toasted bread cubes, onions, celery and walnuts. I wasn’t expecting much, but it was good. It was not stuffed up the chicken’s behind. It was fixed on the stove in a pan. It was not the least bit soggy and not overly sagey, but it still wasn’t southern dressing.

I think the thing that makes dressing so good is the cornbread base. When the vegetables are added, they just seem to disappear into the dressing. The cornbread binds them together. The dish just seems to undergo some kind of alchemy that make the whole greater than the sum of its parts. Dressing does one thing. The turkey may not be stuffed, but the diners are. Maybe a better way to put it is that we are happily replete. Dressing is one of those comfort foods that we can never get enough of. We don’t have to wait for a turkey to stuff. We can get dressing any time. We eat it all year around, but we love it most during the holidays. We’re about to begin the feasting time of the year. Gentlemen, start your ovens! We’re off the a race through the holidays with a pan of dressing on every table.

How to Spend a Holiday in September

2009-09-29T12:33:00.004-06:00

Sometimes you just need a day with nobody in it. You just need to walk around in your nightgown all day long wearing no makeup and shoes. There needs to be a day when nobody is coming over, you are not going anywhere and haven’t racked up a list of chores to do. This is one of those days. The weather is cool and pleasant enough to just sit on the front porch. The noisy neighbors are not running their lawn equipment. The cat finally got off my lap and found her own chair. I have been perusing the stack of magazines that have accumulated since my last porch sit.

Some people like to sleep late on a holiday. Maybe I used to, but o have learned that the best part of the day comes early. I grab a cup of tea or a bad for me diet cola over crushed ice and head for my chair. It is a Victorian caned rocker in the corner of the porch where I can see everything that happens in my little corner of the world. I am surrounded by beautiful green plants and trees. I see that my 10 foot tall confederate rose is finally starting to get buds. I hear all manner of noisy birds, but they are in a different category from the neighbors’ machinery.

I use the first part of the day to read something inspirational to think about, then I daydream awhile looking at the magazine stack. I then decide what I’m going to cook. To me, cooking is a form of recreation. It is a thing I do to relax and create. I set some perimeters for myself, because that is part of the creative process. I know that I must use foods that I have on hand, so I won’t have to dress and go to the store. Part of the treat of the holiday is that I don’t have to scurry around like I do on most ordinary days. I know that I must use what is on hand and create from that.

Yesterday, I came in from a trip. I had been invited to my friend Melissa’s for Indian Food. I put it in capitals because the serving of authentically prepared Indian food in rural Southwest Alabama is an Event. On top of that, after dinner, we went to see the movie Julie and Julia down at the local picture show. We are so fortunate to get first run movies. I was proudly showing the local theater to my city nephew. I pointed out to him that we have first run movies. He dashed my pride by saying “You mean you don’t have but one?”. One is enough when a food movie is showing right after a home cooked Indian dinner.

My contribution to the meal was to be some mango chutney. I bought some in the city along with some good madras curry powder. It was raining when we got home, so I left them in my mama’s car. I looked for them long enough to realize what I had done, so I went to plan B. We had stopped at a roadside stand in Georgia to buy some fresh peaches. I spied them lying on the counter and thought “Why not?”. I whipped up some peach chutney on the spot. It turned out so good, I decided to use the rest of the peaches in a larger batch of chutney today. My son had gifted me with some lovely red sweet Hungarian peppers which I had used along with some grocery store yellow onions in the chutney. I always keep fresh cilantro on hand sine the local Walmart started carrying it for the growing Oriental and Hispanic populations. However, I have been on the road so much lately that it was wilted into oblivion.

I love to shop Big Lots for unusual ingredients and snack. Apparently they get the foods that big companies test market that don’t turn out to be winners or else they overstocked then closed out. I found some cilantro bouillon cubes which turned out to be perfect for the recipe.

Here’s the Emergency Peach Chutney recipe I came up with:

2 large fresh peaches, ripe, but firm, one big chopped onion, 5 red Hungarian peppers or 2 red bell peppers, ¾ c dark brown sugar, ¼ c balsamic vinegar, 1 tbsp cumin, 1 tsp pumpkin pie spice ( who said it was authentic?), dash msg, dash turmeric. Cook until onions are transparent and other ingredients tender. If I’d had raisins I’d have put them in, but I didn’t.

It turned out very well. The other Indian Food was authentic, so it was just a condiment – a fusion sort of thing. Maybe soon I’ll find the seven dollar jar, but in the meantime, I’m making another batch. In this batch I put a little hot pepper and some garlic.

A friend just called and said she was stopping by. She lives out in the country and is a renowned cook, so I asked her if she had any little canning jars sitting around that she wasn’t using. As a matter of fact she did. She is saving me a trip to town, so I’m surprising her and her husband with lunch. I just happen to have made another dish while I was in the kitchen whipping up the chutney. I wanted to do a casserole, so I checked my freezer. I had a good many fresh frozen wild Alabama shrimp that a friend gave me in my birthday box. I decided to make a shrimp pot pie. I’d never made one and thought iy might be a fun thing to create.

What goes in one? I had a crawfish pie once, so I figured the shrimp one couldn’t be too different in it is ingredients. I thought of the holy trinity – onions, bell pepper and celery. I didn’t have any celery. Two out of three are not bad, so I chopped the bell pepper and onions. I did have some celery seed, so I threw that in. I peeled a pound of raw shrimp and put them in a gratin pan. I put four small red potatoes in the microwave for 3 minutes to make sure they were not crisp in the final dish. I chopped them. I added some garlic, some Zatarain’s powdered shrimp boil, ¼ c of ketchup and a can of golden mushroom soup. I didn’t intent to use golden mushroom soup, but I didn’t have any cream of mushroom on hand. I mixed everything up and put it in with the shrimp/ I topped the whole thing with defrosted frozen biscuits. I stretched the biscuits out thin and tamped them down around the edges of the pan, so none of the goody would escape. It turned out gorgeously puffed and attractive.

The morning’s barely gone and I’ve felt very creatively expressed. I am back on the porch waiting for my lunch guinea pigs to arrive and test the shrimp pie. Nothing you can do to fresh shrimp could be that bad unless you candied it. That will be a creative endeavor for another day.

Getting Old is a Bitch (Even if You’re Famous)

2009-09-22T14:59:00.000-06:00

I couldn’t believe what I heard on NPR. Bob Dylan was performing in a big concert up north somewhere. He decided after the concert to go out for a bit of air, so he took a walk. Apparently people don’t go walking at night a lot in whatever city he was visiting. He was stopped by the police. They didn’t believe his story about being Bob Dylan in town for a concert. Either they were too young to remember “Blowin in the Wind” or the guy they saw didn’t look like the frizzy headed young man they had seen pictures of. The pictures of the icon Bob Dylan were taken in his heyday and presumably didn’t bear much resemblance to the bleary eyed old codger they saw walking alone at midnight.

Unfortunately, aging happens to all of us, even the rich and famous. Anyway, the police were not buying his story. He insisted they take him back to the hotel where he was staying so that he could be identified. A couple of the staff identified him. The police apologized. Dylan was a free man. He was free from everything, that is, except aging. It happens to us all. Some transitions are more graceful than others. Take Cher for instance, she is in the same age group as Bob Dylan, but has held up much better. White hair and thousands in plastic surgery look good on her.

I always thought Robert Redford could have aged better. He’s awfully wrinkled. I was amazed to read an un-tabloid article that quoted the doctor who admitted to doing a facelift on Redford when Redford was in his forties. He’s now in his seventies and needs another. I guess even plastic surgery doesn’t hold up to Father Time.

I’m glad I live in rural Southwest Alabama where it’s okay to get old if you don’t mind being called Ma’m by people forty and under. Even if you don’t think you look old, getting called Ma’m will put things in perspective.

One of my favorite stories about aging is by southern writer Florence King. She says that the South reveres its matriarchs. Her famous quote is “as the bosom falls, so does the mask.” What she means is that as southern women age, they become more who they are. As young people in the south are taught, we must be nice to everybody. We must take care to be diplomatic and polite. AS we get to be old people, this is no longer required. We can be free to say what is on our minds.

We no longer have to wear tight clothes or tight shoes just to try to look better. We develop our own look and stick with it, sometimes from our college years to the grave the look never changes. I know a lot of women in the geriatric ward who still tease their hair, even when it gets so thin we can see through it. Funny thing about that though is the younger women are buying hair accessories now called bump to make their hair stand up like ours did when it was teased in the 60s. Why don; they just learn to tease and save the $10.00?

My high school class is having a reunion this weekend. I wonder if we’ll all recognize each other. I wonder who decades later will be chosen the person who has changed the least. I think that would be the boy in our class who died in his 30s. We can post his picture and give it the prize. For the rest of us, we all have gravity issues. The sagging chins, wrinkles, and excess poundage will disqualify the rest of us. We do have one thing going for us. W are still here to enjoy the rest of our lives. As far as I’m concerned these are the Good Ole Days, not the ones mentioned in those nostalgic emails about our leenage years.

I wouldn’t go back to those days for anything, even if I could take my experience with me. My bosom has dropped and I’m taking off the mask. I have a lot to look forward to. Aging may be a bitch, but I get to be one, too.

Fresh Corn – A Family Project

2009-06-30T12:54:00.000-06:00

The corn came in yesterday. What that means is a big project. Unlike other garden vegetables, corn comes in all at one time. There is no negotiating with corn that is ready to be picked. It has the upper hand. It tells you when, not the other way around. It is a BIG undertaking to “put up” corn. It is a whole production.

When I got to my brother’s house last night, I found the production in full swing. There was an assembly line operation going on. The shucking had already been done, so there were piles of corn everywhere. There were two adults silking the corn, one standing over a fish cooker on the back porch, two cutting the blanched corn off the cob after it cooled and one chasing the children. I fell into place silking. Two of us were silking using plastic dish scrubbers. My bother had a better idea. He was using the water hose on a jet setting. It ripped the silks right off the corn in record time. He was in the back yard, which became flooded in the process of corn cleaning. Fortunately, he was perched in a lawn chair right next to the kiddie pool where his granddaughter was overseeing the operation from the vantage point of the swimming pool. Every now and then, she’d call for a hosing down. He’d turn the hose on her, then go back to silking the corn. My niece’s toddler was weaving in and out of the activity when her grandmother wasn’t quick enough to catch her. There were four generations involved in the process- my mother, her children, her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Where else, but in rural Southwest Alabama and her sister Deep South states are you likely to find an operation like this going on at the Simmer Solstice? Druids celebrated by dancing in the moonlight. We celebrated by wrestling with corn. I think the corn won.

Gardens Are Starting To Come In

2009-06-24T07:53:00.002-06:00

My niece married a nice young man. How do I know? He just let me pick squash and corn in his garden. This year has been hard on gardens. We had a lot of rain in May, It was too wet to plant. In June, it has been dry as a bone. You’d think now that we get our produce from the grocery store it wouldn’t matter so much to us. Well, all of us in rural Southwest Alabama seem to have our roots in the soil.

I can remember my grandparent’s gardens every summer. We lived in town, but we went out to Granddaddy Bagley’s garden to pick the peas and corn that were the mainstays of our summer diet. Every day for dinner (meal in the middle of the day), we’d have peas, or occasionally butter beans, corn either on or off the cob, sliced tomatoes, cornbread and sweet tea. The only variation would be the meat dish. Sometimes we’d have squash or fried eggplant in addition to the other vegetables, but mostly just the peas and beans diet. We never tired of it. My favorite was the potlikker from the peas over cornbread. Apparently my siblings and I were picky eaters as children. Mama was a food pusher, a trait which I unfortunately have inherited. She would make us eat. When I discovered the pea juice and cornbread, she never had to make me eat again. That was when I got chubby. I have never lost my love for it.

Sunday, I went out to the garden and picked squash and corn. I am going to the beach with my son’s family. I’m bringing the fresh vegetables as a special treat. When I told my son, he was delighted. He grew up in rural Southwest Alabama. Although, he doesn’t live here now, he got the roots to the soil thing, too. We never know when we’re raising children, what takes and what doesn’t. The love of the soil and its riches took on him. When we get fresh food form the garden, we take it as a matter of course. When we don’t have it, it becomes precious and valuable. I have never seen fresh butter beans of garden quality in any grocery store. There is nothing as delicious as a garden grown fresh tomato. As Garrison Keillor says “there are two things in life that matter – true love and fresh tomatoes.” Around here we would all agree.

JUSTIFICATION FOR GARDENING IN RURAL SOUTHWEST ALABAMA (on Sunday?)

2009-06-18T14:44:00.000-06:00

I just skipped church for health reasons. I had just been on the road way too much lately and myself said “Stop”! I have learned to listen to my body when it talks to me. I have learned that if I will do that, then my body doesn’t have to do something drastic like catch the flu to get my attention.

I sat on my porch, which is a good as a church sanctuary for felling close to god. I really believe that phrase that one is a close to god in a garden as any place on earth. My porch sits in the middle of a garden - my front yard. Of course, after sitting for a few minutes, I thought of all the nice plants my friends and family had given me for my birthday. Because I have been on the road so much, they were unplanted. I know that a lot of the old folks thought God would get you if you worked on Sunday. I think that God should stay in the Old Testament where he belongs. I’ll probably get some hate mail over that one. I got some over saying Billy Joe Royal was old and around here God ia a lot more popular than billy Joe Royal and a lot older. A lot of people in rural Southwest Alabama don’t like it when you mess with their traditions, whether they are yours or not. I think it’s fine to garden on Sunday. For me, Gardening is a joy, not a chore. Besides, I don’t often get time to do it during the week. I’m not trying to debate theology. Nobdoy ever wins at that. Opinions are like noses, everybody’s got one. We can’t wear each other’s noses and we’ve got just about as much use for somebody else’s opinion as we have their noses.

The devil didn’t make me do it, Mother Nature did and I think she’s God’s best friend. I had to get those plants out. I had a pile of them. One of them was an investment plant. My sister-in-law asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I told her I wanted a Limelight hydrangea. She had given me one two years before and I had lost it in the drought. The local nursery didn’t have one, so she had to go down the road to a place where they think a whole lot of their plants. I know this for a fact because as I was buying some pants from them one day, I saw some phlox they had thrown out in a ditch coming up and asked if I could have one. They said no. I could come back in 8 weeks and buy one. I haven’t had much use for those folks ever since. Gardeners share, especially when people are already paying you good money for other plants. I felt really bad about her having to go there to find one and REALLY bad about what they charged. They do a lot of landscaping for people with more money than the inclination to garden. I knew that I had to get that plant in the ground as a tribute to her generosity in even being willing to trust me with one again, especially since she went to the scalping place to get me one. I couldn’t let this one die, too. I had a bunch of other plants from gardening friends as well.

Sunday gardening is not a chore for me. I had walked around the yard earlier in the week and made mental notes about where to put things. I have a goal of one day having no yard except paths and flowers. I moved one step closer to the goal today. After much trial and error, I have learned that some plants like shade and some like sun. Some however, don’t really give a happy damn. I had a bunch of new daylilies to plant. They fall in the happy damn category. They were my first gardening success many years ago. You can throw them out and say “grow”. They will. They can live through anything, even being dug up and thrown in a ditch. In fact, I saw a whole ditchful blooming happily just up the road. I mad a new bed for them near the porch. I have a big secret garden on the side of the house, but in the past few years’ I’ve done more and more gardening near the porch where I can see it bloom and the people passing by in the street can enjoy it, too. That’s where the new daylilies are. I hope they are as happy as I was this Sunday morning planting them. I see it’s clouding up. Maybe God will help me water them. I’ll consider that a Divine Sign that He didn’t much mind that I wasn’t at church today; I think all of nature is HIS HOUSE. So much for my Sunday theology position, it’s not original with me. I really got the urge started by talking to a Baptist friend last night. She said how much she enjoyed sitting around drinking coffee on Sunday morning. When I got up and my body said “Whoa!” I thought of how much I’d enjoy a day off from church. I really did enjoy it. I hope where ever you spent Sunday, you enjoyed it, too!

Discovering Pass-along Plants

2009-05-31T13:04:00.000-06:00

While we were filming the Ghost Trail the other day at Old Cahawba, I found the most interesting book in the Gift Shop. I owned it years ago and somehow lost it. It was like finding an old friend. It is Passalong Plants by Steve Bender and Felder Rushing. Steve Bender works for Southern Living as the garden editor. Felder Rushing is a retired professor and botanist in Mississippi. I have listened to Felder and his partner Dr. Dirt many times as a I have traveled rural Southwest Alabama.

The book is about plants have been grown in southern gardens for generations, but are hard to find in commercial nurseries. There are many old favorites and a few old enemies that want to take the property once they get a toe hold. The less desirable plants are called Aunt Bea’s pickles for the Andy Griffith show where Aunt Bea makes pickles for the county fair that are so bad nobody wants to eat them, but nobody has the heart to tell her. A beginning gardener will take anything. They are gullible and learn the hard way. I loved how they characterized these plants. All the articles are clever and make for great summer front porch reading. You can read one or two in just a few minutes. Some folks would say this would make a good bathroom book, too, for the same reason.

I highly recommend you get this as a reference book. I also recommend you visit Cahawba. Linda Derry, their director tells me that one of their major focuses is going to be native plants of the Alabama prairie. If you do go, be sure to visit their Gift Shop for the book and other great finds. When you go, plan to spend some time. They have great ghost stories there, too.

Alabama Ghost Stories!

2009-05-29T06:52:00.001-06:00

For the past couple of weeks I have been working with the Honors Program at the University of Alabama on a Ghost Trail for Perry, Dallas and Wilcox Counties. They are three of the 11 counties on our tourism region. The reason they were chosen is because the program was housed at Judson College and that made these three easily accessible. This was in addition to the fact that Selma has developed a Haunted History Tour and has some Ghost Events leading up to Halloween on an annual basis.

This turned out to be a fun and fulfilling assignment for me, the students and the story tellers, I think it’s fair to say that once you start fooling with ghosts in the Black Belt, they start coming out of the woodwork. AS one resident of Marion told me “Anybody with a 143 year old house has at least one.” It seems like the houses don’t even have to be very old to have one. There are a lot of ghosts roaming around the Black Belt. As Kathryn Tucker Windham told us when we interviewed her, “I have been collecting ghost stories for years and I never heard about but two bad ones.” The ones we learned about were benign, but they get around to a lot of places.

The students working with me on the project were delightful and took their assignment seriously. Running into so many ghosts started them thinking. One asked “Why do you suppose there are so many around here?” we came up with several theories. One is that people just love rural Southwest Alabama so much, they hate to leave it, even in death. We always have known that we southerners love the land, we just didn’t realize we loved it all the way into the hereafter. Another theory we came up with as we talked to people was that southerners are superstitious. It comes from their ancestry and love of storytelling. There are a lot of southerners who have an African ancestry who brought legends of the supernatural with them to this country. A lot of others have Scottish or Irish ancestry where the “Sight” or ability to see things outside the realm of the physical is taken as a matter of course for those of Celtic Heritage. Living side by side with the loquacious storytellers of all the heritages, people learned to embroider the stories to make them more fascinating.

Some people who talked to us have really seen or heard the ghosts they speak of. These folks say they are not ghost stories, but ghost truths. There is little controversy in the general population as to whether ghosts exist. Everybody knows where one is or knows somebody who does. People loved to be scared. As Alfred Hitchcock said, “ If people didn’t like to be scared, why would they say ‘Boo’ to a baby?

I talked to one gentleman who had some reservations about ghosts because of his Christian faith. I explained my theory to him. I think of ghosts as energy imprints, in the same way a photograph has a negative, a departed body can leave an energy imprint around a place or event that they felt strongly about. In my thinking, there is nothing about being a ghost that prevents the spirit from going on the heaven. That is just my opinion. That is why I call myself the Front Porch Philosopher. I think about things. Lately, I’ve thought a lot about ghosts. I see them as a way to get people to come to visit rural Southwest Alabama. If ghosts will get them here, we can show them a lot of other things. Stay tuned to Alabama’s Front Porches for a Ghost Story Trail soon to be seen here.

Neighborhood Animals

2009-05-15T06:47:00.001-06:00

Life on the porch is interesting. If traveling around wasn’t so much fun, I’d be like Emily Dickinson and stay here all the time. She wrote poetry in her upstairs bedroom,. I’ll think profound thoughts here in the porch. It’s early morning here in rural Southwest Alabama. The neighbor’s animals have joined me. There is a calico cat that thinks she lives here and a new rat terrier puppy. I think he’s adorable, but not so his mother. She and I have an uneasy peace. She slinks around the neighborhood, barking at all passing by. She barks at me until I scold her severely. There is nothing cuddly about her. She ate my best pair of sandals are couple of years ago when I was naïve enough to leave them on my own porch. I can’t quite forgive her for that. They were and still would be, the most comfortable pair of shoes I ever owned.

I have never had quite the animosity toward an animal that I feel for the shoe chewing dog, but I am fond of her offspring. His name is Buddy. The only cross word we had was yesterday when he tried to chew up my computer cord while I was working on the porch. The porch is my open air office during all the months I can sit here without a parka and hood. Even in the summer, early mornings are ideal for being here.

Last night, two old friends came to dinner and we actually ate on the porch. The animals didn’t understand why they were not welcome during the meal. It’s not like they actually belong to me. I don’t feed them or perform any care giving activities for them. The neighbors take very good care of their animals. They are not hungry, but they were not about to go away last night without a fuss. They didn’t get it that they were not welcome at the party. Of course, mama Molly, the mother rat terrier dog is never welcome at any event on my porch. I try to never entertain any guests who nip, snarl, pr bark at me. Usually, if it is just me the baby dog, Buddy and the cat, whom I have nicknamed Miss Tabb because she is a tabby are welcome. Last night was different. There was major food involved. My friends brought bacon wrapped filets, grilled Vidalia onions, asparagus with lemon sauce and homemade blackberry cobbler from berries picked fresh that day. Nobody would have been welcome to share. I am greedy when it comes to good food.

Those of you who know my hometown know that we have a leash law here. When it was enacted, my brother was among the most vocal against it. In the funny way that life has of coming full circle, he is now the ordinance officer for the city, which included dog catching. There was much controversy over it as there is with any issue when you try to turn a community into an organized city. We just got zoning in the last few years and just went wet last year. For those of you who may not know,” going wet” means allowing liquor to be sold. There was such an outcry over selling alcohol in some sectors that you would have thought the proponents were try to catch their children and boil them. So far, I can’t tell much difference since we went wet from when we were dry. I did however, go to a local store to buy a bottle of wine to serve my guests last night. That was nice that I didn’t have to buy it far away and import it.

My brother never reads my blog. In fact, he may not be aware that I have one, so please don’t tell him about my porch friend animals who are not on leashes. I want them to still visit, only not at dinner parties.

The Delights of Gardening

2009-04-22T15:18:00.001-06:00

When I was young, nobody could have convinced me that gardening was fun. I saw too many people sweating in the process. I was young and vain, so sweating was not high on my list of things to do. I have always loved to pick flowers and arrange them, but somehow I never made the logical connection of growing them first.

When I fell in love with my big old house, I was given the gift of a wonderful, rich dirt, well established yard, but I still didn’t get it. I was not born to the soil like my friend Patsy Sumrall, who would ride down the road and wax rhapsodic “beautiful dirt” in the freshly plowed fields. To me, they were just fields we passed on our way to go somewhere shopping.

It was, however, my friendship with Patsy and Cindy Neilson that planted the seed of my becoming a born again gardener. I don’t use the term born again lightly. I know how many fine Christians use the term to set themselves apart from the unwashed masses who have not yet been saved. I do understand, though, how it feels to have the kind of sudden revelation they experience. They have theirs with Jesus. Mine came this time with his mother, Nature.

I must admit, I do feel a religious experience when I walk out in my yard (garden to the rest of the world) “while the dew is still on the roses”. My garden is a loose, evolving creation. It is always changing depending on what is blooming now or what out of my various plant experiments that decided to live. If everything I had planted over time had decided to live, now my yard would be a jungle. Apparently not all plants like it here in my yard. I have developed two philosophies that I garden by. One is from my friend, Gloria Clarke, who says “ I don’t like them if they don’t like me!” about the things she plants. The other is I practice survival of the fittest with the plants. If they need petting, they can die in peace.

I tried a few roses early on with great disappointment. They were like the girls in high school who thought they were the prettiest, so they felt the need to be pampered because they were special. It was the same with teachers’ children in you r class. I never cared for either one. I didn’t have any patience with roses either. Anything that has to be sprayed and fertilized and regularly watered needs a home with somebody else. It reminds me of that country song “Here’s a quarter, find someone who cares!”. Roses and I were not soul mates. A few of them live and prospered in spite of my lackadaisical attitude.

My whole view of roses changed though, when I saw the P Allen Smith Garden Show about antique roses and attended an antique rose seminar at the Alabama Rural Heritage Center. I discovered the survivor roses. These are the roses our ancestors brought with them when they left civilization and headed west. They stuck the cuttings in potatoes to keep the cutting moist. They have survived at old home places throughout the South and ,of all places, the Natchez Cemetery. I visited Natchez twice and got some cuttings both times. The B&B where I stayed said that for gardeners wanting the cuttings, there was a don’t ask, don’t tell policy about getting the cuttings. Actually, I think the cemeteries know that by allowing the small cuttings taken off, they are getting pruning for free.

I took along friends to keep the car running while I snipped the cuttings. I had bought paper towels and zip lock bags to put the cuttings in until I got home. I have had about 6 different varieties from there to live. I have also bought a goodly number of antique rose plants from Petals From the Past. There is some truth to the old adage about gardening –The first year it sleeps, the second year it creeps. The third year it leaps. That has certainly been true of the antique roses. They are drought tolerant, they don’t need spraying. They are happy with neglect. I think that between antique and native plants, I have found my gardening niche. If you happen to be in rural Southwest Alabama, come by and see my garden. I’m like a proud parent showing off the new baby. I am also finding gardening friends who feel the same way. Gardeners speak a common language. If you speak gardening, you are welcome!

Check out my photos on Facebook

2009-04-21T07:52:00.004-06:00

facebook

Check out my photos on Facebook

I set up a Facebook profile where I can post my pictures, videos and events and I want to add you as a friend so you can see it. First, you need to join Facebook! Once you join, you can also create your own profile.

Thanks,
Linda

To sign up for Facebook, follow the link below:

http://www.facebook.com/p.php?i=1671938622&k=ZVE354V3P62NUCC1SA45SSS&r

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Black Cast Iron Skillet

2009-04-13T08:31:00.001-06:00

The essential tool of every southern cook is the black Iron skillet. It is not just any iron skillet you buy. It must be a seasoned iron skillet – one that has been oiled properly and baked until it is black, not the new gray of one that has just been bought. It is the thing that holds the kitchen together.

Somewhere along the way I lost mine. Don’t ask me how it happened. Somewhere along the way it just disappeared. If my ghost, Mr. George, could cook, I’d accuse him. Anyway, last spring on the yard sale that goes from Meridian, Mississippi on Hwy 14 to a far flung part of Kentucky, I found a well seasoned skillet in Cuba, Alabama. I always try to go on the part of the trail that comes through our region of rural Southwest Alabama. I can usually manage only one afternoon on Mother’s Day weekend. So I do the part of the trail that is in our own backyard.

I never fail to find useful things. Some art pieces of art or photography. I have found just the piece of pressed glass that I am looking for. Of all the things I have found, the seasoned iron skillet has to be the prize. Just in the past week some of the ways I have used it include: Making my cornbread for the Easter dressing, making a pineapple upside down cake, browning bacon, toasting a grilled cheese sandwich and sauteing vegetables to go in the same Easter dressing. How’s that for versatility?

Most people don’t have dressing for Easter, They reserve it for cold weather holidays. My family doesn’t feel that way. We don’t have to have a turkey or chicken being served to want dressing as a side dish. Ours is so full of vegetables that it counts as a vegetable dish. Don’t’ tell because nobody has realized it yet. My friend Patsy Sumrall taught me to finely mince the vegetables and sauté them in butter. Another friend taught me to put bell peeper in with the celery and onions for more depth of flavor. I put the vegetables in the food processor, so that they aren’t great big hunks. By the time they are tender before they are put in the dressing, then are baked in the dressing, they disappear, just leaving flavor.

I know there is a question in your mind about the broth. I have found the Swanson canned variety to be delicious. I know about all the people who simmer their own for hours, and they are welcome to do it. I buy the neat little cans and dump it right in. Some things like an iron skillet that can cook the vegetables over low heat in butter while I read on the porch, are essential to the process. Simmering chicken stock is not when there are good canned varieties.

It might be Easter without the dressing, but it wouldn’t be a Southern kitchen without my iron skillet.

The Last Fire of the Season

2009-04-09T21:05:00.000-06:00

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon in rural Southwest Alabama. I am sitting by the fire (yes, you heard me right, but the fire) with harp music on the CD player. We’ve been hot for weeks now, but I knew it wasn’t really spring because the pecan trees had not leafed out yet. They are the last to put on leaves in the sdpr8ing and the first to loose them in the fall. We’ve had torrential rains lately. They are most welcome to us gardeners. I went to Selma last week to a meeting and my friend took me to the Cahaba Mental Health Center to buy some plants. I got some perennials to put into my flower beds. The rains started that night. I put the plants out in the afternoon. I also dressed my antique roses and other plants with some rabbit fertilizer that I had gotten last fall from John Hall, a local rabbit producer. He has this contraption that turns the rabbit pellets and somehow takes the fertilizer smell away. I usually don’t get the plants out the same day as I buy them because I’m on the road so much seeing all the wonderful things in our area and helping to plan more. I did get them in the ground this time. I walked around the yard today as proud as punch of my budding babies.

When spring comes I have a morning walk through the garden every morning. I can’t help but pull a weed or two, so I have to go scrub my hands before I leave home. I just can’t resist getting my hands in the dirt when spring come.

Today, thought, we are having what our housekeeper, Susie always called the “Easter snap” of cool weather before spring really comes to stay. It’s not terribly cold, but since I live in an old house with high ceilings, it is a bit chilly. I’m having company for supper, so I built a fire. I went out and got some twigs that fell during this week’s storms for starter to go on top of the piece of fat pine that I keep for kindling. I know this fire is a good one because I hear it singing. When it sings, it has really taken hold.

My cousin is visitng from Belgium where he where he lives. I’m having a few family members to come to dinner and sit by the last fire of the season. I’m doing a down home meal. He travels all over the world, so there’s no need to try to impress him with gourmet cuisine. I’m cooking butter beans. I cheated on the pie, too, I heard some of the clerks at Wal-Mart bragging on a caramel apple pie they had in their bakery, and so I snatched one of those right up. I will heat it here and put ice cream on it. I’ll throw it in the oven with my great cheat biscuits. You make them with melted butter, self rising flour and sour cream. They can be dropped into muffin cups with not a bit of rolling and cutting. He will enjoy every bite. He’ll like it because it’s served with love and family by the fireside.

TennTom Tourism meeting

2009-02-26T10:58:00.001-06:00

At the meeting I attended yesterday in Columbus, Miss. I learned some new things to help us all. Rufus Ward has been hired by TennTom to start a museum on these waterways. He is an authority on the Tombigbee River. He has some old newspapers form the early 1800s with info on our areas of the river. He is willing to share what he knows and collaborate with us. His contact info: Rufus Ward
(662)328-0363
email:museum@tenntom.org
He is interested in visiting St Stephens

GHOSTS COME TO TOWN

2008-12-15T12:05:00.000-06:00

One thing we have learned in rural Southwest Alabama is that people love a good scare. There were three events in the region around Halloween that brought in record crowds. There was the Haunted History Tour in Selma which featured a visit to the Live Oak Cemetery after dark to meet the spirits. There was a Ghost Tour of Old Cahaba, a vanished town. The Cahaba tour included a tour with a group of ghost hunters. The Thursday night tour sold out well in advance of the time. The St James Hotel, which boasts at least one ghost of its own, had a special weekend package.
Thomasville had the annual Kathryn Tucker Windham Ghost walk, which is drawing larger and larger crowds and adding more and more attractions to the event. The one I was personally involved was the Haunted House erected by a civic club that I belong to. It was one of the sidelights to the Big Event which was the Ghost walk itself. It is a series of hayrides that take visitors by various stops where they hear ghost stories and see them dramatized. It has grown so famous that other things have to be devised to keep those waiting for a hayride buys. This year there was a carnival with rides, a band playing and food for sale. I never saw anything, but the inside of the Haunted House. It turned out to be a bigger attraction than then we anticipated. It was a lot of work for the more loyal of our club members (no credit to me for being one) who worked for over a month the build the sets. It had a number of vignettes, the most popular of which was a local minister as executioner who put a woman (his wife in real life) in an electric chair. She had killed 12 men with her bard hands and nobody could figure out how she did it. When the execution pulled the switch, he shouts something that sounds like “Roll Tide!” Then the lights started blinking and then go off. When they come back on, the executed prisoner jumps out at the spectators wearing a werewolf mask. Shortly after that, the execution jumps out from behind the bars. It was a screaming good time. It’s a good thing the preacher comes from one of the calmer denominations. Otherwise, he’d scare the hell out of his congregation just like he did the visitors to the Haunted House. He certainly has the potential in him. Speaking of that, some of the club memebers surprised us all with their dramatic performances in the Haunted House. People you would never think of as scary dredged up some pretty scary stuff from the hidden corners of their psyches. They really got into haunting the place. The Haunted House was beautifully outfitted, but it was still the screams and boos that brought the repeat visitors. We had some people that came all three nights. I understand that in Selma, they had people who went to everything, too.
I know one thing; ghosts are really the things that draw a crowd. People around here love them. It’s not just around Halloween either. WE love ghost stories all year ‘round. Alfred Hitchcock said “Everybody loves to be scared. Whey else would we always tell a baby “Boo”?
Ghosts are as close as we get to the magical realm most of the time. They are just beyond the reach of the physical. They are here one minute and gone the next. We don’t understand them –where they come from and why they stay just out of reach… The mystery is part of the attraction. We are just glad that people come to rural Southwest Alabama to meet our local ghosts – real or imagined.
We hope they come every year and bring their friends to be scared, too.

A GREAT PLACE FOR CHILDREN

2008-12-15T12:04:00.000-06:00

I got a new perspective on rural Southwest Alabama as a great place to raise children recently. My family came to visit and I got to see my grand daughter enjoy being here. She lives in a very nice neighborhood in North Carolina which has great schools and lots of playmates for her. She lives in a small town near a big city with all the right lessons and activities available to her. What she doesn’t have is the small town atmosphere with a train that runs by several times a day where she can stand in the middle of the street to look down the hill and see it come by blowing its horn to announce its importance. She doesn’t have a yard big enough to romp in and chase the neighbor’s cats trying to befriend them, but frightening them instead. She can’t walk around the block to the picture show (or as she calls them, “the movies”). She doesn’t live in an old house that has its own ghost.
When we walked down the street, and were greeted by everybody we met, she was amazed.
That doesn’t happen where she lives. She isn’t allowed to play outside at her house unless there is a friend to play with. It is the big city after all. Here she could run outside any time she got ready and nobody had to worry.
We took a stroll downtown. She commented “This is a village isn’t it?” A village is what little towns are called in Germany where her other grandparents live. I allowed as how that was probably a good definition of our town from a global perspective. I must admit, though, that we used to laugh at one of the local English teachers who were prone to affectations when she said “In the little village where I grew up” when referring to a little town just up the road. We thought she was just trying to romanticize the little spot in the road where was from.
I was glad all the trees were decked out in their fall finery for her visit. We gathered some of the leaves to put in an arrangement for the tea party we hosted for some of her friends and the dolls. We put classical music on the CD player, made hot tea to be served in a special china pot, lit candles and served up the treats we had made. Each person, child or adult, male or female, had their own little china doll as a tea companion. Each person had to introduce their doll and tell a story about her. In big cities, you can go to special tea rooms for parties where everything is provided for a fat fee. There are hats and clothes to dress up in. Here we have to make our own goodies and provide our own props, but the enchantment is the same. The only difference is that ours was homemade. We have to make our own fun and in the process, stretch our imaginations.

RETIREMENT PARTY

2008-11-07T11:21:00.001-06:00

I never had so much fun at a retirement party in my life. It wasn’t because of the food –which was good, or the crowd of participants – which were many. It was because of one of those freaky coincidences which make you wonder if you are living in the Twilight Zone instead of rural Southwest Alabama.
I was helping out in the kitchen which is never one of my favorite places to be when there is a party going on. I never help with wedding showers if I can avoid it because there is too much quick turnover dish washing involved in serving 100 people with 25 crystal punch cups. I have this motto I try to live by –“neither dragger nor toter be”. In rural Southwest Alabama, we use the word “tote” often instead of carry, so toting is not one of my favorite things to do. Unlike many of the residents of the area, I don’t enjoy being a suffering Christian martyr. That is one aspect of religion I try to avoid. I am with the psalmist who said “In Thy presence is the fullness of joy”. I don’t like the moving tables and chairs aspects of logistics. To me that involves aspects of martyrdom. I’ll prepare food for a gathering any time and always do. However, this was an emergency, so I pitched in. The retirement party was for a man I share an office with. I have worked with him on many projects for many years. We share a secretary who was in charge of the operations aspect of the party. She is 9 ½ months pregnant as we speak. She was dragging and totting assisted by our Senior Aide who seems to be in the throws of changing medications. They both were nervous wrecks. The secretary was having lower back pains (uh oh!). I put aside my anti-dragging sentiments and started trying to help. One of the things I did trying to help was watch the guests go through the line to see if the food needed replenishing. Near the end of the line, I spied a little local man helping his plate. I thought to myself, “I wonder how he knows Norman (the man being honored)”. The little man guest took his loaded plate and went to sit down at the head table. Well, Norman has met a lot of people in his 27 years in the area, but sooner or later most of them come through our office or I have at least heard their names mentioned.
The program started. The Master of Ceremonies gave a glowing testimonial to the honoree. He then started calling on the guests at the head table to do the same. He started down the line. The little man guest was at the far end of the table. As the speakers kept getting nearer down the table to his end, the little man guest was getting nervous. Finally, he could not stand it any longer. He darted out of his seat and ran the length of the hall (about 100 feet) with his hands shaking in front of him. I was sitting at the far end of the room by a local couple. As the little man guest darted past us, he leaned over and said “I don’t even know the man”. At that point, the couple and I collapsed into helpless laughter. If it was one thing we knew about the little man guest, a speech maker he wasn’t, even if he knew the man. When he didn’t know him, he was petrified and had to run.
It was like getting tickled in church. The more you try not to laugh, the more you do. I just dissolved into tears of laughter. When I looked over saw my seatmates giggling, the funnier it got. It was so funny! We laughed and as we shared with those around us, they started laughing, too. Not just at the joke, but at how we were taking it. It was like when somebody lets out a loud poot in a crowd and then tries to look around like it was somebody else and every body knows it was him.As we laughed and got dirty looks from the more distinguished guest around us, we whisperingly shared the joke. They then got tickled, too. The whole table was silently shaking. It beat the heck out of most retirement occasions. The man sitting to my left assured me that though he had enjoyed the joke his retirement was going to be better. He was going to serve liquor at his party.

LIVE ENTERTAINMENT IN TOWN

2008-10-31T09:35:00.000-06:00

A brand new Civic Center has opened in Thomasville. We are so proud of it. It happened almost overnight after 20 years of working on it. We always dreamed of the day when we would be cultured and we are almost there. Within a week’s time, we had two different kinds of live performances.
One was the local school systems’ production of “Annie”, the Broadway musical. It was wonderful. We had some talented directors who really knew how to get the most out of the students. They were of all ages from elementary to high school. Children who had never shown any inclination to sing and dance were warbling and cavorting all over the stage. There was one young student in particular who had some juvenile delinquent tendencies in the past who gave a stellar performance. It just proved to me that sometimes children act out who have not found their niche. When they feel like they are making a valuable contribution that is recognized, they find their place in society. Things like that warm everybody’s heart particularly when there is an underdog they can cheer for. Living in a small town is like that. We know more about everybody’s business than we know the person. However, we all do root for one another and want all our young people to succeed. They all did in this production. There were a number of children I knew well in the program, but there were some I had never had the pleasure of meeting. However, a small town in rural Southwest Alabama being what it is, I did place most of them when somebody told me who their mama or their grandmamma was. Some of them got their talent from their relatives and some in spite of it.
The other production was a concert by a geriatric rock and roller by the name of Billy Joe Royal. He was what was called in my youth a “One Hit Wonder”. The only song anybody ever heard of that he sang was “Down in the Boondocks”. He was sponsored by a local sports booster club as a fundraiser. I don’t know if he was all they could get or whether their target audience was over 50, but he was the one who came for the first concert in the Civic Center. When he came out on stage, the woman next to me remarked that he looked like the Richard Nixon Halloween mask. He did. There was a quality about him that looked like his face had melted. The real fright was his hair, however. It was dyed some shade of brown that never quite looks real. He wore it in an elaborate do that when women wore it in the 70s, was called a gypsy hairdo. Either he had taken a brief nap before the performance, just had some bald spots in the back, because there were two holes in the back of his do.
Royal was a bit overweight and corseted which may or may not have been the cause of his arthritic dancing style. Several of us went out together after the performance and were discussing this. One man said every time Royal would get close to the edge of the stage, he’s think “For God’s sake man, get back! If you fell, you’d break a hip!” The irony of it was that Royal referred to his 12 year old daughter while on stage. One wag said it must be sad to have to pay child support out of social security. All kidding aside, though, the old man could sing! His voice still had its full register of tones. He was a tenor and could still hit the high notes without wavering. His voice reminded me of the voice of one of my favorite singers, Freddy Fender. I told that to a friend I was sitting with. He said “Well, you better enjoy Billy Joe Royal. Freddy Fender is not coming”. Fender is now performing on the Big Concert Stage in the Sky. Billy Joe Royal is still here and touring. We all enjoyed his performance. He sang well. His band and backup singers were every good musicians.
It was a little bit like watching the 50s and 60s specials Public Television has as fundraisers, only right in front of us. The worst part of both is reminding the audience how we are aging when we see the performers of our youth get on stage and say as Frankie Valli did on a PBS special “ I just thank God I made it through my open heart and cataract surgeries”.
I am just thankful I lived to see the Civic Center built. I plan to support as many performances as possible just because its here- juvenile or geriatric performers all, we’re glad we have a place to see live theater and concerts.

A NEW DINING ROOM TABLE

2008-10-23T09:53:00.002-06:00

I have always wanted a banquet sized dining room table. Why? Just because I have a big dining room and I like the thought of everybody sitting down together. I have looked long and hard for one. It has been a ten year search. I let one get away 10 years ago in Selma. It was exactly what I wanted, price and all, but I let it get away. I had even looked into having one made, but never worked out the details. We have a local furniture craftsman, Kenton Brasell, who has made some beautiful things. He said he would make me one, but it just never got off the ground.
My friend Cindy and I will every so often make a pilgrimage to Tucker’s Treasures at the end of the road off Highway 69 between Nanafalia and Myrtlewood. Juanita has several large outbuildings filled with furniture, pictures, rugs and china/glassware. She’s not as reasonable as she used to be 20 years ago when we started visiting her, but that is to be expected. I bought my dining rooms chairs there years ago for $25 apiece. They were nice and sturdy, but were that god-awful stop sign yellow of the 1960s. They were a good brand, but a despicable color. They were tall with cane inset backs. I painted the dining room coffered ceiling a soft green. I had enough paint left to do the chairs. Being green calmed them down a lot. I bought my bed there as well as may other items. I still go to look whether I need anything or not. What would be the point of shopping if you only bought? We’d call it buying instead and all the fun of looking would be gone.
Cindy has purchased a lot of her household furniture there, too. We check in periodically just to see what we have missed since last time. Tucker’s prices really are very reasonable, so she has a lot of turnover. This table had been there for a while because it was so big. It had three leaves. I wanted more. It was 20 inches wide and will let out to 14 feet long. I am having Kenton, the master craftsman make me three more leaves. The table is solid mahogany. It took 4 people (without the leaves) to get it up my front steps. It is heavy. You can seat two people at either end. With all the leaves in you can seat 12-14 easily. Right now I have three leaves in. Kenton has to go to Mobile to find the rest of the solid mahogany that he needed for the other leaves. There are certain things that you just can’t find on hand in rural Southwest Alabama and solid mahogany boards are one of them. I’m just lucky Mobile is only 100 miles away and they can be found there.
One of my favorite things is doing tablescapes for each season. I have included a picture of the Halloween table. I’ll have to have a dinner party soon because I want to use my new table. Would you like to come? I’ll let you know when it is. I may decide to have a witch party like the women in Selma do. They started out with 13 women and it grew to a large number. They dress up so that they don’t even recognize each other. I went to a shop in Selma called TuTu’s that sells fancily decorate witches hats for the occasion. The store had a whole variety of life sized scary figures and all sorts of decorations for Halloween. If you happen to be in Selma this month go by to see their interesting array. There is a billboard just coming into Selma on Hwy 22 that tells you how to get there. It is worth a visit. I can’t wait to see their Christmas things. I would rate it as a tourist attraction in itself.
The big attraction in Selma at the moment is the citywide display of beautiful butterflies handpainted by local artists. For a full description, go to the Dallas County portion of this website for a look. Local writer Janet Gresham was kind enough to share her blogs about the butterflies with us.
Between Tucker’s Treasures, dinner on Saturday night at Mama Nems Bistro in Thomaston and a night at the historic St James Hotel in Selma with a Sunday morning stroll to see the butterflies, you can have a nice weekend in rural Southwest Alabama. Come on down!

STAYCATION

2008-10-17T10:01:00.001-06:00

It’s bad when you enjoy being on your own front porch more than a weekend at the Grand Hotel. I spent the weekend there at the Alabama Trust for Historic Preservation Conference. I love the Grand and I loved the conference. Those people know how to throw a good party. We wined, dined and toured to a fare-thee-well. Those are my favorite things to do ordinarily. It’s just that I have been tied up for the last three weekends. It was all fun stuff, but left very little time for porch sitting, which is how I regenerate. If I don’t get my quiet Saturday on a regular basis, I begin to come unglued. I fray around the edges at first, then the seams begin to seriously unravel. By yesterday, when I finally returned home with an extra trip to Montgomery thrown into the mix, I was not in good shape. I needed some solitude.
One thing I was able to do on the trip was find a new rocking chair for my front porch. Between many years of rocking and the neighborhood cats shredding the arms, it was time to reset things (literally). I had tried one other chair. It was a great looking 1940 metal chair that rocked on a metal frame. It wouldn’t do at all. One of the requests for my sitting place is that it must be the right height for my legs to prop on the wicker coffee table in front of me. Ideally, I guess I should have one of those chaise lounge things where your feet prop up automatically, but it would take up too much room. I have places for a lot of other people to join me on the porch this way. Two more of them can prop their feet up, too. Did I mention that my porch entertaining is very informal? When the weather is right, which is most of the year in rural Southwest Alabama, we always eat every meal on the porch when I have company. Everything except Thanksgiving Dinner tastes better on the porch.
My two rockers that shredded had been with me over ten years. They were nothing grand to begin with, just new imported ones that I bought white and painted. One was painted watermelon pink and the other was a rich grapey purple. I just had the paint colors on hand in spray cans. Spray painting is the only way to go with painting wicker. Otherwise, painting wicker is a real pain. This time I had one chair I just bought. I needed two, so I went shopping in my own house. I am an inveterate collector of things. I love antiques and I love bargains. I will buy any antique that is a bargain provided I can fit it into the house. I had reached capacity about a year ago. I started thinking of what I had that I might use on the porch. I just happened to have two wicker rocking chairs upstairs to choose from. I have a big guest bedroom upstairs that had room for them plus two more chairs. I took the fancy one. I went to the store to find some more spray paint. Just call me the spray paint queen. I use both hands. When one tires I spray with the other, It is the only place I use my ambidextrousness other than in eating (where it really counts).
I could choose any colors I wanted. I chose the exact same two that I used before. The other chairs are painted white with spring green cushions. I have a wonderful little table that I bought by artist Brenda Murphy at Black Belt Treasures in Camden. It was the first one she ever made. I bought it before they could even put it on the floor. It is patterned, checked and stripes in interesting colors –the predominant one being the spring green on my furniture. I thought of painting my new chairs with the same effect. I decided against it. I did paint the rockers on the hot pink chair the grape of the other chair, but that was all I could bring myself to do. The porch is about tranquility, not a carnival. I use it as a resting place – and now, I’m glad to be back home- resting!

Canoe and Camping Trip

2008-10-08T13:38:00.001-06:00

Nobody ever told me that at a mature age I would be taking up the great outdoors. I first surprised myself at the age of 50 by becoming a gardener. I found out I loved growing flowers and playing in the dirt. A friend took me canoeing after that and discovered that I liked canoeing almost as well as sailing, except for the possibility of poisonous snakes being present. My mama is a snake-a-phobic and did her best to indoctrinate her children with the same phobia. I am only half as phobic as she is. Ramona Larrimore had told me about going on a boat trip with her husband and snakes chattering in the trees and falling in the boat. That didn’t really help my snake phobia much. I like sailing in the gulf because there were no snakes. I overcame my trepidation about canoe trips because I like the tour guide. I must admit, I was not enchanted with being so near the water with the possibility of snakes AND alligators nearby. I tried to concentrate on the scenery and peaceful environment. It worked. It did not turn me into an inveterate paddler. It merely acquainted me with the process.
I am involved with the promotion of tourism. I fell into it because I love to travel, eat and shop. I am always on the lookout for new and interesting places to find, see and try. I am like the guy who went to work for the division of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. When he got the job, his friends said “Congratulations! You like all three!” I am like him in that I like all things related to tourism, with the possible exception of snakes that might show up at outdoor recreation. I had thoroughly explored all the places in rural Southwest Alabama related to tourism except those related to outdoor recreation. I had never been to the Isaacs’ Creek Campground in Monroe County although I had been right next door at the Alabama River Museum many times.
I have always loved picnics and being outdoors as long as nothing strenuous is required of me. I have packed many a picnic lunch and headed for places where there are trees adorned with Spanish moss. There is something very special about spreading a quilt out under trees and reading a new book or writing in a journal. My Fairy Godmother, Kathryn Tucker Windham, shared this passion. She has done much of her writing sitting on the banks of the lake at Camp Grist near her home in Selma.
So the big question is - how in the heck did I ever organize and facilitate a 2 day canoe paddle last weekend? I’m still asking myself that one. I got involved with the Alabama Scenic River Trail because I live between two major rivers that run through the tourism area I serve in rural Southwest Alabama. About 1/3 of the 631 mile ASRT trail runs through this region. I am, if nothing else, an opportunist where tourism is concerned. I started going to their meetings early on. I decided we needed a kickoff event for our part of the trail. Thank goodness, I had some knowledgeable people I could call on for help. Don Self is an expert on birds and geology, Randy Nalley is a forester who works with trees every day and worships nature as his real religion. They are both paddlers, as is Don’s wife, Judy, who knows about wildflowers and plant life. My job was to be dragger and toter as well as chief cook and bottle washer. One thing I do know about is food. It is the firm belief and cornerstone of hospitality in rural Southwest Alabama is that if you feed folks well and show them a good time, they will tell their friends about us and they will all come back.
Our paddle was a 10 mile day trip. I know nothing about canoe travel other than sitting in a boat. Apparently, this paddle was a little ambitious for even a seasoned paddler. We had 27 people on the trip. When they got to the campground at Isaac’s’ Creek, they were some tired bodies. We had planned to have entertainment in the evening, but all they wanted to do was eat and go to bed.
As with all entertaining in rural Southwest Alabama, food was the centerpiece. When they got to the boat landing to start the paddle, we had homemade sausage and biscuits for them. I had been advised by Don, the Head Paddler, not to serve them coffee before they began an all day rowing because they would need extra bathroom breaks. There were no bathrooms. For their carry-on sack lunch, we had fried chicken, homemade pimento cheese sandwiches, homemade shortbread cookies, raisins, juice boxes and bottled water. When they got back to camp, we had blackberry pepper jelly over cream cheese with crackers, nuts and relishes. For dinner, we had a barbeque – pulled pork and smoked beef brisket served with ranch beans, salsa coleslaw with corn, hot garlic herb bread, Italian Cream Cake, Caramel Cake and sweet tea. For breakfast, the next day we had Tomato Cheese Grits casserole, grilled Conecuh Sausage and blueberry cream cheese braids, coffee and juice. For Sunday Dinner on the Ground, we had chicken and dressing, fresh pink-eyed purple hull peas, bacon potato salad, banana pudding, rolls and sweet tea. Several paddlers asked that next year (they want to make this an annual event), they be allowed to bring spouses/family just to see the area and eat with us. We plan to do just that.
Isaac’s Creek Campground is a beautiful spot. It is filled with trees draped in Spanish moss. Each campsite has privacy, electrical hook ups and running water. There is a bath house and toilet facilities. The sites are $18 on the water or $16 not on the water. If you admit to being 62 and sign up for a senior citizen card, you can stay there for half price. The people who run the campground are friendly and helpful. Being at a campground like Isaacs’ Creek is one part of the great outdoors I can relate to. I just love sitting at a picnic table at the campsite and reading a book or writing in my journal. I love to contemplate nature; I just don’t like being bitten by it.
We had some interesting activities on Sunday after the paddle. We toured the lock and dam, talking to the Lock Master about river traffic, natural conditions on the river and the fishing in the area. We then toured the Alabama River Museum next door to see Native American and river artifacts as well as the geology/paleontology of the area. We offered short paddles for those who wanted them, but nobody was in the mood after the workout of the day before.
This trip was our first effort on the Alabama Scenic River Trail. We asked the participants to give us feedback for future planning. We fed them too well. They suggested that they didn’t require hot biscuits the first morning. Some wanted to coffee the first day. We told them to please get it before they came, so it would be out of their system by paddle time. We all had fun. Come join us next year!

FALL IS IN THE AIR

2008-09-23T10:30:00.002-06:00

It is finally happening. The hint of fall is in the air that signals the end of the humidity season. Another signal is the Confederate Rose that is blooming in my front yard. It is some relative of the native hibiscus. It has heart shaped leaves with points that make the leaves look like bats flying away. How’s that for a scientific analysis? The stalks grow 20 feet tall. It froze to the ground last winter, but is standing as tall as ever. It is one of my favorite plants. It looks like the flowers we used to make out of Kleenex and bobby pins. Some of my neighbors have the same plant with flowers that start out white in the morning and turn hot pink by late afternoon. Mine is medium pink and darkens slightly as the day goes on.
I am more of a gardener by default than design, but I accidentally picked the perfect location for it. My house sits in the corner of my lot, right next to the street. My front porch is right there. If I read on the porch at night, I look like that picture by Edward Hopper where the woman in the office is sitting in the picture window on display. I put this plant right in front of the corner where it screens the porch just a bit. It gives the semblance of privacy, if not the real thing.
Speaking of my porch, it is a place well known for its entertainment value. It has become a gathering place for new friends and old. If I am on the porch, it’s just like it used to be when everybody had a front porch, it is a signal to visitors that they are welcome to join me. Weather permitting; it is where I live when I am at home and feeling the least bit sociable. It is where most of my meals are served to guests. Breakfast is always served on the porch unless it’s so cold that my guest’s teeth rattle. All my breakfasts are portable and easy to eat. They’re like hors d’oeuvres for the morning. I have never been a grits and eggs gal. I prefer the three Sees for my breakfast food group: sandwiches, snacks and sweets. Anyway everything tastes better when looking at the flowers that surround us. All summer long there are the old fashioned altheas or Rose of Sharon as they are sometimes called. My favorites are the purple ones right by the front steps. There are also white with maroon throats and then the pure white one, which I am told is unusual. They used to grow everywhere. Now the altheas are pass-along plants. They will grow anywhere, so people quit growing them. Anything that grows too good, we consider invasive and try to kill it off. There are now double hybrid altheas that don’t reproduce so readily, so we treasure them. The same is true of roses, we poison the old varieties that spring up too readily along roadsides and pet the temperamental ones that have to be sprayed and pruned. I hear that is true all over and not just in rural Southwest Alabama where I live. If it’s a native plant, we ignore it or fight it. If it’s exotic and temperamental, we pet it. WE pull goldenrod out of our gardens and the English pet them because they don’t grow wild there.
The Confederate rose is not a native plant in its fanciful doubled variety, but it is easy to grow. It will root easily from a cutting stuck in the ground. My sister in law has three big clumps she started that way. I bought mine from a local five and ten cent store. Maybe the reason it is found mostly at older houses is because the clumps get so big. It is a prima donna in that it requires a big space for the clump to spread and flow. I just have one because it does take up so much space, but that one is making my mornings on the porch glorious.

WHY TURKEYS DON’T LIVE IN TOWN

2008-09-19T11:13:00.002-06:00

There is a reason turkeys live in the wild and not in towns. This was brought home to me in a very personal way last Saturday morning. My last blog was about the turkeys roaming my neighborhood. The neighbors and I were enjoying turkey watching as the pair of fine gobblers meandered about the streets and yards around us. I had run in to get my camera to take their picture last week and discovered that my camera battery needed recharging. I had vowed to keep it at the ready. I was armed with it last weekend. I was sitting on the porch with my cup of tea contemplating life when I heard an explosion worthy of a bomb, not once, but twice. The lights in my house went off. It sounded the way it does when a squirrel gets on a utility pole and blows the transformer, only ten times as loud. We have families of squirrels that live happily and unmolested in our neighborhood. They feast on the pecans that would have made us pies. We begrudgingly concede the pecans to them. We wish them gone, but none of us are willing to handle pellet guns to dispose of them. We warily coexist with the squirrels because even though there are plenty of people around who eat squirrels, nobody in our neighborhood wants to fry up the rat-like creatures.
We count on the utility poles to dispose of a few of them for us, and live with the rest.
My neighbor, Kiki, of the ling golden locks came by in her SUV. She had been in the process of drying her hair when the explosion occurred. She was going to her brother’s house down the road to finish the job. She pulled up by the porch so wee could discuss the explosion. WE discussed the nuisance of the squirrels. I continued to drink my tea. I had already called the power company to come and take care of the lights. Kiki came back in just a minute. She said “It’s not a squirrel that got in the transformer. It was one of our two turkeys. The explosion blew him up. It’s not a pretty sight.” She said she was going to get her brother to dispose of the turkey.
In the meantime, the lineman from the power company came. I heard him around back just working away. Since I am not very mechanical, I didn’t go around there. In a little while he came around to the front porch where I was. He said “I need your help.” I found that very surprising because we have already established that I am not mechanical. He said “I need a witness. In all my 26 years of this kind of work, I have never seen a turkey blow a transformer”. That is why turkeys shouldn’t live in town. Their natural instincts are not equipped to deal with obstacles like power poles. It looked like a good roost to him.
I had hoped to get a picture of the pair of strutting turkeys to share with you. I chose not to record the mangled turkey that was the result of the encounter with the utility pole. It was not a pretty sight. None of us have seen his strutting partner since the accident. One of the birds went to turkey heaven and the other back to the woods. Alas, I was not quick enough to get the perfect nature shot of the two cavorting turkeys to share with you. I doubt I’ll ever have the opportunity again. AS I said, there is a reason turkeys do not live in town!

TURKEYS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

2008-09-19T11:13:00.001-06:00

I was sitting on the front porch the other day and I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were two full grown turkey gobblers strutting across the street to promenade in my neighbor’s front yard. They seemed perfectly at home. They walked around and pecked a lot, then flew up into the trees on the wooded lot across the street.
One of the neighbor boys came out and I asked him if they had any new turkey pets. He told me that a man a few blocks away used to raise turkeys from eggs. He sold his house and the remaining turkeys were part of the deal. The person who bought the house had no wish to raise the turkeys, so he turned them loose. They apparently liked the area and stayed. “Yesterday, they were in your front yard,” my neighbor told me. They seem to belong to all of us. We seem to live in a board sanctuary by default. I guess the turkeys are savvy enough to get out of the street if there are cars coming by. The man who sold the house has been gone for some months.
I wonder if the animal control officers know about them. One of them is my brother and I’m not going to tell him. He probably would leave them alone anyway. Any turkey smart enough to survive in town deserves to live out his normal life span in as much peace as a turkey can find in a small town. What is the lifespan of an unmolested turkey anyway?
I look forward to seeing the turkeys strut around the neighborhood. WE have a live and let live attitude around here for the most part. The only thing that really disturbs us is really loud music or gasoline powered generators or blower packs. WE don’t have too much noise in small towns in rural Southwest Alabama. The only regular noise is the train that comes through town a few times a day. If we even notice it, it is music to our ears. It’s all in what you get used to. There used to be a mill whistle that went off twice a day until a few years ago when the mill closed. We took it as a matter of course. We sort of miss it now that it’s gone. If the train quit coming through we wouldn’t have any excitement at all on a regular basis, unless the turkeys multiply and produce offspring. If we get a lot of turkeys in the neighborhood, the word will get around. We’ll be overrun with birdwatchers or turkey hunters, whichever get here first. There are probably more turkey hunters in the area than birdwatchers, but even they won’t shoot pets. I guess that’s what these turkeys are, the new neighborhood pets.

HURRICANE GUSTAV ARRIVES

2008-09-02T10:25:00.000-06:00

I am sitting here on the front porch watching Gustav arrive. This hurricane is not going to be a destroyer. It is making landfall in Louisiana and we are in Southwest Alabama. It is only 115 miles per hour there, not the 150 mph of Katrina. We are on the northeast side of the storm, which is the worst quadrant, but are far enough away that our only damage may be wind, and may not even be that. The wind is beginning to gust a little, but just enough to set the wind chimes tinkling.
They don’t usually ring in the summertime unless there is a pretty good wind because they are sheltered by the trees that surround the porch.
We have not had a really damaging hurricane here in a couple of years. Before that we all remembered 1979 as the Big One. In my lifetime, I don’t remember a hurricane until then except for Camille in 1968 when someone I cared about was at National Guard Camp in Biloxi when it came through. We in rural Southwest Alabama don’t live in fear of hurricanes as our friends on the Gulf Coast proper do.
We have learned to give the warnings proper respect. Until a hurricane makes landfall, we do watch the weather bulletins. Friday, I went to the library and checked out enough books to last over the Labor Day Weekend. Saturday, I did buy batteries and pick up a few groceries. Yesterday, I did charge my lanterns that I might need if the electricity went off. After Hurricane Dennis, when we were without power for a few days, I did buy some lanterns to read by. If I have a good book handy, I can weather any storm. I cooked a pot of Chef Dodd’s New England Cheddar Cheese Soup that I could reheat on the gas grill if I needed to. I made a shrimp, mushroom and Conecuh sausage pizza that I cut in slices and put in the refrigerator.
My friend Nell gave me a new recipe for Almond Skillet Cake which I made just because it was good therapy and would do for breakfast with tea. It is so easy and so good I’m going to share it now. It tastes like something you get at a little European bakery. It could actually be made over a campfire or on a gas grill. I would have sworn it had marzipan in it.

Almond Skillet Cake
1 ½ sticks of butter melted 4 oz sliced almonds
1 ½ c sugar
1 ½ c plain flour
2 eggs
Put a sheet of foil, ungreased, in an iron skillet. This is a 10 or 12 inch skillet, the kind you fry chicken in, not make cornbread. Mix all ingredients together and pour into skillet. This will be a thin cake. Sprinkle almonds on top. Sprinkle a little sugar on top of the almonds. Start in a cold oven. Bake at 325 degrees for 20 minutes. Let cool in pan. Cut in small pie shaped wedges.
This will be good if you have anybody come by for a Hurricane Party. This could happen. After all, this is rural Southwest Alabama. We will celebrate anything. Not getting hit directly by a hurricane is definitely something to celebrate!

Chef Dodd's Recipes for Soups

2008-08-22T07:44:00.002-06:00

These are the ones served at the cooking class at Mama Nems Bistro.

Remember that these recipes are for a crowd. Cut them down for home use. 1/4 the recipe should feed you and a normal family. These recipes are really fairly thrifty. You can appear gourmet and be fiscally conservative at the same time. You can save your cooking money and spend it on gas!

COOKING WITH MAMA N’EM

2008-08-15T10:37:00.003-06:00

Last night I took a cooking class form Chef Dodd Orton at Mama N'ems Bistro. He is a retired executive chef with the Hilton Hotel chain that has returned to rural Southwest Alabama to live. He is the chef now at the Rural Heritage Center in Thomaston. The restaurant is called Mama N’ems Bistro because a favorite saying in the area is Mama and ‘em always did it this way.
There is a series of 6 classes being offered in August and September on Thursday nights.
They each have a different topic. Last night was soups and sauces. They cost $20 each. You can take one or all. The topics still to come are: Breads on Aug 21, Desserts on Aug 28, Entrees on Sept 6, and Basic Food Service (how to put together an entrée) on Sept 11.
I signed up for two reasons – Chef Dodd is a wonderful cook and they start off the lessons with wine and cheese, so I knew it would be a fun party. You know, I’ve told you before we people in the Black Belt think nothing of driving 60 miles anytime for a good party. Actually, my friends and I drove only 30 miles to go. Everybody there had driven from somewhere. In rural areas we have to think regionally.
We watched demonstrations, asked the Chef questions, and then got to eat what was prepared as our lesson. Last night it was Vermont Cheddar Soup, German Potato Salad Soup, and Hollandaise Sauce. The hollandaise that he made was a no fail version. He started with a white sauce made with real cream, then added two egg yolks. When they were combined, he added lemon juice. It didn’t curdle as mixing dairy products and lemon juice sometimes will. He said that in a restaurant setting, if you served a traditional hollandaise made by slowly combining eggs, butter and lemon juice, it is too labor intensive. This surprisingly tastes very similar and is a lot less temperamental. Of course, purists will not be pleased, but my motto in the kitchen and in life is “If it’s hard, there must be a better way”.
You can see from the pictures of the class that there were men there. They are serious about cooking which did my heart good. Mostly in rural Southwest Alabama, men just barbeque or fry with no in between.
I will include Chef Dodd’s recipes for the two soups in the next blog. The proportions are for a crowd. For home use, you could divide the recipe by 4 and still have enough. However, I am just the messenger, not your mathematician. . Both recipes are delicious. I had ample servings of both. I do not like beer. I agree with Mae West – they can put it back in the horse. In the Vermont Cheddar Soup I have finally found a way that I like it. It gives the soup a tang that really compliments the cheese. I might use ½ a can instead of ¼ in the recipe.
I plan to go to most of the classes unless I have a conflict. I think when word get around, that there will be more lessons. It is a good learning experience as well as a social occasion. Good party, good food, and the chance to learn something besides. Not a bad way to spend and evening in the Black Belt.

DINNER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY

2008-08-08T14:15:00.001-06:00

My Dear friend and mentor, Kathryn Tucker Windham, has two things she feels very strongly about. One in that you should never put sugar in cornbread and the other is that dinner is served in the middle of the day with supper being served at night.
Yesterday, we had dinner in the middle of the day for the volunteers who worked on the movie premier. We wanted to say “Thank you” in a tangible way. We know that food is at the heart of most all southern traditions, especially here in rural Southwest Alabama. Our menu was one that reflects our culinary traditions. The menu was:

Pulled Barbequed Pork with Norman’s Secret Family Sauce
Hash brown Potato Casserole
Fresh Butterbeans and Okra with fresh tomato relish
Seven Layer Salad Sweet Tea
Homemade rolls with butter
Cheesecake Soufflé and Egg Custard Pie

There are certain things you should know about some of the dishes.
• One: The way a person doe’s barbeque is a highly personal thing. The sauce may vary in our region from a sweet or tart tomato base to a highly vinegar concoction. It will never have a mustard base. The best barbeque is a two day process. It must be smoked most of one day, then pulled or chopped. In our family, we have discovered the real secret of the best barbeque is to pour a mixture of mostly water with Ketchup, vinegar and Worcestershire sauce in it over the hot meat and its natural juices, then refrigerate it overnight. The liquid will disappear into the meat by the next day. Heat the meat up and serve it with whatever sauce you like. The mixture from the previous day is not considered sauce, it is marinade.
• Two: Butterbeans or peas are generally served with some kind of relish to add spiciness and flavor according to the eater’s preference. Many cooks have a special relish that they can when the tomato crop comes in, or when they are looking for something to do with those hard pears that are in every old house yard. They generally contain spices of various kinds, almost always adding some amount of onions and peppers – sweet or hot. Southern food is not bland, but like Mexican, you add the spices and heat yourself at the table. My family has a relish that is not cooked. My great aunt invented it as far as I know. It is very simple. We used to try to guess what was in it and complicate the simple mixture that we discovered to be composed of chopped fresh tomatoes, onions and peppers with 2 tablespoons of sugar per quart. Salt and pepper is added to taste. Usually, cornbread is served whenever there are peas and butterbeans. We had homemade rolls to be fancier since they are not every day fare (too much trouble), but I did miss my cornbread.
• Three: Okra is generally cooked with the peas or beans. It doesn’t look nice, though, if the okra falls apart, so for company, the okra is removed to a separate dish for serving. Everybody has an okra story. My family traditions tell of relatives who didn’t think they liked okra. My grandmother used to remove it from her pea pot because one of the children wouldn’t eat the slick stuff that boiled okra becomes. She wasn’t about to cook two pots of peas, so she just removed the okra from the peas/beans before bringing them to the table, so that the picky child never knew. The family got the full benefit of the flavor with her none the wiser. The okra was added near the end, so it didn’t have time to get slick. We don’t stir the pot while the okra is steaming on top, so it doesn’t break up.
• Sweet Tea is always served at a dinner in the middle of the day. I personally like to sweeten my own tea, but with guests, it must be already sweetened> the logic behind this is that cold tea does not sweeten well and takes more sugar. I don’t know how anybody could stand more sugar than sweet tea already has. To be perfect, it should taste like cane syrup. It is too much for me, but my guests require the effort.
• Potato salad is the general potato side served with barbeque, but so many cooks are shortcutting the process with bought potato salad that the hash brown casserole seemed to say we cared about the palates of our guests.
• We always say egg custard pie rather than just custard pie for a reason. There are chocolate custard pies and coconut custard pies that are cooked on the stove and added to a baked crust then topped with meringue and baked. An egg custard pie on the other hand is baked in the crust with no meringue. It is, if done right, a silken concoction that melts on the tongue.

The guests at the dinner in the middle of the day seemed to enjoy the food. As usual, I prepared way too much. It would be real faux paux to not have as much to eat as the guests could possible stuff in. I have included pictures of them enjoying the food. There is an individual picture of one special gentleman, Reverend Mosley, the owner of Mosley Funeral Home who provided limousine service for the premier. I had to take his picture to show you. Con you believe this man is 88 years old? He told Kathryn Tucker Windham that night that he was 89. When I said I couldn’t believe it, he said “Let’s straighten this out right now. I am only 88.” He will be 89 this year. He looks and acts so young. I wonder what his secret to perpetual youth is – embalming fluid? Whatever it is, we all need to get some, unless the embalming fluid is being used on us. We can wait a while on that.

THE PREMIER IS A WINNER

2008-08-04T10:40:00.000-06:00

It really happened! We had the Deep South World Premier of Ron Harris’ movie and it was a sell out! Two hundred and fifty seats were filled. There were politicians, a former governor’s wife who is a huge supporter of the arts in her own right and hundreds of local people.
The movie was a science fiction fairy tale. It was an arty film noir that wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea. The reviews of the film were mixed, as we knew they would be, but the reviews of the reception were unanimous – everybody had a grand time! To quote the editor of the Thomasville Times, Arthur McLean:
“It’s not every day they shut down Front Street and set up the tents. It’s not every day that Kathryn Tucker Windham drives downtown in a limo, but there it was, both events at the same time.” He went on to tell about a nice lady from the Huntsville Botanical Gardens group that came to the premier asking him if this was a big event in our little hamlet. He said “I told her I reckoned just about any event was a big one for Thomasville…..Good ol’ Clarke County folks love to have a reason to get out of the house and socialize for a while”. And socialize they did. The foods in the street were set up with all kinds of local delicacies.
As I said, the reviews were mixed about the movie. Ron was expecting this. He said before the movie that he just hoped the people wouldn’t hate him after they saw it. This really was the premier in front of a general audience. It had been shown before at festivals, but not in a theater to regular people. Some of the regular people were really funny. One cute man came up to me, put his arm around me and whispered in my ear “That was horrible”. Another viewer said she didn’t understand the movie, but wanted to say something nice to Ron, so she said she liked the scenery. That was really funny, since the movie took place in a basement. Other sci-fi buffs loved it. Ron said it was interesting to get the audience’s reaction. He was very pleased as he and Kathryn Windham watched the movie front rocking chairs. They had told stories about going to this theater in their youths prior to the screening. Ron said the fact that Kathryn had watched silent movies there 80 years ago gave us all most a century’s worth of perspective on the movie industry. They had to bring the rocking chairs down from the stage to sit in because all the other seats were taking.
There are not enough nice things to say about how the local people worked together to make the event a success. The City cleaned up the streetscape and erected the tents. They provided security. The local theater owners, Linda and Jerry Edwards volunteered the Thomasville Theater. In addition, they painted, cleaned the seats and got new curtains for the wall. They also provided concessions and served as ushers. Wal-Mart was a big supported and their manager was personally involved in the planning of the event. The Thomasville Times gave us great publicity. Super volunteers from the Chamber of Commerce, Ala Tom RC&D, a local candidate for public office, Ron’s family, and tourism volunteers worked in every capacity from preparing and serving food to anything else that needed doing. The whole town worked together. People came out in support of the event. Rural Southwest Alabama is a great place to live and on Monday night was a happening place!

TO EAT OR NOT TO EAT?

2008-07-21T14:44:00.003-06:00

I joined Weight Watchers for the first time in my life. I might have needed to before now, but in the past I could knock off the pounds with a little self restraint and a little willpower. I knew I had some pounds to shed, but I do so love to eat! When Weight Watchers scales put the amount I had to loose at only 16 pounds, I didn’t worry too much. I thought that was hardly any challenge at all. The first week I lost 1 ½ pounds. Since then, nothing. Of course, I have been traveling and enjoying every mouthful. At least I haven’t gained!
I’m sure the same could be said by any food lover anywhere, but we have so much good to eat around here. Yesterday we had boiled peanuts for the first time this year. Really good boiled peanuts are made from the green kind fresh picked off the peanut plant, not ones that are already dried, and then resuscitated. The boiled peanuts they sell in truck stops bear as much resemblance to the fresh picked kind as an olive to a truffle. One of the best things about a truffle is the earthy scent. The same is true of the green peanut. It has the same earthy quality as a good fresh potato. Another thing wrong with the commercially sold boiled peanuts is that they are usually over salted, which ruins the delicacy of the flavor. Boiled peanuts to the people of rural Southwest Alabama are a rare treat. I served them to a friend who grew up in Northern Louisiana. He just can’t get the hang of their charm. He prefers them parched. I really didn’t care that he didn’t want many, because there were two of us boiled peanut connoisseurs on hand and it wasn’t a large pot full. I ate the remaining ones for breakfast this morning. I have never been a conventional breakfast eater. I’ve always preferred a sandwich or leftovers to eggs and bacon.
We do have some great traditional breakfast foods here in rural Southwest Alabama that I do enjoy – the heavily smoked local Conecuh Sausage and tomato gravy. This is the time of the year for fresh tomatoes. Garrison Keilor said it best “Two things money can’t buy – true love and homegrown tomatoes.
Tonight for supper, I am having some homegrown tomatoes. I’m going to chop them up over hot pasta with good pesto sauce and extra garlic. It’s also grilling time in the summer, so I am grilling pork chops. I found some rutabagas already cut up at the grocery store, so we’re having those, too. There is leftover banana split pie. I bet very few Italians have had cornbread with their pesto but we’re liable to do that as well. After all, I don’t have to weigh again until Thursday. Food is just too good! Maybe I won’t gain any weight, if I can’t loose and still eat!

Washington, DC

2008-07-21T14:43:00.000-06:00

Last week I was in Washington, D.C. A big group of us went to Capitol Hill to lobby to make Highway 84 a four lane. This road runs through several of our counties in rural Southwest Alabama. It is a winding up and down hill road that has many areas that are hard to pass another vehicle on. It is loaded with log trucks at any time of day because the production of wood products is the biggest industry in the whole region.
We are the region that the interstates passed us by. It has been bad for business, but good for culture. We are still the laid back, front porch way of life people who love to spin our stories and yarns because we have not become rat race industrialized. We are probably the ideal place to spend the rest of your life after you’ve done all that. We are probably the ideal place to raise a family in a close knit environment for the same reason. Where we live is always brought home to me in a big way when I watch the reruns of the Andy Griffith Show where he and Barney sit on the front porch after supper and sing harmony on a full stomach. We still live life that.
I do love to travel. I am a born tourist. I used the Washington experience to see as much as I could between trips to Capitol Hill as part of the Highway 84 delegation. I visited the National Botanical Garden right there on Capitol Hill. I was delighted to see that they used so many native plants. I am not generally a picture taking tourist, but I did get some shots with my fancy new cell phone. There were a couple of good ideas I wanted to bring home to use in my own garden plantings. The gardens were emphasizing innovative uses of natural materials.
My roommate and I took a couple of trolley tours. I always find a roommate for travel when I can to share the cost of the room, which in Washington is a lot even with the group rate we had. The trolley tour is the way to go to really see things. There is one that lets you on and off
At various stops to really explore and will pick you up later. It was sold out for the night tour so we took one with another company, which wasn’t as good. It was led by a "has been" actor who obviously didn’t like children or other people much for that matter. He started off slow and only got really animated when we passed the National Theater where he had starred in a production of Hair. That was the one with the naked people singing rock songs. His body must have been better then. He did, however, become very patriotic when the tour was ending. On the last leg, he all but pulled out a flag and waved it at us. As most people who are loudly patriotic, there was a method in his madness. He had his tip jar out as we got off the bus. We had been allowed to use the back entrance to get off at every other stop, but not this one. We discovered the reason was that he had placed a tip jar by his side. He became very humble at that point. The effusiveness of his thanks was predicated by the size of the tip. His was a night tour of the monuments, which I found less than inspiring because I had visited most of them numerous times in the daylight with less crowding of bodies.
We also visited Hillwood, the estate of Marjorie Merriweather Post, the cereal heiress. It has wonderful gardens around the rambling 1950s era house that was remodeled to house some of the finest rooms of paneling ever transported from the castles of Europe. The gardens are the part I like best. I could sit at the bottom of the 40 foot waterfall forever listening to the trickling water. I feel the same way about the Indian Baths at St Stephens Historical Park here in rural Southwest Alabama. They are a natural water formation in a secluded glade. The Post estate has 30 full time gardeners. St. Stephens has a staff of 4 to do everything. I guess we just learn how to make do with less in poor rural area. We love nature, but just take it for granted because we are blessed with some much of it. In Washington, they don’t have much, so they prize it.
One thing traveling does, is make me look at what we have with new eyes. I love to be on the road, but I am always glad to get home and listen to the birdsongs on the front porch. It is hot here, but I can turn on the fan and enjoy the breeze. What we have is unspoiled nature wailing to be discovered here in rural Southwest Alabama.

THE PARTING OF DEATH

2008-07-07T09:58:00.001-06:00

Here in rural Southwest Alabama, we take our relationships seriously. The highest compliment we can pay someone is to take them into our families. We may not always like our families, but we are intensely loyal to them. Once you become part of the clan, you are in for life, literally. One of my friends is dying. She had moved away from Alabama to go to Texas to be near family to have them help with an ailing husband. The husband is still with us after two open heart surgeries, a series of brain operations and a jaw full of tooth implants. He is 12 years older than his wife. She, the caregiver, is the one going first. She not only took care of him, but of another older friend who lived with them until he died.

We always thought Patsy would have a whole other lifetime after she buried the old guys. It didn’t happen that way. One month age she was diagnosed with lung cancer that had already spread to her spine by the time they found it. Her birthday was this weekend. Three of us who had shared her life for many years went to visit her. It was a good thing we did. They day after we left, she had surgery and is now on a respirator.

Our culture is such that we are not really used to people moving in and out of our lives. We are not a transient culture. We have deep roots. People who move in rarely move out. Even those who come in with the industries get stuck. They may be transferred, but they come back to use to retire.

We once had radar based located in Thomasville. It was one of three- Thomasville, Eufaula, and Dauphin Island designed to be the first line of defense against Cuba in the 1960s. Even the young men sent in to serve in the Air Force here seemed to stick. We’ve always said we’d have to wonder where a lot of the local girls would have found husbands if that base hadn’t been here because so many of the boys married local girls. Even those who didn’t came back a few years ago to have a reunion here. We’re the kind of place where you feel like you belong.

A good example of this is the Hatton family. They got ready to retire. They had a motor home. They pulled out a map of the Southwest Alabama area and put a pin in. They knew they liked the area, so they just selected a spot at random and came to explore. They were from one of those states up north with a lot of snow. That was their main criteria for choosing us. They settled in Coffeeville, one of the smaller towns in the area. It has one grocery store, a bank, a drugstore, and a couple of filling stations. They were welcomed and became part of the community.

The way my friend Patsy got to Thomaston, which became her hometown was through Army friends. Pasty’s husband was career army. They had never had roots. They came to visit their army friends and stayed 25 years. In a short time, Patsy became the mayor. She served most of 4 terms. She only left when her husband was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. He was the town handy man. His condition was a secret. People still needed his services. Patsy was afraid he was going to get hurt or make a mistake on the job. To avoid this, they announced that they were moving to Texas to be near family. It turned out that the diagnosis was wrong. He had spinal fluid leaking, which has caused his brain to shrink. That was the problem instead of Alzheimer’s.

Of course, we have kept in touch. Friends may leave the area, but never leave our hearts. We have visited back and forth, but not often enough. There are four of us friends that call ourselves the YaYas ever since we read Rebecca Wells’ book of the same name. We’ve had many funny times together, a lot of them recalled this weekend. I’m so glad we had the opportunity. Sometimes it does get to be too late.

CREPE MYRTLE TIME

2008-07-07T09:56:00.000-06:00

I have always said that if crepe myrtles didn’t bloom so long that we would appreciate them more. We have festivals and trails for short term bloomers like azaleas and dogwoods, but we ignore the equally beautiful crepe myrtles because they last so long. My fairy godmother, Kathryn Tucker Windham says they bloom 100 days once they start. I have just noticed them in the past week or so, so we have over 90 days of splendor left.

Downtown Thomasville has been revitalized with new plantings and streetscapes. An integral part of the scheme is the light lavender pink Near East crepe myrtles. They have a restrained gentility of bloom that enhances rather than shouts. I have always liked that…until this year. The crepe myrtles that catch my eye this year are the happy watermelon reds. There is one up the street at a very unremarkable house. You don’t even notice the house, though, for the sentinel tree. I’m including a picture of it to make your eyes glad.

I have done something wrong with my crepe myrtles. They are gigantic trees, but don’t seem to bloom too well. Perhaps I need to prune, them, but they’re so big, I’d have to hire a tree trimming company to do it. They aren’t that old in plant terms. I can remember distinctly when I planted them. A local girl was getting married. Because her college roommate was the Governor’s daughter, there was a tea for her at the Governor’s Mansion. I bought them that day. I thought they were all going to be one color, white, but I turned out with 5 different plants to have 5 different colors. That was in the days before I became a born again gardener, so they are lucky to have lived at all, let alone bloomed. I have pretty much ignored them low these 25 years, but yesterday I made a point to have a good look at them. They are not shouting glory to the skies like the tree up the street. In fact, they’re hardly even saying “hello”.

I am glad they put the crepe myrtles in downtown, even if I wish now they were a brighter, bawdier version of themselves. Thomasville is not a restrained, genteel Black Belt town, we are noisier than that with the town being built up around the train tracks. I live downtown. The day is punctuated by the whistle blasts of rumbling locomotives. As gas prices rise, I expect to hear more of them.

The train tracks were the interstates of their day. Before that, it was the rivers with their steamboats. Rural Southwest Alabama was in the mainstream during both of those eras. When the interstates were built, we were bypassed. It really turned out to be a good thing because, it is like our small towns remained intact, untouched by urban sprawl. We still have downtowns and trees. When the bank built a new parking lot downtown, they left a particularly nice purple crepe myrtle intact. I’m going to go in a few minutes and ride around town to count the blooming crepe myrtles. It‘s a new game for me. You are never too old to experience wonder. That is how I plan to spend today, enjoying life in rural Southwest Alabama.

THE SCENIC RIVER TRAIL OPENS

2008-06-10T15:00:00.003-06:00

Friday was the day that the 631 mile Alabama Scenic River Trail opened. It is the longest River Trail in the United State of America. It runs the entire length of the State of Alabama. It starts at the Georgia line on the Coosa River in the northeast corner of the state and runs down the Alabama River into the mouth of Mobile Bay. This has been an 18 month project of a statewide committee.

This was the brainchild of Fred Couch, a jeweler in Anniston who has been an avid canoe enthusiast for 30 years. He thought “what if?” and made it happen. He coincidentally had this good friend named Bob Riley, who is in his second term as the governor of Alabama. He passed the project on to the Alabama Office of Tourism and Travel. They pulled together all the partners to work on the project. Everybody from corporate Alabama Power Company to local tourism programs and chambers of commerce to the Army Corp of Engineers got involved. The Alabama Councils of Resource Conservation and Development embraced the project and donated funds to make it happen. The project, on the day it opened, became a National Recreational Trail under the National Park Service.

The rivers are some of the assets we in rural Southwest Alabama that we have always had and just took for granted. We have both the Alabama and the Tombigbee Rivers flowing right by our doorsteps. We have always boated and fished in them, but never thought of inviting other people to come enjoy them. Now everybody knows. We put together brochures that catalogue all the things to see and do along the way. Nine of the attractions in the brochure are in rural Southwest Alabama. There is a website alabamascenicrivertrail.com where you can go and find out all about it. Both USA Today and the New York Times have done articles on it.

Wonder what else we have in rural Southwest Alabama that we take for granted that other folks might think is wonderful? I can’t wait to find out! Better still, why don’t you come to visit and tell us what you like. We take too much for granted about where we live. I bet you do, too. Bring your canoe and see the sights from the river. There are fossils in the banks, birds of all kinds singing overhead in the tree, and wildflowers growing along the way. There are historic sites all along the way. You can bring a powerboat, but the best way to beat the gas prices is in a can

A Movie Premier Comes to Thomasville

2008-06-10T14:38:00.001-06:00

Who says nothing exciting happens in little towns in rural Southwest Alabama? We are going to have a movie premier coming up at the end of July in downtown Thomasville.
How did this happen? Well, synchronicity is everything. I went, as you know to Kathryn Tucker Windham’s birthday party last week in Selma. I ran into a childhood friend of mine – Ron Harris. He used to be Ronald in his youth until he moved to Huntsville, got sophisticated and became Ron. He also became a playwright. He wrote a play “Like Mice, Like Rats” that was made into a movie called “Twenty Years After”. It is a Science Fiction Fairy Tale. Ron says it’s science fiction, but it’s a fairy tale because it has a happy ending. His sister, Lena Carol has never fully understood Ron’s fanciful nature. She said about the movie “Well, you know Ronald…it’s going to be weird”. I look forward to finding out when we host the Deep South Premier on July 28th at the Thomasville Theater.
We chose this location because as a child, Ron went to the picture show, as we called it in those days, every Saturday. He lived in Putnam, a little community near the Tombigbee River in Marengo County. He would come into town with his Aunt Sister, who was coming in to town to shop and get her hair done at Bedsole’s Department Store Beauty Parlor. He said he was a very impressionable child who was much affected by what he saw on the silver screen. One Saturday during the 1950s, he saw a news reel about the polio epidemic. There were children in iron lungs on the screen. He immediately came down with polio. He could no longer walk. His legs would not move. In a little while, the usher called “Ronald, your aunt is here”. He didn’t move. Again came the call, “Your aunt is here and she’s getting mad!” He stayed in his seat. Finally, the usher and his aunt came after him. His legs would not move, so they had to drag him up the isle with his legs flopping. This is only one of the good stories that Ron will share with the audience who comes for his premier. His good friend, Kathryn Tucker Windham, will be there. He’s going to ask her to share her stories, too. At the age of twelve, she was the movie critic for the Thomasville Times which was owned by her cousin Earl.

This is going to be the most fun! I can’t wait until somebody says “What’s been going on with you?” and I can say “I’m working on a movie premier project here in downtown Thomasville”. Everybody is excited about the project. The local Theater owners, Linda and Jerry Edwards, have graciously consented to let us use the theater for the event. They have a real community spirit. The Mayor has said we can block off the street in front of the theater for the event. ALA TOM RC&D has offered their office across the street to host a reception following the showing. The Southwest Alabama Tourism Office and the Southwest Alabama Chamber of Commerce are involved as are the University of Alabama Center for Economic Development and the Auburn Extension Service. The Clarke County Arts Council is involved. When a good idea comes along, we all embrace it and work together. Plus the fact, that we in rural Southwest Alabama love an occasion.

Kathryn Tucker Windham’s Birthday

2008-06-05T07:32:00.003-06:00

One of the eternal mysteries of life is how Kathryn Tucker Windham can reach 90 years of age with the verve, energy and mental acuity she has. Every one of her faculties is still intact. She has started to use a cane in the past few months. She says one of her knees has found out how old she is and she hopes it doesn’t tell the other knee. She still lives alone and takes care of herself. She still travels on airplanes and drives herself on short car trips.

On June 2, she turned 90. The whole town of Selma and friends from as far away as California turned out to help her celebrate on Sunday June 1. She had two bands participating. One played at the church service in her honor at her home church, Church Street United Methodist, the Dill Pickers led by her friend Norton Dill who produced an award winning documentary about her. The other, led by her dentist Mike Mahan, was a jazz band that paraded down the street at her birthday party at the Selma Public Library.

The church service featured hymns of her childhood selected by Kathryn. The rafters rang with renditions of “Standing on the Promises” and I’ll Fly Away”. All of the ministers who served the church since Kathryn had joined in 1951 were there (at least those who were still alive). Kathryn sat on the second row and tapped her feet in time to the music. Afterwards the church honored her in their fellowship hall, the old A&P grocery store. They named the fellowship hall in her honor that day. They served an old fashioned fried chicken dinner to hundreds of people.

The birthday part itself was held on the lawn of the Selma Public Library – one of Kathryn’s favorite places. Kathryn was positioned on the balcony waving out to the crowd of a thousand who were in attendance. She looked like the Pope bestowing blessings on those gathered. The event was a comb concert. Kathryn has made a mission out of teaching people to play combs as musical instruments. The way it is done is to take a comb with a small sheet of waxed paper wrapped around it, with the ends loose. The comb is placed in from of the player’s mouth. The player hums the tune of the song which vibrates the paper causing the comb to act like a musical instrument. People who otherwise have no musical ability can learn to play the comb. Kathryn says the way she came to appreciate comb playing was when she ended up teaching a class of 30 junior high school aged boys in Sunday school. She said the only way she could keep them entertained was by teaching them to play the comb. She said they played the entire Methodist Hymnal during that year.

The party started with Dr. Mahan’s band marching down the street playing “When the Saints Go Marching In”. I don’t know how old the men were but the musicians looked like a group of Kathryn’s peers. They played then the combs were played then everybody sang. After about an hour of playing and parching in the sun, the participants marched down the street to the Performing Arts Center where they were served cake and refreshments. It’s hard to say exactly how many people there were, but Kathryn had ordered a thousand combs and they ran out. She also had ordered a thousand Moon Pies, which are a particular favorite of hers. She said when she found out the bakery in Chattanooga where the Moon Pies are made, she talked to the owner who said his father used to preach in the Selma area. He turned out to be the preacher who married Kathryn and her husband Amasa. Talk about a small world! I asked her if he donated the Moon Pies free when he found out the connection. He did not. Commerce triumphed over sentimentality once more.

Kathryn’s birthday party was another example of her ability to inspire people to come together. Her stories have a way of bringing us back to our roots and a celebration of who we are here in rural Southwest Alabama. They touch a cord of southerness in people everywhere. A painter who now lives in upstate New York once heard Kathryn on National Public Radio and called her. He said “Hearing you made me homesick. Can I come see you?” She agreed so he did and came to spend two days with her. He had such a good time he came back later, bringing his family. He stayed two weeks and painted her portrait which hangs proudly in her dining room. Kathryn has that effect on people. You meet her and before you know it you’re adopted into her extended family. She has a way of creating a celebration out of living, bringing everyone along with her.

Wilcox County Takes Off

2008-05-29T14:25:00.002-06:00

When we started this tourism program 5 years ago, who’d have thought that Wilcox County would be one of the stars in our crown? They were a community that time forgot. They had turned inward upon themselves, without much regard for the outside world. They were either living in the past or struggling toward the future. They were one of the most isolated parts of rural Southwest Alabama, partly by geography and partly by choice. For whatever reason, they were a place apart.

A number of things came together to change Wilcox County’s perception of itself and the outside world’s perception of it. The first thing was the return of the retirees. There were professional people who had left the area to seek jobs elsewhere, but when it was time to put down permanent roots, they returned to the place of their birth. They brought with them the vision of other times and other places based on the things they had seen out there in the world. In spite of being in the bigger world, they always longed for the peace, natural serenity and beauty that was their Wilcox County birthright.

The second thing to change was the discovery of the Gees Bend Quilters by the Big World. The beauty of the quilts made from the scraps of daily living symbolized what Wilcox County has to offer - bevy of designs that together make art out of everyday living. They are original, colorful, and individual. Together they make a bold statement personified in the people still there in Gees Bend -“We are who we are. You can appreciate us for who we are or not, but we will continue as we are. If you want to come see us, we will welcome you. It will take effort to find us, but should you come, we will share our authenticity with you. You will leave feeling you have met people who are real.”

The third thing to happen to change Wilcox County was the founding of Black Belt Treasures. It was the brainchild of John Clyde Riggs – the director of Alabama Tombigbee Regional Commission. Two years earlier, he was one of three visionaries along with Norman Burton of Ala Tom R C & D and Nisa Miranda of the Center for Economic Development at the University of Alabama, who started a tourism program as an on going program of economic development for rural Southwest Alabama. John Clyde (good old southern double name) would wake up at night thinking of a way to pull together all the artists, writers, musicians and craftspeople of the area into one marketing effort. Black Belt Treasures was born. They started out by identifying 90 artists and craftspeople to represent in a nonprofit cooperative gallery. That number has grown to 280.

The fourth thing that happened was that Governor Bob Riley allowed the Gees Bend Ferry to reopen. It had been closed in the ‘60s to prevent the people in the Bend from coming over across the river to Camden, the county seat, to register to vote. By ferry, the distance was 6 miles, but road, it was 45 miles. It just never reopened. Bureaucratic red tape is hard to remove once it place. It takes something big to make it happen. When Gees Bend Quilts became world famous, it happened.
Now with the quilts on one side of the Alabama River and the Black Belt Treasures on the other, suddenly there was a road trip worth taking.

The fifth thing to happen was the printing of a brochure called 100 Places to Eat Before You Die. The Alabama Department of Tourism and Travel says it is their most popular brochure ever. Gaines Ridge Supper Club is on the list. They were a thriving business already, but their traffic ahs picked up even more with the listing of their Black Bottom Pie. In the meantime, another restaurant called Uncle Redd’s has opened with soul food that is rapidly becoming famous.

The sixth thing to happen is the innovative thinking of the people themselves.
The Chamber of Commerce has come together behind good ideas. There is a whole weekend of festivities coming up the last weekend in June with a Riverbank Festival of Jazz and food on Friday night, a Folk Life Festival at Black Belt Treasures on Saturday the unveiling of a Quilt Mural Trail in Gees Bend, and a fireworks display on Saturday night. There was a Crappy Fishing Tournament that was a big success. There is an ongoing effort to bring cultural enrichment to the children and youth of the area through a program called Bama Kids headed by local legend Sheryl Threadgill Mathews. People are coming together in Wilcox County. They are working together for the common good. It’s a good place to visit. There are lots of things to see.

Vacation at Home

2008-05-23T12:41:00.000-06:00

When I was a child we used to have operettas at school. We would all dress up in homemade finery and sing songs like the one I remember in my head right now “I just came back from a lovely trip along the Milky Way. I stopped off at the North Pole to spend a holiday.” I feel like I’ve just been on a trip to a place just that farfetched. I went to a convention in Las Vegas.

The Las Vegas in my mind was the one left over from the sixties and seventies with modern architecture and lounge lizard singers. There was cheap food to get you to gamble. That world no longer exists. Now there are castles from Europe and pyramids from Egypt. The shows are Cirque de Soliel spectacles and Broadway productions. The hotels themselves are works of art. I stayed at Caesar’s Palace. It looked like a palace – the kind that they turn into museums in Italy. There are casinos in the hotel that you have to walk through to get to everything, but there are also upscale shops, dining and theaters. The food itself is now a centerpiece of the entertainment. Nothing is tawdry. Nothing is cheap. For example, there was no coffee maker in the room. I called down and was informed that to have one brought up would be $40.00. There was coffee for sale downstairs in a fancy French patisserie for $4.00 in a to go cup.

I enjoyed the shopping. The stores were famous designers. I know that I am a bargain shopper. I also know that all the clothes, whether designer or discount store, are all made in the same sweatshops in the Far East. Sometime the fabrics are nicer and the clerks are snobbier, but otherwise you are paying for a label. If you think a label makes a skirt worth $300, then go for it. I didn’t, but I enjoyed the looking for my education.

The food was wonderful, as it should be at those prices. In rural Southwest Alabama, we eat well for week on what one meal there costs.

I love to read. One thing I noticed was that there was only one book shop that I saw. I was about to go in until I realized that it was a bookie shop. The signs leading to it said Book with an arrow pointing the way. I go to it and realized that it wasn’t what I had in mind.

I would hate to be in Las Vegas this coming holiday weekend. It was crowded during the week, so I can imagine it on a holiday. Luckily, I don’t have to be there. I have been on the go so much lately that I will spend this weekend in my favorite place – on my porch. I am sitting here now writing this. I heard birds singing in all of the trees. My garden is in full bloom. The daylilies are dancing with the hydrangeas. I am drinking a glass of pomegranate iced tea and contemplating life. Two cats doze nearby. I will sit here this holiday weekend and read a good book. I’ll put some classical music on the CD player to mingle with the birdsong. My food will be just as good as that I ate in Las Vegas – just a different kind.

I love to see the world. Las Vegas is a world class destination. I’m glad I saw it. I’m equally glad that I can be here in rural Southwest Alabama today and not there. My real world is so much better than the fairy tale they have created for you to live in while you give them your money. There are plenty of one armed bandits in Las Vegas to take your money, but the whole world of $40.00 coffee pot rentals has figured out more than one way to fleece you.

I will just be here on the porch enjoying the birds and the flower gardens. I will read a book, not place a bet with a book maker. I’m betting that I will have a better time here this holiday weekend, than I did in Las Vegas. Where I am in rural Southwest Alabama is real, authentic, and relaxing. This is a place to restore your soul, not loose your shirt.

Avoiding the Food Police

2008-05-13T13:50:00.000-06:00

Before you’d get arrested by the food police for even mentioning bacon drippings, we ate it at every meal. It was for us what ghee (clarified butter) was to the Indian diet. It was essential.

It all started in the rural south when pork fat was the only cooking medium available for both frying and seasoning. I don’t know what Yankees used, but I bet it didn’t have the same nourishing, smoky flavor of bacon fat. You notice that I referred to it as bacon drippings. That is what all the southern cooks in my family have always called it. They had special little metal pots with a little tray sieve in it. They could pour the hot bacon fat directly into it. The little bits of cooked bacon in the pan would be caught in the sieve, with the hot fat dripping down into the pot below. I guess that’s why they called it bacon drippings.

We don’t eat that much bacon drippings anymore since the food police took over when we started making the correlation between pork fat and people dropping dead of strokes and heart attacks. Doctors, who have had one course in nutrition in their entire medical training, became those food police. If we ate bacon drippings, they would put our names on a most wanted list that hung in post offices all over rural Southwest Alabama and I’ve heard even as far away as Texas where our relatives went when they got in trouble with the law in Alabama and Mississippi. I understand the food police had a list for butter offenders nationwide, which they recently had to remove because somehow, we found out that butter is so much better for you than margarine which turns out to plastic.

Today I had steam fried potatoes and onions in bacon drippings. Now I have to turn myself in. However, as every good sinner knows, some things are worth it. The bacon drippings may be a more forbidden pleasure than adultery. I know that eating those potatoes was certainly pleasurable.

My grandmother used to make potatoes like those every time I would go spend the night with her. They are really a very simple dish. You heat the bacon drippings to the sizzling point in a heavy pan. Then you throw in as many diced or sliced potatoes and onions as you think you can eat at one sitting (they’re not as good left over). You turn down the heat, put on a lid and let them steam fry. Every so often you take a spatula and get up the parts that have browned to the pan. You do this several times during the approximately 20 minutes it takes to cook the potatoes over medium heat. I only cooked one potato and half an onion, because I had eaten a bacon and tomato sandwich earlier. That is how I came to have bacon drippings on hand. I threw away my bacon drippings container sometime in the last century or when I got divorced. I thought of my grandma’s potatoes and felt nostalgic.

They don’t call it comfort food for nothing. Those potatoes, sprinkled with the Creole seasoning instead of Maw maw’s liberal dousing of black pepper, topped with a light squirting of ketchup made a really great supper. The onions were transparent and the potatoes were custardy. Both were shiny with bacon drippings, even though I had drained and patted them with paper towels to assuage my guilt. I have rarely had such a soul satisfying meal recently. I understand why grassroots southern cooking is called soul food. Those potatoes, with their coating of politically incorrect bacon drippings filled up a place in my soul. There were to me, what the made lines were to Proust in “Remembrance of Things Past”.

Now if I must, I will give myself up to the food police. As I told you before, some things are worth it.

Garden Plant Follies

2008-05-12T07:48:00.001-06:00

If everything I had planted in my garden had lived, I’d be in the midst of a jungle right now. It’s probably for the best that my garden practices survival of the fittest. We have been in drought for the past 3 years. Last summer was the worst. What plants did come back, I know to be like the residents of rural Southwest Alabama themselves – hardy survivors.

It’s early morning and I have already been out for my morning walk in the garden. I go barefoot and carry a cup of some kind of tea. I love tea – hot in the morning. Later in the day when I am done with my morning tea, I cut off the kettle and let it cool down. I then drink it in the afternoon iced. I love tea, but I guess in some ways I am not the typical southern tea drinkers because I can’t take the sugary syrup that most southerners want. Our most famous meal is meat and three with sweet tea. It is like drinking sugar straight to me.

My garden is beginning to contribute to my tea drinking by providing various kinds of mint to add to it. I have peppermint spearmint, mint the best, apple mint, lemon mint, orange mint, chocolate mint and variegated pineapple mint currently planted in my garden. Most of them are planted in pots. I’m no fool. I have seen many happy plants gallop away to really invade a garden. That has recently happed with my volunteer spiderworts. This is a plant brought over by the colonists for its medicinal properties. It is so happy in the rural south that it runs a close third in garden invasions to kudzu and wisteria. “Kudzu and Baptists are taking the South” was what a college professor of mine used to say. Wisteria is nothing but genteel kudzu. The way you plant both of them is a throw a plant down and run like hell.
Spiderwort may be worse in a garden because it reproduces from ANY part of the plant - roots, leaves, stems and flowers. The real problem with it is, like wisteria, it looks so pretty at the beginning that you think it belongs there. I have visited two public gardens recently where it was in the flower borders with more legitimate plants. One was Jasmine Hills Gardens and the other was Grace Episcopal Close Garden. They have real gardeners, so I assume they knew what they were doing. This is one plant that not only survived the drought, but tried to fill up most of my flower beds in the process.

My wisteria is a century old problem. My house is that old and the first owner must have planted it when Art Nouveau was making wisteria so revered. I have a large yard. The wisteria is down in the east corner. Over the century, the roots have come up and started new bushes anywhere nobody was paying attention. There is an oak tree that has exposed roots on the bank that has survived three hurricanes because the wisteria is so intertwined with it. In another part of the garden, the growth was so invasive that I just gave up and built a swing arbor for it to crawl on. Unfortunately, it can’t tell the difference in the arbor and the nearby tree, so it has engulfed both and has sent out roots so long, they are coming up on the other side of the house many yards away. The vines in the lower part of the yard are big enough to build stout furniture out of it. I can’t mess with it much, though, because the big oak tree would fall down.

I do have to get to work on the spiderwort. I need to let it know it’s not the only plant I want to grow. I have included a picture of it. It’s like that junior high girl who looks so pretty, but smarts off at her parents when she’s at home.

Simple Foods

2008-05-12T07:40:00.001-06:00

I just had one of my favorite breakfasts. I was sitting on my porch listening to the birds sing. The food I ate is a dish I learned to make at age 5 while reading my Susie Homemaker Golden Book. It is melted sharp cheese on saltine crackers. I have come to name it Poor Man’s Cheese Straws.

One of the absolute favorite party dishes here in rural Southwest Alabama is cheese straws. They are cheese pastries torturously extruded out of a cookie press. They are wonderful – a mixture of cheese, flour, butter, cayenne pepper and pinches of spices. Now you can buy them at places like Target anytime. They used to be quite a delicacy making famous for the households that produced them.

My poor man’s cheese straws taste very much like them, only they are just toasted crackers and cheese. When I grew up, a friend of mine’s father had a country store on a dirt road in Chance, Alabama. They lived in an unpainted house across the road form the store. I can remember going to visit them on Sunday afternoons when I was a little girl in the days before Daddy took up golf, which ended our Sunday excursions forever.

When I was about four, we went down to visit. We played outside in the road coaxing doodlebugs out of their holes under the house with the taunt “Doodlebug, Doodlebug, come out o your hole. Your house is on fire!” They would come out. Not because they understood the gravity of their situation with the house on fire, but because we were torturing them with a broom straw stuck in the hole. Anyway, we were dirty and had to be bathed in the big claw foot tub in the bathroom added on the back porch. There were 3 of us in the tub. I can remember it so clearly because there was only an inch of water in it, but it was enough for us all to bath in. I didn’t understand it was because of it being a dry summer and the well being low.

Another thing I remember about that trip was that my friend, Frankie, the child of the family nearest my age, came running out to the car saying “I have brought you some paper dolls”. Being a town girl, I knew all about paper dolls from the Bedsole’s Ten Cent Store. I was excited until I saw them. They were cutouts from the Sears and Roebuck catalogue.

I’m telling you all this, to emphasize the simplicity of my breakfast. The basic supplies for making this were in every country store in every part of the Deep South. Saltine crackers and hoop cheese were always available in any place that sold food.
They were as common as the cans of pork and beans or sardines sold for lunches for people working in the woods and fields. The other night at Lion’s Club, two of the members were joking about the seafood platters they had for lunch while working in the woods. What they had were sardines on crackers, which they found as delightful as my poor man’s cheese straws.

There is a right and wrong way to prepare these toasted cheese crackers should you ever want to try them. The right was is to start with the most well aged cheddar cheese you can find. I use a Yankee cheese that I think is the best – Cabot’s extra sharp Vermont Cheddar or Kraft Extra Sharp Cracker Barrel that has a date that is about to expire. You must use plain saltine crackers. I have tried variations with Ritz or other fancier crackers. It will not work. The plain crackers turn into a crisp pastry when done right. Besides, you don’t want any sweetness in these.

You must bake the crackers at 350 degrees until the cheese is running off the crackers and leaves a lacy brown edge on cookie sheet. Do not let the crackers touch each other or they will not be as crisp and good. I have tried adding ground cayenne pepper and garlic powder under the cheese, It is okay if you like it, but not necessary to the success of the crackers. The key is the sharpness of the cheese and the slow baking. I promise you a delicacy that you can serve to anybody with pride. I have served it on the front porch to all kinds of dignitaries who just happen by. My front porch is a known gathering place in my hometown. We’ve had parties after big meetings, we’ve had every morning coffee meetings. We’ve had major quality of life discussions over iced tea. I’m having two distinguished guests who happen to be dear friends this weekend. We’ll be having breakfast on the porch eating – of course, poor man’s cheese straws. Don’t’ be too proud or too sophisticated to try them!

HAPPENINGS IN SELMA

2008-05-06T11:11:00.000-06:00

I’m so proud of Selma. There is getting to be something to do there every weekend. Last weekend was the Battle of Selma. The weekend before that was the Pilgrimage and the Antique Sale. In the midst of all that, Senator John McCain made a visit. It doesn’t matter what our political leanings are. This was a major event for Selma, Gees Bend and Thomasville.

This past weekend, there were several interesting things that happened, but on a much quieter scale. The Freedom Foundation which recently moved to Selma from Colorado spearheaded a local production of the musical “Footloose”. It used local talent from all schools, ethnicities, and walks of life.

In conjunction with the play, the historic St. James Hotel had a special dinner package. They offered a 4 course dinner for $30.00 a person. I ate all four courses. The best thing was the sweet potato crème brule'.

The play was good, the food was special. The highlight of the weekend in my anticipation was the Sunday afternoon high tea at Sturdivant Hall. There was to be a tea tasting and wonderful refreshments as well as a lecture by a world traveled tea planter. I was so looking forward to it. Everything lived up to my expectations except the lecture. It was on the art of tea growing. It started off well enough. He told us about the history of tea, the kinds of tea and interesting facts about tea. That was where the interesting part left off. There is NOTHING more boring than a boring Englishman. I think the actual growing of tea takes less time than his explanation of it. There were lots of slides which were supposed to move along automatically. He would stop on a particular slide and give excruciating details about the picking of tea or the drying of tea. People all around me were dozing and slipping out. One lady graciously agreed to give up her seat near the front to a person who were hard of hearing. She had been one of the dozers.

This man had traveled around the world trying to figure out why production was down on a given plantation. I think one reason it might have been down was that pickers were going to sleep during one of his pep talks. He was enthusiastic in a droning sort of way about things like black tea being oxidized instead of fermented. It was like listening to an engineer wax lengthy (not eloquent) on some obscure part he was developing to increase the productivity of a widget. A lot of people’s eyes were glazing over (those who were not dozing) by the time he hit the 45 minute mark. He was particularly into a process called CTC – cut, tear and curl. I was about ready to do all three to him by the time he was through.

The experience reminded me of the old axiom we always use. If a teacher would just teach sex education like he teaches everything else, the students would loose all interest in sex. It was perfectly excruciating.

You may remember the 2 ½ hour lecture on herbs I wrote about a few months back. I could have listened to the herbalist all day. I felt like I DID listen to the tea planter all day. I decided that it being Sunday, I’d have rather listened to a fundamentalist preacher for the 150th time on the blood of Christ than 45 minutes of the tea planter. Oh, God.

The only things that kept me from bolting were the three other people I had fooled into coming with me and the memory of all those beautiful goodies in the dining room waiting to be consumed. It was like bible school. There is a reason they serve refreshments at the end.

JEWELRY SALE TIME

2008-04-28T14:47:00.002-06:00

In rural Southwest Alabama, we love our bargains. Some of the best are to be had at the Hospital Auxiliary Jewelry Sales held by the local hospitals. You never saw such fabulous fakes for sale at $5.00 a piece. I’m sure you have passed some great fake places in airports or in malls as you have traveled. I guess these are the remainders from the importers of those places or something like that. They do not look cheap, they just are.

I have friends who have fine diamonds, but who choose to wear these pieces instead. I have one church friend who is a very conservative person whose real jewelry would never call attention to itself. However, because the rest of us have such fun with the fakes, she’s started to wear them, too. She comes to church with a whole set of large stones on her fingers. She says her husband won’t let her wear them unless he’s along as a body guard. She will let her hands fall to her side as if the jewels are too heavy to carry.

Another friend kept wearing her fabulous fakes so well that she embarrassed her husband into giving her a 4 carat real diamond. She was wearing the fakes around and bragging on them. One lady admired her large ring and was told it wasn’t real. They admirer said “I wish you hadn’t told me”. The husband surprised his wife with the real thing so she’d quit wearing the fakes and bragging about them. I guess he figured he’d give her something the really brag about. Frankly, most of us think having the real thing would be a waste of money when we can play with the fakes and discard them when we’re tired of them.

I am very partial to throw away watches. I have one that is real gold that I bought on sale at a national discount place. The band broke. I was going to have it repaired, but it was going to cost a couple of hundred to do it. I decided to put it in a drawer and just wear throw a ways from the jewelry sales.

There are two hospitals in the area that each has sales, but they use different companies. We have a lot of variety to choose from. One sale is this week and the other is next week. I can’t wait to see what is available. One of the auxiliaries has told their company to bring some new stuff because they have the same customers every time and they want something different. I think that’s real nice of them to provide such good customer service!

Well, I better run. I want to get to the sale before all the good stuff is gone!

Interesting Spring

2008-04-18T14:44:00.002-06:00

My friend Deanna keeps track of the truth of the old axiom “If it thunders in February, It will frost in April”. We were discussing it not long ago. She marked it down on the calendar when it did thunder in February. I called her day before yesterday to find out if there was a correlation sine the weatherman gave the forecast for frost this week. She had it documented. The frost was not forecasted for the exact same day, but was within a couple of days. Maybe our ancestors didn’t have the Weather Channel, but it seems that some of their superstitions were more that just folklore.

I am a person who loves the “what ifs?” of life. I still say that the Kennedy assassination was a conspiracy and that Elvis is alive and well, living in Minnesota and shopping at Wal-Mart. He is just so fat and homely now that he looks like a bad imitation of one of his impersonators. Where better to hide out from the press hounds than in plain sight?

From now on I will pay more attention when it thunders in February. I was lulled into thinking that spring has come. I had begun, but luckily, not finished the process of swapping out winter and spring clothes. Most of the winter stuff I wear little enough anyway. I have to admit that all the wool and fur coats are not really for the climate of rural Southwest Alabama. We get chilly, but only occasionally does it get really bone chillingly cold for any length of time. We get a lot more wear out of shirtsleeves that coats.

I was caught napping as far as the cold was concerned. I still have space heaters in my old house. There are a couple of reasons for that. One is that they do the job quite well. The other is that I love having a window unit air conditioner in my bedroom in the summer. I had turned off the pilot lights on the heaters. I hate to turn them on again just for a day or two. It has gotten down to freezing for the last two nights. My remedy has been to get up early in the morning and make a fire in the fireplace. I love to have my early morning coffee or tea by the fire. By midmorning the whole downstairs is warm. I close off the hall that leads to the upstairs where the heat will all rise. I don’t even have heaters upstairs because it always stays warm enough without them.

Old houses do have their quirks. One of them is that we build our houses in rural Southwest Alabama to accommodate the long hot summers. Winter is no more to us than a passing bother. Our tall ceilings are made to cause the summer heat to rise. We have heat in the winter, but it is not our houses reason for being. As I’ve told you before, we can use our front porches for about nine months of the year. It serves as an extended living room. I call myself the Front Porch Philosopher because I do most of my meditating there. I also do most of my entertaining there, too. I have friends who call to see if I’m porch sitting so they can come join me and others who just ride by and if I’m out there, stop to chat. Just last week I had two different overnight guests. We were able to sit on the porch until bedtime chatting. This week, we’d freeze out testers off if we tried.

The thing I hate most about the cold snap is that I have recently accumulated some very nice plants in my travels around the region. I am just itching to get them in the ground. I was counting on this week to begin my spring planting in earnest. As I sit here by the fire, I think I might as well enjoy this, probably the last fire of the season. I said that last month, too.
I visited with Joyce and Ed Burrage yesterday down at Chilton. Joyce has an antique flower garden she’s been cultivating since 1974. She has some nice early blooms that I took pictures of to share with you. There are some early clematis and some real English daisies from seed she got in England. I hope tonight’s cold snap doesn’t get them.

I guess I should just be glad I live in rural Southwest Alabama where this cold, too, shall pass.

Healing Springs

2008-04-11T13:01:00.000-06:00

I love having adventures in rural Southwest Alabama. It’s fun to discover new places that are interesting in our area. Yesterday I went to Healing Springs. It is located in north Washington County near Millry. It has been rumored to have healing powers since an Indian Chief discovered them three hundred years ago. He had a running sore on his leg that nothing would cure. He took some of the mineral sludge that is in the runoff around the spring and rubbed it on the sore. He was cured. Since then, there have been scores of miraculous healings of all kinds. Whether they are true or not, most of the residents of the area believe. They come at all hours to collect the water to drink. The gates are open to the public during all the daylight hours. There is a man who lives on the site of the ruins of the old hotel and springs who leaves the gate open when he goes to work, then closes it at night. Virginia Radley, the owner of the Healing Springs property has a house on the property that she visits frequently. She tells of the man who came by just a few nights ago about ten o’clock. The gates were locked and he blew his car horn to get somebody’s attention. He had driven from Quitman, Mississippi to get water. When told that the springs were open only in daylight hours, he said “You don’t understand. I just got off from work and came straight here. My whole family drinks this water for their heath, including my elderly mother. She depends on this water.” He was allowed to get the water, but told in the future, he would have to make other arrangements.

Healing Springs was once a thriving resort in the early part of the 20th Century. People came by train to stay at the hotel and drink the water. There were originally 33 springs which dwindled to 17. There are now three that overflow and are operational. They are designated as being for different conditions

There is the Mound Spring which is for female diseases as well as dyspepsia, indigestion, stomach troubles, eczema, old sores and skin diseases. This is the spring that Dr. Knight, the dentist who was the father of the present owner benefited from when he came with a stomach ulcer in the early part of the last century to take a cure. He was cured in 6 weeks. He vowed when he left to return and buy the springs, which he did.

The Creek Spring is designated for kidney, bladder, urinary ailments, and Bright’s Disease.

The Iron Spring is for instantaneous relief of chronic constipation, piles, chills, malaria fevers and as a blood builder.

I took home two bottles of the Mound Spring water. Virginia gave me two old glass half gallon bottles to fill at the spring. She said her mother always thought glass was a better preserver of the natural state of the water than was plastic. The water is quite tasty. There has been some discussion of bottling it for sale. However, as the water sits, the minerals in it settle to the bottom of the container forming the same rusty residue that the Indian Chief used to cure his sore. In bottled water, the water is purified of substances, then minerals are added to enhance flavor. The whole point of these waters are the original mineral content, so further methods need to be sought before it would ever be commercially bottled. In the meantime, anyone can stop by and get the waters for free if they bring their own containers. The owner intends to keep the property open to the public for free as long as she can.

Going to visit Healing Springs is part of a neat package of several things to see in the area. There is a completely restored train caboose located in downtown Millry. It is located directly beneath a large American Flag flying overhead. This was designated by Jackie Sims of Mobile as a memorial to her deceased husband. There are two other attractions in the immediate area. One is the Emmett Woods State Lake for birding and fishing. The other is a new attraction. There is a racecourse located down the same road that passes Healing Springs.
It will feature sulky racing. There will be a regular schedule of racing events on the weekends as the facility progress. Now visitors can ride down to see the horses and visit with the owners.

It’s neat to discover new things to do in your own backyard. It’s also neat to travel off the beaten path into rural Southwest Alabama to visit unusual scenic attractions.
There are a number of interesting places to eat along the way. In nearby Silas there is Dee Doc’s which has fried seafood and steaks, There is Bimbo’s which serves homemade pizzas from scratch from an old family recipe as well as American selections. There is Bobby’s Fish Camp on the river between Silas and Coffeeville that specialized in fried catfish and hushpuppies. In Millry, there is fast food to be had at the local convenience store. In Chatom, there are three restaurants offering a meat and three with sweet tea, the local lunch specialty. As you know, food is very important to me. I don’t want to go anywhere without knowing what I can eat. However, the real nutrients of this trip are found in the water, not just the food.

Conecuh Sausage Outlet

2008-04-11T13:00:00.000-06:00

I’ve told you about Conecuh Sausage before. It is a local favorite. They have an outlet right near the interstate in Evergreen. It has been there for some time, but just lately, they put a sign up on I-65. Travelers have discovered Conecuh Sausage!

This is more than a meat market. It is a gift shop with all sorts of treasures. They have gifts, hunting supplies and accessories, cookbooks, and all sorts of condiments. Most importantly, though, they have lots of Conecuh meat products. They have sausage, hams and smoked turkey breasts frozen for travel. You can buy a sausage dog on the spot. They even have samples so you’ll know what Conecuh Sausage tastes like. They will give you a complimentary cook booklet on ways to prepare the sausage.

People who grew up on Conecuh Sausage really like it. We know of people who live up north who bring an extra suitcase when they come down just to take a lot of this sausage home. Now the traveler is discovering how good it is.

Here is a new favorite way I cook Conecuh Sausage:

Conecuh Split Pea Soup
½ lb Conecuh sausage diced
1 large onion, chopped
½ c chopped celery
1 c sliced baby carrots
1 qt water
1 pkg. dried split peas
1 tbsp seasoned salt
1 tsp dried tarragon
1 tsp sugar

Fry sausage until done. Add onion and celery. Put a lid on the pan and sauté until tender. Add all other ingredients. Bring to a boil, then simmer on low for 1 ½ -2 hours until peas disintegrate and carrots are tender.

Of course, always serve with cornbread; just we do everything else here in rural Southwest Alabama!

Exploring Rural Countryside

2008-04-11T12:12:00.001-06:00

Right now I am out exploring the 11 county areas of Rural Southwest Alabama cataloguing assets so that we can decide what things to see we have that are worth bragging about. That would seem easy enough on the surface, but what we locals think is valuable might not always be what you would want to see if you came visiting. It’s like years when years ago I was traveling around to schools on my job and the principal would always want me to eat in the school cafeteria because the food was so good. Let me tell you, that was rarely the case. There were two or three schools that had good food on a regular basis, but most did not. Some of them could even mess up a hamburger. The only thing that could be counted on to be consistently good was fried chicken. Stick enough grease to it and it’s hard to ruin a chicken. The rest of the time, the food was, as my ninety year old friend Mr. Earl Huggins would say, “nothing to write home about”. The thing was that they got so used to eating the food, the staff lost perspective. It was what they had, so they ate it.

There is a parallel here. When you ask people in a community what there is to see in the area, they don’t often have any more perspective than the people at the school have about the cafeteria food. They either refer you to whatever museum they may have with local history or a ball field. The museums may or may not be good. I know recently a friend of mine came to me and said “You need to help the people in Podunk (name changed to protect the obvious) start a museum. Well, Podunk is a dying town that has very little appeal. Why, even the people who used to live there moved off and left the town to die. The history they wanted to preserve might appeal to the grandchildren of the lady who wanted to give you her mother’s wedding dress, but wouldn’t be much in interesting the steady stream of visitors they hoped to attract. Let’s face it, what interests us because we included it because of our links to it won’t mean much to somebody else unless viewed in a larger context. It Mrs. Vanity’s wedding dress were part of a curetted bridal exhibit with information about several periods of history and marriage customs of the rural south, it might be worth a shot. Visitors want context, not random objects jiggled up together in a musty place for them to see. If the random objects are for sale at a bargain, the visitor might be interested in buying them and fitting the objects into their own personal context. However, just to come to Podunk and see some random local things don’t have much appeal to the visitor from somewhere else.

By the same token, some of the things that the locals take for granted might be the very things that appeal to visitors. I ran across one of those things recently in Evergreen, Alabama. I was going out exploring. I happened to mention my destination to my friend, Norman. When I mentioned where I was headed, he said “There’s an airport there that is really cool. You can be riding down the road and see fighter planes coming in to land right over your head.” I had passed that little airport a thousand times and never thought much about it. Nobody in Evergreen had ever said “You need to go out to the airport and watch those Navy pilots do their training maneuvers”. Well, that day I started asking questions. The field is owned by the City of Evergreen, but is a training facility for the Pensacola Air Station. I found out that one of the guys who work at the library where I frequently go to get information had a brother who works there. He called out there and found out that the place would let tourists come by any time and see the planes flying in. In fact, they had two fighter planes displayed up in the air on poles that people could come to look at up close. They have a special event every fall where planes fly in for a weekend festival with all kinds of interesting activities. This place is just off the interstate. I couldn’t help but wonder how many people ride that interstate highway every day who would love to know about Middleton Field.

Probably there are just as many who come down the road who would love to know that there is a City Park in Evergreen that has a good place fro them to break up their journey. There’s a playground for the children, a walking track, and a place to ride horses, fish, or watch birds. How many weary travelers would jump at the chance for just such a break in their journey? Sometimes, we just don’t know what we’ve got.

We’re so hot on getting a new industry to come to town, but we don’t count the travelers who buy gas, shop with us and eat in our restaurants as being a continuous streak of economic development. We locals just don’t appreciate what we’ve got, or know how to package it. We focus on the food in the cafeteria instead of the banquet that is all around us.

A GARDEN TOUR IN SELMA

2008-03-26T09:05:00.001-06:00

Real gardeners are passionate about what they do. So are historic preservationists. When you put the two together, you have a gung ho bunch of folks. The two go together in Selma, Alabama for the Pilgrimage Weekend, but with a different twist. They saw historic places, but they were looking at the bushes, the bulbs and the bones of the gardens.

I am a born again gardener. I have always loved flowers – picking and arranging them, but only in the past few years has that translated into a passion for growing them. I have three friends that influenced my rebirth into gardening. They all had gardens that they loved tending. Just seeing these three doing the care and feeding of the garden awakened something in me. I decided to try it. Fortunately, I live in an old house with good dirt, so it worked. Last summer’s drought made me have second thoughts about flower gardening, but here it is spring and I have the fever again. Naturally, I signed on for the tour.

This time of the year is the season of transition. We have a lovely late winter flowering time. Nothing is more beautiful than a camellia bush. I think the play should have been Steel Camellias instead of magnolia. Camellias look so fragile, but they are so tough. They will last for generations with very little care. We saw some great ones on the tour. They are so common. That they weren’t even considered a focal point. There were bulbs by the hundreds, too. We call it naturalized when they go wild on a hillside. They were naturalized all over the place.

We, of course, visited historic landmarks. We started at the Episcopal Church. We toured the church and saw Tiffany stained glass windows designed by local artist Claire Weaver Parrish, who worked for Tiffany at the turn of the 20th century. We then visited the Live Oak Cemetery where we were entertained by Alabama’s Storyteller, Kathryn Tucker Windham. She laughs when someone asks her to speak to a garden tour. She is not a gardener per se, but she spins great tales about people who are. She actually does have a garden now, shared with her neighbor, artist “Tin Man” Charlie Lucas. They have a vegetable garden that is full of Charlie’s metal sculptures. We heard her family stories and then toured the cemetery, hearing about the interesting people buried there. My favorite grave was that of Mary Todd Lincoln’s sister Elodie who smuggled medical supplies from Washington back to Selma for the Confederacy. She was finally banned from the White House as a result. The life sized statue at her grave is supposed to be a likeness. If it is, she was a lot prettier then her sister.

We toured Keenan’s Mill historic site and had a picnic there. We also toured an antebellum garden owned by the same family as well as “Miss Libba’s” garden that she started when she left the old house and built a new one twenty five years ago. She said the garden just evolved over time. She never meant to have one so big, but she had a passion for plants and a good yard man, so the garden just grew. I have included several pictures of her gardens as well as some of the antebellum house and Keenan’s Mill. All this was arranged by Gery Anderson, a local dentist with a passion for preservation and his home town of Selma.

We ended the tour at Sturvidant Hall, Selma’s official mansion. The gardens there are being lovingly restored by volunteers.

I came home with a renewed conviction that I love rural Southwest Alabama’s climate. We have already had one great flowering season and are getting ready for another. I’d feel cheated if I lived somewhere that the ground didn’t thaw ‘til early June. I love all the seasons of the garden and look forward to them all – we’ve got at least three more this year. Come see for yourself. Now would be a good time. The wisteria is coming into its own. It is as prolific as genteel kudzu. It escaped from many old house places and has blanketed the woods. In fact, over the next year or so, I’m going to map out a wisteria trail through the region. I can look out my window right now and see it. It is lavender and lovely dancing in the treetops.

Historic Mills

2008-03-26T08:53:00.003-06:00

There are three historic Mills in our area of rural Southwest Alabama that would make a great weekend tour. They are located in Dallas County north of Selma. Folsom (11 miles west of Marion on Hwy 14) and north of Beatrice in rural Monroe County.
Keenan’s Mill in Dallas County is owned by the Historical Society. It has been lovingly restored and is open by appointment. The Dallas County Chamber of Commerce has all the details. You can see corn or wheat ground there in a -hands on experience. They also have music on the lawn in early summer. It started out as bluegrass music, but has expanded to include other kinds. This is a water driven mill. It does not have the big water wheel outside the building, but a more efficient operation that turns under the building.
Holmestead Farm is the place in Folsom to see a grist mill. It is housed in an old store museum. Holmestead is owned by the Holmes family. It is the oldest continually operating farm in the State of Alabama. In addition to the store museum, it has a variety of outbuildings, including a dairy and a cotton gin. There are many antique farming implements and tractors housed in some of the buildings. This is an authentic agricultural experience that could take several hours to explore if you ask a lot of questions.
The third mill is Rickard’s Mill in Monroe County. It is open seasonally from April to October. In April, the opening has a day of music and grinding of flour and meal. It ends in October with the Cane Syrup Festival where syrup is made on the spot with you watching and then purchasing the fresh syrup to take home.
If I were planning a weekend to take in all three sites, I would start at the south end with Rickard’s Mill on Friday. I would spend the night in Monroeville, heading for the Monroe County Courthouse Museum early after I had finished my breakfast at the Sweet Tooth Bakery right across the street. I would then head to Rickard’s Mill with a brief stop at Finklea’s Store to buy myself an authentic already seasoned iron skillet. I’d also buy some Monroeville Sausage while I was there to cook in the skillet.
I’d visit Rickard’s Mill, then head on to Camden where I’d eat a late lunch at Uncle Redd’s place where they cook up fresh soul food. Right across the street, I’d visit the Black Belt Treasures gallery of local art and handmade items. I would catch to last ferry to Gees Bend in the afternoon just for the fun of the ride. I’d meander along the back roads out of the Bend to hit Highway 5 and then 22 into Selma. I would spend the night at the historic St. James Hotel. I would also have dinner there, or venture off the beaten path to the Tally Ho that started out as a dinner club in the 1920s. They still have good food, especially, the steaks that they are known for.
The next day, I’d get up early and head out on Hwy 14 for Marion to have breakfast at the Kountry Kitchen. They serve an ample country breakfast that will hold you over well into afternoon. Holmestead Farms has a website, so presumably, you have made an appointment to see it. I would take the time to drive around a little bit in both Selma and Marion to see the architecture. You will pass right through Marion to get to Holmestead Farms. After touring Holmestead Farms, you can either head back to Marion to spend the night at one of their 4 Bed and Breakfasts. You can have dinner either at the Gateway Inn on Hwy 5 or downtown at Lottie’s, enjoying either place.

If you must head home, at least you will take with you a bit of the Black Belt in the sacks of corn and grits you found at the mills.
Here is an easy grits recipe to try at home that will bring you back for more stone ground grits – guaranteed!

SALSA GRITS (a new twist on an old favorite)

½ c grits cooked according to package directions, replacing 1 cup of the water with 1 cup of salsa.
When the grits are thick and tender, add 8 oz of cream cheese melted in.
Serve hot as a side dish for any meat dish, or as a vegetarian entrée.

EASTER WEEK IN THOMASVILLE

2008-03-17T14:09:00.000-06:00

In the exact center of rural Southwest Alabama sits the little town of Thomasville. It is not an old Black Belt Town with pretensions of grandeur and a glorious past to reflect on. It is a plain little town that grew up around the railroad track. It is getting prettier since the downtown revitalization that has caused a resurgence of interest in it. The interest has grown so much that even people who used to say “When a downtown is dead, you aught to bury it” have come around and are taking pride in how it looks.

Four years ago a new United Methodist preacher came to town that has a wife who was a drama major in college. Some of the theatrical influence rubbed off on him. He has built what was a good enough local church Passion Play into a big theatrical production. He even invited the Baptists to participate this year. They did! This is big news since they barely spoke to the Methodists (religiously speaking) for a number of years when they had a preacher who did not believe in mixing the denominations. Having them involved this year was a giant step for church relations. Besides, they have a lot of good singers to complement the Methodists’ good actors. Their choir is bigger, too.

The production was so good this year, it played both Saturday and Sunday nights to packed houses. It is a three act play that starts in the fellowship hall, winds outside to the courtyard and ends up in the sanctuary with Golgotha’s crosses. The grand finale is Jesus ascending into heaven by means of a borrowed forklift. It all works. The crowd rises to its feet at the end and cheers for the Son of God. Next year, Brother Phil, the preacher says the production will be staged in the brand new Thomasville Civic Center, with all local churches participating. We believe it will become as well known regionally as the Moundville Sunrise Service was in its day.

This event was just the kick off to the Holy Week Festivities. I’m sorry I didn’t write about it last week so that you could have some. To be quite frank with you, we really didn’t have room this year because the United Methodists’ fellowship hall was filled to capacity for both performances. The tickets were free, but you had to have a ticket to get in. Next year with the Civic Center in operation, they should have more tickets available. It is something to see. The theatrics are well done and the music is excellent for a local production. It reminded me of what the locals always say about Fred Kimbrough’s productions in Gilbertown “I can’t believe these are local people!”
The other Holy Week Activities included a Maundy Thursday Service at 6:00, a Cross Walk through downtown Thomasville on Friday at 11:00 am (the Stations of the Cross) which ends on top of the hill at the Methodist Church, a drive through of the Crucifixion on Friday evening behind the United Methodist Church from 7:00-9:00, a family Easter Egg Hunt on Saturday at Gates Drive Park at 2:00 pm, and of course every church in town will be having a big service on Sunday. If you plan to be at Sunday services, you better get there early as many local people who do not attend but twice a year will come out for that. My take on this particular subject is not the same one that preachers who at mad at the low crowds on the next Sunday will be. I say “Glad to have you, come join the celebration.” That’s the same thing the folks of Thomasville will say to you.

BLOG 3-3 LEARNING ABOUT HERBS

2008-03-12T14:10:00.003-06:00

Clarke County has some wonderful volunteers. If they see something that needs to be done, they do it. Rita Wilson knew from running her shop, The Country Goose, that a lot of us in the area like to garden. She also knew we liked to cook, so she organized a workshop about herbs that combined both interests. She got Southwest Alabama Extension Agent, Tom Daugherty to speak to us about growing herbs on one rainy morning recently. In spite of the weather, there were 30 people who turned out for the occasion. When Rita cooks, it is an occasion. She had tables full of goodies, mostly made with herbs. She had three cakes including her famous blueberry pound cake with lemon curd. Two of the herb recipes that were hits were the rosemary tea cakes and the layered pesto and sundried tomato spread.

I have included pictures of the event because seeing is believing how she prepares and serves food. I have included one of Tom, the presenter, beside the numerous door prizes that were awarded. There were some really nice ones, but even those of us not lucky enough to win one of these went home with potted herbs in spring green wrappers tied with a gossamer green bow.

Tom gave an interesting and funny speech. I've included some of his entertaining and funny comments for you to enjoy:
On cooking with herbs:
“Plant your culinary herbs by the back door. If you can't harvest them easily, you won't use them. They may look pretty somewhere else in the yard, but you'll never taste them"

On soil preparation:
“Most people's idea of a garden plan is when they look over the fence at a neighbor's garden and want one just like it. Then they're 8 months too late"

On bare ground:
"Bare ground that looks vacant to everybody else looks like something is about to happen to a gardener"

On pruning hedges with a lawn mower:
“My daddy had us hold a lawn mower over our head to prune tall hedges. His idea of safety training was to say 'don't drop it' "

On plowing the garden:
“we used to plow our garden with a Volkswagen. Mama would steer and daddy and I would come along behind with the plow. "

On buying plants:
“Never buy anything over 150 miles from home. It might not grow well in your area. Especially never order anything for a southern garden from Minnesota or New York State"

On when to prune:
"Prune when you need to. One man asked me when was a good time to prune his Lady Banks Rose. He said it was blocking the garage doors and they couldn't get the car in. I told him that it might not be the best season for it, but it seemed like he needed to, so do it now, and park the car".

As you can tell we learned a lot of practical information. I don't think I'll be using the lawn mower to trim the tall hedge. I'm clumsy. I might drop it.

RECIPE FOR LAYERED PESTO SPREAD

1) BLEND 2 8-OZ PKGS OF CREAM CHEESE WITH ONE SMALL PACKAGE OF FETA CHEESE, 1 TBPS OF CAVENDAR'S GREEK SEASONING, 1/2 C MINCED ONION, 1 TSP BLACK PEPPER, AND I TSP ACCENT.
2) PUT 3/4 C PESTO INTO A BOWL OR GREASED LOAF PAN. YOU CAN MAKE IT, BUT THERE ARE PLENTY OF GOOD COMMERCIAL BRANDS INCLUDING BARILLA AND ONE THAT IS IN THE REFRIGERATOR CASE AT SAM'S
3) PUT IN HALF THE CHEESE MIXTURE
4) CHOP 3/4 SUNDRIED TOMATOES IN OIL (DRAIN THE OIL OFF) INTO A FOOD PROCESSOR. PROCESS UNTIL FINELY CHOPPED.
5) PLACE MIXTURE ON TOP OF THE CHEESE MIXTURE
6) PUT THE REST OF THE CHEESE MITURE ON TOP.
7) CHILL UNTIL FIRM
8) UNMOLD ONTO SERVING DISH OF PLATTER.
9) SERVE WITH CRACKERS OR CROSTINI (LITTLE PIECES OF TOAST)

THIS MAKES A GOOD SIZED MOLD. ENOUGH FOR A PARTY. FOR SAMLLER EVENTS, MAKE TWO AND FREEZE ONE FOR LATER.

A Good Retirement Present

2008-03-05T10:42:00.005-06:00

A friend of mine is retiring. He has done a lot of public service. He was recently recognized by the Perry County Chamber of Commerce for helping them with projects. They gave a token of their appreciation in the form of a weekend at Donavan Lakes. To those of us who live in rural Southwest Alabama, the thought of a weekend in Perry County as a present doesn’t sound all that appealing. We would think that was too much like where we live every day. We’d think a better present would be a weekend at the beach or in a big city. We‘d be wrong.
I had the pleasure of visiting Donavan Lakes recently. It is a farm in rural Perry County that has seven (yes, you heard me right, seven) fishing lakes on the property. It has a restored early 1900s farmhouse furnished with primitive antiques and porch views to die for. There are herds of deer grazing all round the property. There is plenty of bird watching and wildlife viewing. There are expansive porches with swing plus a glassed in sun porch for catching views on chilly days. For the foodies who might want to get away and do some cooking therapy, there is a fully equipped kitchen and a grill in the yard. It is miles away from anywhere, which would be a plus for anybody who is tired of crowds. For those who want some family time or quality visiting time with selected friends, there is room to sleep 10. There are three bedrooms. Two have multiple beds. All three have private baths. Probably, the best thing of all to me is that the farmhouse is surrounded by lots of shade trees.
The house is owned by Inez and Roy Barnett, a couple who own the local drugstore in Marion,
It was a family property. Roy is an artist, and Inez is an antique collector who knows how to decorate with her finds. The house has charm with many unique touches. There is a kitchen table crafted with a chopping block in the middle of two sections of another table. There is a child’s settee made from an old cast iron bathtub. Many of the family’s keepsakes are displayed in handmade shadowboxes. There is a real fireplace set in the middle of the living/dining room.
Donavan Lakes is on the internet. It has been found by people from all over the United States and Canada. They have come to spend time there. Many of them have become repeat visitors.
I started picturing myself there for a weekend with my family. The men would love the fishing and the lake. A friend from Marion said that fishermen can leave with a trunk load of fish. The women would go a few miles into Marion to their downtown area for shopping. There are antique shops as well as gift buying at other shops. In a few weeks there will be spring plants at the yard art place. Donavan Lakes has a two night minimum rental, so we’d probably eat out on Friday night at one of the several good places to eat in Marion. The other night, we’d cook. To me, cooking is recreation, if somebody else does the dishes. I’d certainly plan to be on the porch at sunset, enjoying a glass of wine and conversation as the sun goes down.
Isn’t life ironic? Instead of going to Atlanta for the weekend, I’ve just talked myself into getting away to Donovan Lakes. Who’d have thought staying in rural Southwest Alabama could be considered a vacation? We just don’t think enough of ourselves as a destination. We just need to remind ourselves to appreciate what we have.

Valentine Yard Flowers

2008-02-15T16:23:00.001-06:00

I was fortunate enough to receive my favorite kind of Valentine flowers – the kind I arrange myself. Florists do a good job in our town, but I enjoy doing the arrangements myself. I am like most of the southern women I know – our creativity comes out in the bouquets we create. We go out in our yards and pick some of our own plants and greenery to add to the mix.
This time of year the pickings in our yard are wonderful. February is the month of the flowering bushes and first of the bulb flowers. All old house places and many of our roadsides have daffodils, snow drops and fragrant narcissuses popping up in shades of yellow and white. The forsythia yellow bells, the orangey pink of quince, and the delicate white traceries of bridal wreath are perfect for adding to the Wal-Mart flowers that our gentlemen callers purchase for us.
In my own yard, I grow all of the above, plus some variegated shrubs that spark up bouquets. I get so much satisfaction from going out to pick what I have, then putting it into bouquets with my gift flowers. I made three big bouquets out of my gleanings. I didn’t even add camellias although I love them. They are so beautiful, but are somewhat prima donnas in that they shine best alone. I did see a really nice bouquet that included them when I visited Susie McGowan recently. She had done one of our yard-plus arrangements that I thought was so pretty I snapped a picture of it. Hers included antique purple dawn camellias. They seemed to get along quite nicely with the other flowers in her bouquet. Sometime I catch mine between frosts and add them into bouquets of greenery and red berries at Christmas. I had a white bush called Alba Plena which means plenty whites (actually, it means many white), but it produces abundant flowers all winter long.
If I had written Steel Magnolias it would have been Steel Camellias because they really are tough. I think of them as like southern women, they look so delicate, but are really so tough.
In just a few weeks, our pilgrimage season starts in the Black Belt of Alabama. There are a multitude of antebellum homes in the area. Many of them were kept as family homes out of necessity long enough for people to begin to appreciate them.
I spent the night with my friend Garland in Camden recently in her old family home that she had bought from the other heirs. It was lovingly and unpretentiously restored. I say unpretentiously because the floors still has the durable brown enamel that everybody put on their old house floors to keep them polished looking when servants to do the work became a rarity or when they had enough children to do serious damage to the finish. Another unpretentious thing about the house is that she left one wall in the kitchen a brinel mixture of paints. This was over the objections of her husband who favored painting the whole thing white. They compromised with the one wall being left the odd, but charming mixture of yellow, green and bare wall. For those of you not from here, brinel is a word used to describe a dog that is not a single color, but an odd mixture that looks like it was painted by an impressionist artist in muddy colors.
I’m including a number of my yard flowers still life shots for your perusal.
I hope you enjoy them as much as I did putting them together. Now I need to have a party to show them off. My living room smells great right now, mostly because of the kiss-me-at-the-gate I picked over my neighbor’s garden fence. We have this help yourself agreement. She gets camellias if she wants them and I get whatever sticks over the fence. That’s how we do things in rural southwest Alabama.

Mama Neet and Uncle Daddy

2008-02-15T16:19:00.001-06:00

My parents are snowbirds. They come down every winter from Lexington, Kentucky. Now they come to rural southwest Alabama to get away from the snow. They used to go to Florida to play golf, but now they’re past that. They are in their 80s/. They are still active every day, going to the local senior center and church activities. They live in a mother-in law suite over my brother’s garage while they are here. However, talking about the new senior apartments that have opened in town as their next stop.
My mother is Mama Neet. She named herself that when she had grandchildren. Uncle Daddy is what we named him when he became our stepfather. They short version is – Mama and Daddy were married. His sister Mary Jim was married to Bill. Daddy died. Mary Jim died. Mama married our uncle who became Uncle Daddy.
It sure is convenient to have your mother marry somebody you already like. It’s even more convenient to have her marry someone whose children are kin to you. You know you like the steps and in-laws. It saves much adjustment and grief. There are fewer family conflicts. We call the cousins Cuddin’ Brother and Cuddin’ Sis.
We laugh about what Jeff Foxworthy could doth our family. “You may be a redneck if you have an Uncle Daddy.” We think it far better to have an Uncle Daddy than a Stepmonster.
Uncle Daddy was raised in a cold weather state, but he’s the one who wants to be in a warmer clime. Mama just wants to come home and be among family.
Let me tell you something even stranger. My Gentleman Caller had an Uncle Daddy, too. He’s from Louisiana originally, so I guess it’s a southern thing.
I think it’s a marvelous idea. We have somebody we like to entertain Mama and keep her out of our hair and business (to some extent). We have someone who loves to eat as much as we do, so there are lots of family get togethers. We had one this weekend that involved a marathon of feeding.
They will be here until April. We will all have gained 10 more pounds by then.

End of Hunting Season

2008-02-04T09:13:00.001-06:00

Another time of religious ritual has passed for the men of rural southwest Alabama. There are a lot more of them than show up on the census. Our population ranks swell in the winter. It is because of hunting season. Men come from as far away as they can drive for a weekend. They do not stay in motels. They stay in the woods in shanties that they, and certainly not their wives, would not be caught dead in ordinarily.
I know one man who lives in a historic house locally who has his little trailer in the woods that he inhabits for much of hunting season. He calls it his castle. He says it tongue in cheek, but we think he secretly means it. Most of these guys think that way. Not only is hunting a religion, but their castles are generally the places where no woman can go. Women may not be able to go there for more than one reason. In addition to not being welcome, they may not can stand the smell. Men on hunting expeditions are not necessarily concerned with housekeeping or hygiene. Men who frequent hunting camps may have one near freak in the bunch who cleans up, but it is rare. Mostly the schedule is such that there is little time for it. The hunting experience requires getting up well before daybreak. It demands for the truly dedicated, a shower with dirt smelling soap so that the deer won’t be able to detect the hunter in the tree. It requires sitting in a tree stand in a tree for as long as the hunter can tolerate the position, then climbing down, going somewhere to eat and recoup, a brief nap, then returning to the stand until dark. Should one be lucky enough to shoot a deer, there may be a period of time roaming the woods at night following a trail of blood to find the animal.
By this time, the most dedicated of hunters is exhausted. He can only crawl back to his castle. He will eat a huge meal that takes time to prepare, drink alcoholic beverages if he is so inclined, tell tall tales of what he saw to his fellow hunters, then fall into bed, only to rise before daybreak to hunt again. With all this to do, who has time to wash dishes and do other mundane household chores. Besides, the smell doesn’t bother nature boys the way it does sissy women.
Why do hunters do this grueling ritual as often as they can? Why do they take vacation time from work to punish themselves like this? Somewhere in the depths of their psyche there still lurks, a vestige of the primitive urge of the hunter gatherer. It’s like chasing women, a lot of them just can’t help it. Safe to say, given a choice of hunting or chasing women, true hunters would choose chasing deer and turkey. Both are expensive hobbies, but hunting has the edge because it is perfectly acceptable to brag about your hunting conquests, even putting your picture in the paper with your conquests. In polite company, it would be bad form to brag this way about the women you’ve caught. Given a choice, bragging rights is worth a lot to a man. Besides, a hunter had something to show for his efforts. Right now, I know at least one man who after killing four deer and filling his freezer with venison, is sitting with 46 pounds of sausage wondering what he is going to do with it. It is a good problem for a hunter. As he gives the sausage to other people, when they thank him for his generosity, he can mention the four deer he killed. He can “I’m glad you can use it. After the four deer I killed this season, I just don’t have room in the freezer for any more”. For the next few weeks, he and his fellow hunters can relax. After that turkey season starts and a whole new set of rituals begin.

The Perfect Snow

2008-01-25T08:20:00.000-06:00

In rural Southwest Alabama, we rarely get snow. When we do, the whole world stops dead in its tracks. To us, snow can only mean one thing – we must stay put wherever we are, or get somewhere as soon as we can and stay there. None of us know how to drive in snow, and even less about icy conditions. That is why this Saturday was the perfect snow. It was a long weekend. Some of us had plans to go somewhere – which were promptly cancelled. It was Saturday, so the majority of us were not going to work anyway. It couldn’t have happened at a nicer time. We were prepared for a leisure pace already, just by virtue of it being Saturday. We were not yet out of our cozy pajamas when the snow started. In fact, I didn’t get out of my cozy pajamas until the next day.
Like most of us, I had plans for the holiday weekend. I was going to a very special birthday party for a friend turning 50. She had gone to a lot of trouble to plan an interesting party. We were going to the local ceramics shop and make her a commemorative set of dishes. She had her color scheme all outlined. We were each going to make her a plate for a present. She was going to design the platter and have us all sign it.
I was also going to travel to Georgia to visit my sister. Since I am in the tourism business, we were going to get out and scout some of the rural areas around Milledgeville where she lives. I told her to plan something fun. Her reply was “All we have to do to have fun is walk out the door.” That is the truth. I look forward to visiting with her. So much for all those plans….
Instead, I just kept on my satin, flannel lined “I Love Lucy” striped pajamas and my fuzzy mohair socks for the duration. I say duration because the snow only lasted one day. That is what made it perfect. I happened on a holiday weekend and was of short duration. Needless to say, I didn’t go out to play in the snow in my Lucy pajamas. I watched movies I had recorded. I read a good book. I made a bubbling pot of chicken and rice that I turned into a casserole with almonds. I sat by the fireside. I had a memorable nap, my first in months. In short, it was the perfect day. I kept a kettle of tea warm on the stove. The nearest I came to the outdoors was to take a picture of my snow swept garden out of the window. It was a gray, gloomy day that just begged for solitude. I think my soul almost caught up with my body. I listened to classical music and the programming of National Public Radio. When Garrison Keillor talked about the cold, I was right there with him. I was just glad that I didn’t have to get out and shovel snow.
The next day turned off beautiful and bright. I hoisted out my fur coat because it was still cold. We don’t have a lot of use for fur coats around here because generally, a sweater and jacket are enough. They are so much trouble. A fur weighs a lot. I do like them. I am not one of those people who has an attitude about wearing animals. My fur coats have generally had previous owners. I am very fond of vintage furs. The way I look at wearing fur is that if I wasn’t wearing it, those little critters would have given their lives in vain. Apparently, a lot of people in my church share similar feelings, because we looked like a bunch of Eskimos at the Methodist church. It’s hardly worth it. We run to the car in our furs, then dash into the church. When we get in, we discard the furs. When we get into the sanctuary, we either have to sit on them, or bother the person in the pew in front of us, or wear the heavy thing. Some vanities just may not be worth it. None of us would want furs anyway unless we had seen movie stars draped in them on the silver screen.
Speaking of the silver screen, a cold weekend is the perfect time for movies. It’s also the perfect time for reading, visiting by the fireside and just letting your soul catch up with your body. It’s a gift from the Universe that we are just too busy to give ourselves – the gift of relaxation and coziness.

A Good Pot of Something

2008-01-24T09:55:00.001-06:00

Winter calls for a good pot of something bubbling on the stove. Anybody can have one. People who are gone to work all day can use a crock pot and the rest can enjoy the smell while they have a Dutch oven on the stove top.
People in rural southwest Alabama will generally have their pots full of vegetable soup which will always include lots of tomatoes, butterbeans, okra, and corn as the chief ingredients as well anything else. If you say vegetable soup to anybody around here, you better have put those things in the soup if you call it vegetable. A lot of folks put up what they call “soup mix” in jars or frozen. The quantities of the four aforementioned vegetables will vary according to how good the four individual crops were during the previous growing season. I am going to say something sacrilegious now, but I feel I must do it in the interest of sharing our culture. You can use canned tomatoes and butterbeans. You can use frozen okra and corn. When I think how the canners I know have slaved over their soup mixes, I feel bad for them. Putting up vegetables is a slave maker. Any person who has ever put up fresh vegetables knows what I am talking about. When they are ready, it’s now or never. They must be picked at their peak of ripeness, and canned or frozen instantaneously. I have seen many vacations postponed or not taken because “the corn will be coming in soon”. Corn is the worst taskmaster of all because its very sweetness depends on a speedy processing. Now there is a frozen corn put up in packages like bulk sausage that taste just like Momma’s that she grated off the cob. The people who take great pride in their own corn canning even have to admit that they have been equaled. I suspect they are secretly glad of the alternative. Corn canning is the worst slave master of all. You can’t even wait a day on it. Okra, butterbeans, and tomatoes can be held out a day, if you spread them out on newspapers so they don’t go through a heat. Butterbeans and okra can actually be refrigerated. Tomatoes can be refrigerated as a last resort, but they won’t be as good. Corn can’t have any of this forgiveness. In fact, I decided long ago that I would buy my corn in the roll because I don’t have any masochistic tendencies and I think putting up corn is a subtle form of torture. I thank God for large scale farmers and wish them commercial success of the greatest magnitude.
I am going to have to admit something else to you. This traditional vegetable soup is not my favorite pot of something. One pot meals are some of my favorite foods, but I like variety. I actually like the other local traditional bubbling pot better. It is dry beans cooked with some form of pork. It can be a ham bone or bacon or even a good smoked sausage such as our local Conecuh or Monroeville brands. They can be plain or have a whole onion or some garlic thrown in. They can be seasoned with plain salt or my favorite Creole seasoning. They can be soaked ahead of time for a nearer fresh texture or cooked long and hard for a mushy texture. Any of these ways they are delicious. They can be a meal in themselves or a side dish. They best way to eat them is in a bowl like soup with crumbled cornbread and chopped green onions.
Another soup pot specialty I have just come to terms with in my old age is the hunter’s delight – venison or deer meat as the locals call it. I had some bad experiences with deer meat in my childhood. Somebody would have a deer drive and give Mama some meat. She would tell us it was beef and cook it bone dry in the oven. The poor deer was already filled with hormones from running for its life on the deer drive. Then to be cooked without special seasonings and misrepresented as beef was a bad deal for all concerned. I always thought deer meat tasted funny and usually it does, unless properly butchered after not being run through the woods with brooms, guns and whooping hunters in hot pursuit.
I am finally convinced that venison can be good food, if prepared properly. I have a gentleman caller who knows how to treat it right. He waits for it in a tree, shoots it quietly without fanfare, and then bleeds it out right away. He then hangs it up and begins the butchering process. He removes all fat and tendons, leaving only chunks of meat. He then grinds it twice himself, or cuts the tenderloin into slices. When he makes a pot of venison chili, I’ll put it up against anybody’s chili – beef or venison. We ate it two nights in a row recently. The first night the chili was served in a bowl with cornbread, onions and yellow cheese. I don’t know why it had to be yellow cheese, but when I put out some pepper jack cheese, he objected and ‘lowed as how only yellow cheese would do. Of course, I had some on hand. My house is cholesterol heaven. The second night, I made a taco salad with the chili. I loved the little extra crunch of the vegetables.
I would be happy to have a pot of something bubbling on the stove every night of the winter. I think pots contain my favorite foods. I’m not through telling you about our pots of things. This is TO BE CONTINUED.

More Simmering Pots

2008-01-24T09:53:00.000-06:00

I told you I wasn’t through talking about pots simmering on the stove. How could I end with some many southern food specialty pots yet unexplored? There are several local delicacies that we haven’t talked about as well as some of my own favorite creations. There is nothing more creative than a one pot meal and this is the time of the year when a simmering pot equals a feeling of home and wellbeing.
Every southern cook has some variation of chicken and dumplings as well as a gumbo recipe. The original creation of chicken and dumplings came as a result of having a tough old bird that needed eating. It had to be turned into chicken and dumplings, dressing, or chicken salad in the traditional rural southwest Alabama kitchen. The chicken would create a fat rich broth. Some cooks were content to just stew the chicken with salt and pepper. I could never let well enough alone. I have to put celery, onions, carrots and herbs in my broth along with a tenderer version of the chicken. I might even add some tiny English peas to pot at the end since they don’t take long to cook.
The preparation of dumplings is a personal matter. Originally, it was a matter of making a biscuit dough or pie crust and rolling it out thin. The dumplings would be dried for a few minutes, and then slid into boiling chicken broth. The pot would then be covered and allowed to simmer for a bit on low heat. The best dumplings I ever ate were a tie between those prepared by Dot Ellison of Midway Baptist Church and Miss Lola Brown of St Stephens. Miss Lola’s are thicker. Dot’s were thin and silken. I had Dot give me dumpling making lessons. I learned that her tricks were to use very little shortning in the dough, roll them paper thin, then let them dry for 15 minutes. Women now rarely have the patience of Dot and Lola. They want instant dumplings. Some use canned biscuits. Some use bought dumplings. I have discovered a perfect substitute for Dot’s thin, silken specialty (please forgive me, Dot). I use flour tortilla, sliced into strips directly from the package. They are a duplicate of Dot’s painstaking labor. Try it. I won’t tell if you won’t.
Gumbo is another painstaking process if you make a roux. Around here we call any thick soup with okra a gumbo, but the real one always starts with a roux. Making a roux is a long process of browning flour and fat together without burning it. Fortunately,
I ran upon a real Louisiana Cajun with an eye toward progress. He taught me to make a roux in the microwave. You take a two cup Pyrex measuring cup and put in ½ c each of flour and your favorite fat. Mine is bacon grease with no apologies, but my vegetarian friend uses olive oil with good results. You put it in for 2 ½ minutes on high, then stir. If it is not brown enough to suit you, then put it in for a minute more. You can then dump it into a pot and add the vegetables you wish to sauté in the roux. Gumbo is something you can’t shortcut the simmering process in to meld the flavors of the seasonings. However, if you are making seafood gumbo, the seafood should only be added at the very end (about the last 15-20 minutes) or it will be tough and dry. The shrimp will all but disappear if cooked too long. Again, this will be continued. It’s dinner time.

A Sense of Place

2008-01-18T13:05:00.000-06:00

What is the best thing about the place you are right now? If you were to take a snapshot of this moment what would you like to save in your memory? For me, it would be the sense of coziness I feel from being inside on this cold, wet day. Most of my life is one big scamper, running from place to place meeting with people. I love doing it, but after running around in the rain all day yesterday, it’s wonderful to sit quietly in my own space, hearing the birdsong outside the window and the classical music on the radio, wearing casual clothes. I’ve already been out and about this morning for a meeting. I have more later in the day, but the next few hours are mine to be in one place. It is the time I use to bond with my surroundings and be glad that I can be still and think.
We all need a space that is our thinking place. Mine is in my living room. I have an old house that snuggles around me when I have time to light for a little while. I bought this house when my husband (now my ex-husband) was out of town. Buying the house has nothing to do with exing. It was a different issue entirely, but that’s another story in another lifetime.
When I walked into this house it said to me “Where have you been all this time?”.
We were looking at the house across s the street that did not speak to me in the same way. The people living in the house were moving and had three people lined up to look at the house. Fortunately, I was the first. I bought it on the spot. Old houses were not as expensive in those days before they got trendy. My husband of the era was fine with it. My parents were aghast. They had grown up in old houses and were thrilled with their cozy cottage. My daddy said “Why on earth would you want an old house? They are cold and drafty.” My mother remembered everybody having to huddle around the fireplace to stay warm in the front, while the backside was still cold.
They could not understand because they were not antique collectors. They didn’t like antiques for the same reason that they didn’t like old houses; they were part of the post WWII generation that wanted everything modern. No old stuff for them, thank you very much! I had already been collecting antiques for a while. When we moved in this house, I had bought a grand piano that I had no place to put. The people were keeping it for me until I found a place for it. This house was that place. I say was, because although I am still in the house, the piano is long gone. Like every mother, I had high hopes for my children and culture. Neither of them would take piano lessons. I gave up on culture and the grand piano about the same time. I sold the piano and kept the uncultured children, who both, incidentally, at one time or another have said to me that they wish they had taken piano lessons. I say uncultured tongue in cheek because both of my children began to exhibit cultural tendencies later in life. Both have an appreciation for art, music, history, and literature. They have both been to museums and concerts. My daughter is a world traveler and my son is a history major. He and I had a conversation once about travel. I asked him if he could go anywhere in the world where he would like it to be. Of all things, he said “Versailles” and he pronounced it right. Since my children were both raised in rural southwest Alabama and turned out to exhibit cultural tendencies, I am pleased.
I certainly do not apologize for being in rural Alabama. It has a great feeling to me. It has a sense of place that I wish I could share with you. Those of you from here who are reading this in some other part of the world will know what I mean. We may have a cold wet day today, but tomorrow will be beautiful. It may be 18 degrees tonight, but it won’t last long.
Even on this cold wet day, I can look out the windows and see the beauty of the bleak landscape. There are a lot of evergreen shrubs around the yard and the bare trees have a purplish hue against the grey. I have 5 big windows in my living room that I keep uncovered so I can enjoy the outdoors, as well as two in the dining room. I have tried at various times to curtain them. I have even brought home nice silk drapes on occasion to try. I just can’t do it. Bringing the outdoors inside is part of my sense of place. I have a wonderful scented candle to perfume the air and music wafting about me.
After Christmas, I found a gilded JOY with a place for a votive candle in front on a platform. It sounds tacky, but I am enjoying it as a reminder that JOY is the most important thing to focus on. Liking where you are is putting you halfway there in finding
JOY in your sense of place.

New Orleans Trip

2008-01-17T13:23:00.000-06:00

I shared a little about the New Orleans trip on my last blog, but I didn’t tell you much about the city itself. New Orleans is coming back. I was down last January during Mardi Gras and the place felt like it had no soul. This year that had changed. New Orleans felt good again.
We accidentally picked the National Championship Football weekend to travel down for our eating day. I certainly had not a clue. I am a Public Radio fan, not a sports fan. Apparently, birds of a feather flock together, because all of us girls were surprised to find ourselves in football land. I had no idea how many variations of fan attire regalia existed. There are the basic school colors, the embellished fan colors, a multitude of fan message shirts and suits, plus fan emblazoned camouflage. None of them appealed to my fashion sense. I realize that I am in the minority of southern people in this attitude. Apparently, it is not just southerners. There were whole hoards of funnily dressed people going up and down Bourbon Street yelling O-H-I-O in unison. Sports are a big thing. I realize that. I just didn’t realize how many people would travel so far and spend so much money to be peculiarly dressed and yelling things.
New Orleans is all about food to people like me. When I go there, I go to eat. A trip always entails a trip to the Café Du Monde for coffee and beignets, even though I HATE chicory in my coffee. It always means a trip to the Central Grocery for a muffaletta to take home. I love those big fat loaves of bread stuffed with cheese, cold cuts and olive salad. It means having some kind of seafood done with something spicy. We had dinner at Arnaud’s. I discovered that I really like their version of Creole mustard. The one I buy at the grocery store has too much vinegar. Theirs is milder and is even good on crackers.
The good thing about living in driving distance of New Orleans is that we can go back often if we choose to sample a variety of dishes. We have always considered New Orleans as the place to go when we are feeling cosmopolitan and adventurous. New Orleans is the nearest thing we have in the US to a European city.
Our culinary heritage here is rural southwest Alabama has always been influenced by the Creole heritage. We have always loved seafood, spices and fats in our cooking. Every cook has some form of gumbo in their repertoire. We just go to New Orleans to get new takes on what we are already preparing or to eat something a little fancier than we are used to, and then we come home and make it. Some of us buy cookbooks with the recipes in them. Others of us just taste and correct the seasonings until we get it right, but all of us look to New Orleans as our cultural icon of eating. Food is a big part of our culture and we go to New Orleans to get a fix. We save our money, and then go eat well. We can’t think of a better way to have a good time and bring home good memories. New Orleans welcomes one and all – those who are casual and those who dress funny.

SEESAW WEATHER

2008-01-16T09:24:00.000-06:00

This is already a strange year for weather here in rural southwest Alabama. At the turn of the year, it was 15 degrees. Now it is 72 and porch weather. To tell you the truth, I kind of like this seesaw weather. It gives us the best of both worlds – hot and cold. I don’t know how I’d fare in a world of shoveling snow for 4 months or more a year. Snow has always been a romantic fantasy as in “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” or “Let it Snow, Let it Snow. Let it Snow.” I became a huge fan of the television series “Northern Exposure” when it was on back in the 90s. I have always romanticized about wintering over there just once since then.
When we have a day of snow down here, it paralyses everything. Schools shut down. Nobody goes out anywhere if they can help it. We all make big pots of something bubbling on the stove, pop popcorn, and make hot chocolate. It’s like a minor holiday of sorts. It is a passing fancy. We are not like a consultant that I work on projects with from upstate New York. When we were planning our next meeting, some one suggested February. She looked skeptical, and then laughed. There are no February statewide meetings where she is from because all the snow makes it hard to get together. They have had a particularly hard year this year with winter storms. Here, we’ve just had a little taste of bitter cold.
Right now, my laptop and I are sitting on the front porch contemplating life in 72 degree weather, which to my way of thinking, is just about perfect. I have on a long sleeved shirt, but it is cotton. I am barefoot. The wind chimes tinkle gently in the breeze
I have a big glass of iced tea nearby. Tea is a passion of mine.
I had a major tea adventure Saturday afternoon. A group of friends went over to New Orleans for the day. Yes, we are within eating distance of the Food Capitol of the United States. We can get there in a little over 4 hours. If we are with a group of friends, we can use that time to catch up with each other. We all live in different places and don’t get to visit as much as we’d like. We all meet up in the Mobile area and travel together.
The New Orleans trip was on the cusp of the bitter cold weather, but turned out to be a balmy day. We enjoyed time in the French Quarter eating around, but the highlight of the trip was having tea at Windsor Court, a small British boutique hotel on the edge of the Quarter. As you know, the British take their tea seriously d they price their afternoon tea accordingly. Some things are worth it. This is one of them. I am a tea drinker. It is my morning beverage of choice. Whenever I travel, I buy teas and have quite a collection. Rarely do I find one I don’t like. One that I didn’t like was a chocolate orange hazelnut green tea I bought in Baltimore. It sounded better than it turned out to be. Windsor Court serves none of that nonsense. Theirs is real British tea leaves made in pots to order. There were 5 of us, so we each got a different kind of tea. We had great fun passing the pots around and trying them all. Between us, we got Earl Grey, Jasmine, Pomegranate Oolong, Christmas Spice Tea and Gunpowder Green. I think my favorites were Earl Grey and Pomegranate Oolong.
One of my friends tells a wonderful tea story that I always think of when I drink Earl Grey tea. She said she was having afternoon tea at the Adolphus Hotel in Houston with a newly rich third wife oil heiress who was trying to learn the habits of civility. She looked at the tea list and said “Gimme some of that Early Grey tea”. I love that story.
I know that tea drinking has a reputation for stuffiness, and places like Windsor Court are a bit formal in their service. I wondered if we would be under dressed for the occasion in our jeans and weekend wear. I shouldn’t have worried. There were women at tea dressed in Ohio State jerseys that were in town for the national football championship game. There was also one chick dressed in what could only be described as hooker clothes. She had on a red sequined bustier over black satin Capri pants. These folks were treated with the utmost civility by the staff. I’m glad to see the world relaxing.
The food with the tea was not thrilling. There were 3 courses of foods. They were beautifully presented on fine china and silver stands. The sandwiches were a bit dry with no butter or mayonnaise on them. The scones were delightful, with their accompanying clotted cream, lemon curd, and raspberry preserve, but were heavy and filling. The chocolate and bite sized desserts were from a purchased source. Well, you don’t’ go to tea at Windsor Court for the food anyway. It’s the atmosphere. There was a chamber music group playing during tea time. The Christmas decorations were still up on Twelfth Night. They were beautiful and quite tasteful. There were swaged garlands made entirely of magnolia leaves gilded and twined with little gold lights. There were matching wreaths in all the windows adorned only with a red ribbon lined with gold. In the Center of the lobby was a Christmas tree the size of a swimming pool. It was the experience we went for. I feel very civilized just sitting here on the porch contemplating the memory.
Maybe when the weather turns cold again, I’ll have some friends over for afternoon tea. It will cold again soon. It is January, so we can count on it. At least we won’t have to worry about shoveling snow!

WHAT THE BLACK BELT MEANS TO ME

2008-01-09T10:40:00.000-06:00

I’ve lived in the Black Belt all my life except for a brief foray into the city for a few years in Birmingham. The vibrations are different there. I realized it when I would go and come. I could feel my roots getting reconnected with the soil as soon as I hit Perry County on my way south. I noticed it, too, when I went through Dallas County to visit a friend in Sardis. Somehow, the Black Belt just feels different from the rest of Alabama. The difference is in a good way. The whole thing is a sense of place. It feels like I belong to the land and it belongs to me.
An extension of the feeling of belonging is connected to relationships. Before I went to Birmingham, I knew the people I could count on. The friendships were real and genuine. Once I got to Birmingham, I found a whole different group that would have run over their grandmother with a transfer truck to get ahead in whatever they were pursuing. Maybe cities are all pavements and striving, more cutthroat, faster paced. Maybe as a rural person, I value relationships and nature more than I do fame and fortune. Maybe I care more about sitting on the porch sharing stories with friends than I would about going to the charity balls and having my picture in the paper while wearing a fancy dress.
It’s not as though people in the Black Belt don’t know how to entertain. We’ll easily travel fifty miles to go to a good party anytime. It’s always been that way. One of my favorite stories that I share while sitting on the porch is one told me by Carl Morgan, a former mayor of Selma. He grew up in Uniontown in the 1920s. Carl Carmer says of Uniontown in his book “Stars Fell on Alabama”…”There are two places in the world where they know how to throw a good party – Paris, France , and Uniontown, Alabama.” A friend whose mother grew up in Uniontown recounted the quote to me while we were at a good party in Uniontown.
Carl Morgan’s story sums up a lot of things about entertaining in the Black Belt.
His father had a hunting camp where during hunting season, he would entertain out of town guests. The rest of the time, he and his local friends would go out there to get away from the women and drink whiskey. Nobody drank anything but bourbon whiskey and they drank a lot of it when they got together. Their wives didn’t particularly like it when they drank so much, so they headed for the woods and a hunting camp to hide out.
Mr. Morgan wanted to do something special for his friends at his entertainment. The month had an “R” in it, so he ordered a sack of oysters to be sent up from Mobile on the train. He went to the local railroad station and teletyped to Mobile to find out how long it would take to get the oysters from Mobile to Uniontown. He found out it would take 6 hours by train. The oysters would be sent in a forty pound sack in the shell and packed on ice, so they would be perfectly safe to eat upon arrival. Oysters would only be serve in a month with a “R” in it for two reasons: one was that it would be cooler weather with less likelihood of spoilage ,and the other was that in the months without an “R’, the oysters would be less flavorful because they would be spawning. Oysters have always been considered a winter delicacy in the Black Belt, and Mr. Morgan knew he would please his guests.
When the oysters arrived, Mr. Morgan took them and his cook Zeola out to the camp. He made the cocktail sauce ahead of time, so the flavors could blend. He instructed Zeola to shuck the oysters, and then serve cups of them to the men while they drank their whiskey before dinner.
The men began drinking and awaiting Mr. Morgan’s treat. He called out to the kitchen to Zeola to see if they oysters were ready. She assured him it wouldn’t be much longer. He had to call several more times before she finally arrived carrying one cup of oysters. When Mr. Morgan questioned Zeola on where the rest of the oysters were, she said “When I got through getting all the black stuff out, this is all that was left.” His friends didn’t get any oysters, but they got a great story to tell that lived on long after both Mr. Morgan and Zeola were gone. Getting one cup of oysters out of a 40 pound sack makes a great tale. The guests left knowing they had been well entertained. The meal would have lasted a few minutes, but they could dine out on the joke on Mr. Morgan for the rest of their lives, having a story good enough to be passed into generational lore. All the elements of the Black Belt are there: an appreciation for good food and entertaining, with an even greater appreciation for storytelling, socializing, and being in a natural setting. The people were real. They made mistakes in communication, but the mistakes were honest and without malice, just like the people. In the Black Belt, we treasure who we are: ancestors, warts and all.

Christmas Now

2007-12-21T13:26:00.000-06:00

It is hard to believe how fast Christmas comes around these days. When I was a child, it was 10 years from one Christmas to the next, or at least if felt like it in my perception. Now it comes every 3 months in ripe adulthood. I do my best to make it last. I have the same idea as the local retailers –start in October and keep on ‘til January. That is the only way I have enough time to notice it in my busy, overflowing life. Anybody who thinks that we who live in the rural world don’t have a fast paced life has never been here. The living is easy – but only when we can slow down enough to enjoy it. The way we live life comes from the inside out, it is not dictated by geography. Geography is like the stage set, the players determine the dialogue.
It is not the shopping that causes the bustle in my life, it is the socializing. You’d think that people who live in places like rural southwest Alabama would have limited activities available. Again, this is a misconception. We learned two hundred years age that if we were going to have fun, we‘d have to make so. We learned to share the joy of living by entertaining ourselves and each other. It may be a vibration thing, but those of us who love a good party stick together. We have a code of honor that what happens when we get together is never told outside the group. We only talk about it when we look back on it with the other participants and reminisce. It’s not that we do anything illicit or illegal, but we just don’t want everybody knowing all our business. Knowing people’s business is entertainment in itself. It is for those who choose to live vicariously, rather than actually participate. If there’s a good entertainment, I want to attend it, not hear about it secondhand.
Food is a central part of all celebrations here. This is the co9mmon thread that runs through it all. Libations occur at many gatherings, some up front and some on the sly. We recently had a wet/dry vote in our town. I know that even contemplating a place where liquor is not available is unbelievable for most of the world. It is a hold over from the time when we were either too Christian (according to the narrowest interpretation) or too drunk to be responsible. It also has a lot to do with our ancestry. Our Irish and Indian ancestors did not handle liquor very well. The families of the affected thought they could control intake by making it illegal, and theoretically harder to get. Also, it became a control factor for those who didn’t drink and didn’t care to have others do so.
Consequently, drinking went underground as a group social activity. There was this petition in the paper that listed a whole slew of men from one church who said they morally opposed the legal sale of liquor. The whole town enjoyed looking at the list and telling which of those upright men they had shared a drink with. One man said “Old So and So (One of the signers of the declaration of moral temperance) better not come down to my camp looking for a bottle of whiskey anymore.” Consequently, to avoid further sinning on the part of the signing drinkers, we keep our libatiounary entertainments to ourselves.
Drink divides us, food unites us. Each family has its own traditions of what to serve, but there are certain foods to be found on every holiday table. One is dressing. That is a southern term for stuffing, which we in the south do no put in the turkey, but along side it. Even vegetarians know it’s not Christmas or Thanksgiving or maybe even Easter without dressing. We always make it out of cornbread, too. No soggy white bread stuffing will suit us. It also has lots of celery and onions in it. Some people add a bit of bell pepper to flavor up the broth. If we put in sage, it is only a pinch. We don’t like to taste it, rather have it as a subtle underpinning.
We must also have sweet potatoes. They can be mashed with various things in them. They can be topped with a praline/pecan topping (my personal favorite) or have marshmallows on top. My grandmother went through a couple of trendy sweet potato phases. One was orange rind cups with marshmallows on top. That was handy when you used the orange sections in ambrosia. The other was to mash the sweet potatoes, mold them around a marshmallow and then roll in cornflake crumbs and bake the balls.
No holiday table is ever complete without pecan pies and most have the aforementioned ambrosia. It is a dish made with orange sections and fresh grated coconut. Some people add crushed pineapple. It is not as popular now as it once was because for some reason, children no longer eat coconut. It seems to be a generational thing. That also eliminates Japanese fruitcake, once a dessert staple, from many tables, I’ve always wondered if it was invented during WWII when candied fruit was hard to get. It may have been called Japanese fruit cake as a derogatory term. Anyway, now it seems to be as ancient as WWII.
If you have access to them, butterbeans also seem to show up on most holiday tables. They are fresh tomatoes, rare and valuable when you don’t have a garden. If freezers have one package left, they go on the holiday table.
Presents are part of the holiday celebration, but entirely secondary to the foods/ entertainment aspect of the holiday. In fact, as we age, many of us treasure food as a suitable gift. My aunt told me that when a person reaches 60, there is a good rule to follow in gift giving, “If you can’t eat it, can’t wear it, and can’t spend it – don’t give it.”
Foods are the first in order with that rule. My requests for gifts include pound cakes from my relatives who are good cake bakers. I have learned to make peppermint bark for gifts this year. One of my friends makes wonderful fruitcake cookies that I look forward to receiving. One of everybody’s favorite gifts is a quart of shelle4 picked out pecans. We consider pecans to be the nut of choice in rural southwest Alabama. Now that Christmas comes every three months, we have plenty of them in a good crop year. May this be a good crop year for all of you whether in rural southwest Alabama or the world at large. Christmas is now. Merry Christmas!

CHARLIE LUCAS OPENING

2007-12-21T13:19:00.000-06:00

Charlie Lucas is a famous outsider artist who lives in Selma. Alabama. His is a story that is stuff movies are made of. There is a book being written about him right now. Ben Windham, the editor of the Tuscaloosa News, is working on one with Charlie. I will leave the whole story to them to tell. I have seen a sample chapter of the book. Ben’s mother is the famous storyteller and NPR commentator, Kathryn Tucker Windham, who lives next door to Charlie. Her whole family calls Charlie “brother”. He really is a member of the family. Kathryn lives in what can kindly be described as a declining neighborhood. Her children wanted her to move out of the house that has been her home where she raised her family. Kathryn refused and found her own solution to the problem. She bought the house next door and moved Charlie into it. They had become friends when both were appearing at Kentuck, an arts exhibition festival in Northport. Charlie was completing a messy divorce and needed a pace to live. Kathryn needed a reliable neighbor.
The two watch out for each other. They have a signal morning ritual. When Kathryn gets up, she opens the blinds in her kitchen window to let Charlie know she’s all right. Kathryn is in her late 80s, so the ritual is useful, but does not invade her privacy. Charlie, like all artists, has periods of feast or famine. Kathryn has vowed he will never go hungry. She is a famous writer whose works include books on southern cooking, so Charlie eats well whether art is selling or not.
This past Saturday night, Charlie had an art opening in his new gallery next to Holly’s Feed and Seed in downtown Selma. He shares the building with the Everyman bookstore and antique shop. His side makes the perfect gallery to showcase his sculptures and paintings. His work needs a place with the patina of age to show it best.
His sculptures are metal, made of found objects welded together. His paintings are framed with boards salvaged from abandoned buildings he tears down. He also does art on ironing boards and other interesting things. He has a series of masks that he makes from old tin roof shingles. He also does metal wall hangings. All of the pieces look well against the damp stained plaster walls of the warehouse space. The light is dim, which works well with his bright colors.
Some of Charlie’s work is simple and childlike. I bought one of these when I was previewing the show. The one I bought is called “50 Foot Woman”, a study in bright pastels with the woman surrounded by small buildings. It is so powerful in its message, that with Charlie’s permission, I plan to have prints made for all my powerful women friends. Charlie painted it after he had a dream about the Woman. All Charlie’s work is based on mystical and philosophical principles. He is a deep thinker who spends a lot of time contemplating how the world and the human minds in it work. When you point to any work in the gallery, he will tell you its story. Each and every piece has a story. There are no pieces that he just throws together for the sake of seeking a sale. One piece that particularly spoke to me was one called “The Teacher”. It was an abstract with a face mask surrounded by smaller descending faces. It was the teacher with her students. On the back of the sculpture were wires tying the lives together. He told me the story as I looked at the sculpture, pointing out the various aspects of the work. Half the fun of owning a Lucas work is knowing the story behind it. Coming to see the artist and his work, in my opinion, is the only way to buy from him.
I had reserved another piece of his, in addition to the one I bought, but it was expensive for my budget, so I put it on layaway. It was a metal wall hanging on a red wooden board called “Lug Wrench”. It told the story of divorce – How love had put the two together and divorce had wrenched them apart. He told how he wished to see divorce be gentler between the people involved without the pain of the wrench. I wonder if the person who bought it understood Charlie’s message. Charlie regretfully informed me that before he got to the opening, it sold. He was much better off. It would have been months before I could have paid it off, and he was able to get his money on the spot. He is going to do me another piece, so I’ll have months to save up for it.
I may even opt for another piece I saw. I had trouble deciding not to buy one of her newer pieces which looked quite Picassoesque. The reason I bought the “50 Foot Woman” is that it reminds me of one he did for Kathryn’s birthday of her as a dancing woman. It captured her essence as a joyful figure. The “50 Foot Woman” has the same air of carefree abandon. Charlie has a knack for distilling the essence of life.
Charlie’s phone number is (334) 872-3956. If he’s around, he will answer his phone and meet you at his gallery.

CHRISTMAS PLAY IN GILBERTOWN

2007-12-21T13:18:00.000-06:00

I am always amazed when I attend a play put on by the locals in Choctaw County at the Ballet and Theater Arts School in Gilbertown. Fred and Svetlana Kimbrough came back from New York City where they had been performers to raise their family in rural Southwest Alabama. To make a living, they founded a non-profit organization to teach and do performances with local people. The talent they find and bring out in the locals is truly amazing. Their daytime work is with children in the schools and in after school programs. Their plays are extra.
Last weekend, I went to see “A Sanders Family Christmas” – the Christmas sequel to “Smoke on the Mountain” which they had presented to sell out audiences earlier this year. It is set in 1941 at the beginning of World War ll. It is a religious musical comedy, if you can imagine. It involves a cast of 9, with three musicians extra. I have rarely heard better harmony on the musical numbers.
I never like to enjoy plays or eating out by myself. I like to celebrate good things with friends. I took three of my favorite culture buffs along with me. As I have told you before, I am like an army, I travel on my stomach. We had choices of good places to eat along the way. It is hard to believe that there are a number of places scattered through the woods of such a rural area. The largest town is around 300. We could have had catfish as Bobby’s fish camp, seafood at DeDoc’s, a train wreck loaded potato at J&K Junction, or authentic homemade pizza at Bimbo’s. I opted for Bimbo’s because I am partial to their shrimp, mushroom and bacon pizza on a homemade crust as well as the interesting things on their salad bar like pepperoni.
I have attended plays in Gilbertown for years. One Christmas, I went to see Amahl and the Night Visitors. Believe it or not, in rural Southwest Alabama, it was an opera. It was beautifully done! At the end, Fred came out and said “Ah, fooled you didn’t we?” How many of you enjoyed the opera?” Everybody clapped and raised their hands. Then he asked “how many of you would have come if you had known it was an opera?” About three hands went up. Sometimes in rural Southwest Alabama we have to be fooled into culture, but we enjoy it when we get there.

I am always amazed when I attend a play put on by the locals in Choctaw County at the Ballet and Theater Arts School in Gilbertown. Fred and Svetlana Kimbrough came back from New York City where they had been performers to raise their family in rural Southwest Alabama. To make a living, they founded a non-profit organization to teach and do performances with local people. The talent they find and bring out in the locals is truly amazing. Their daytime work is with children in the schools and in after school programs. Their plays are extra.
Last weekend, I went to see “A Sanders Family Christmas” – the Christmas sequel to “Smoke on the Mountain” which they had presented to sell out audiences earlier this year. It is set in 1941 at the beginning of World War ll. It is a religious musical comedy, if you can imagine. It involves a cast of 9, with three musicians extra. I have rarely heard better harmony on the musical numbers.
I never like to enjoy plays or eating out by myself. I like to celebrate good things with friends. I took three of my favorite culture buffs along with me. As I have told you before, I am like an army, I travel on my stomach. We had choices of good places to eat along the way. It is hard to believe that there are a number of places scattered through the woods of such a rural area. The largest town is around 300. We could have had catfish as Bobby’s fish camp, seafood at DeDoc’s, a train wreck loaded potato at J&K Junction, or authentic homemade pizza at Bimbo’s. I opted for Bimbo’s because I am partial to their shrimp, mushroom and bacon pizza on a homemade crust as well as the interesting things on their salad bar like pepperoni.
I have attended plays in Gilbertown for years. One Christmas, I went to see Amahl and the Night Visitors. Believe it or not, in rural Southwest Alabama, it was an opera. It was beautifully done! At the end, Fred came out and said “Ah, fooled you didn’t we?” How many of you enjoyed the opera?” Everybody clapped and raised their hands. Then he asked “how many of you would have come if you had known it was an opera?” About three hands went up. Sometimes in rural Southwest Alabama we have to be fooled into culture, but we enjoy it when we get there.

DECKING MY HALLS

2007-12-20T08:51:00.000-06:00

I finally got all my decorating done. I had to ask myself “why bother?” since I live alone. People tell me I don’t live alone because there are always friends in and out. It’s been particularly pleasant to have company this December because it is still porch sitting weather. We can light the candles and drink wine on the front porch in the evenings. It is not usually like this, so I consider this a Christmas gift from the Universe to Southwest Alabama.
I decorated as much as usual, pretending that it is cold December even while I write this sitting on the porch with the birds still singing in the trees. It is like having the best of both worlds – the joyous Christmas season and shirtsleeve weather.
This appears to be a red year in decorating. I used red amaryllis, my favorite flower as the main element. I have collected them for years. I like clear reds, not deep reds. Living in the country ( I think of it as a small town, but I realized it wasn’t so when a friend from California said she lived in a small town of 40,000), I save ribbons and decorations over the years. I reuse them as much as possible, but this year, many of the old ribbons bit the dust. I bought one big roll to start over with. All my ribboning this year is red tartan. Many of us residents of southwest Alabama have a Scots/Irish heritage. I am not particularly celebrating that, I just love red and green. I notice many of the magazines this year are using white accented with silvers and blues. To heck with that, I like bright and colorful for Christmas. My tree has colored lights. They are gold with touches of red and green. The tree is loaded with ornaments then beribboned all over with gold, red and green ribbon I bought at the flea market in Mobile. I never think of myself as a fan of Victorian decorating except at Christmas. For the holiday season, I festoon and drape with the best of them. Usually, I am a fan of the country English look because I love the way they collect all kinds of books and art, finding places for it all. I love the way that everything is used and lived with, including the finest antiques. If I can’t sit on it and prop on it, I don’t have it. At Christmas, there are a lot more people around to sit and prop. In the past four days, I have had different overnight guests three of those nights. They have all enjoyed my decorations and sitting on the porch with me. It is has been a great treat to me to have one on one time with some of my favorite people and cook some authentic southern foods for them. I made some Conecuh sausage cheese bread, chicken salad, pimento cheese, and soups (even though it is hot weather).
I do have a full time job, but being with friends and entertaining is a fine southern tradition that adds to the quality of life. I can rest when I’m dead. I take a full regime of vitamins and herbs to keep me going. I never go to the doctor because I’m never sick. Okay, I confess, I did go to the doctor recently. I was shopping at the Talbot’s outlet in Kentucky where my mother lives the day after Thanksgiving. I looked down in the dressing room and saw a blue circle like a bull’s eye on my stomach (which I try not to look at ordinarily). In the middle of the circle was a red spot. I didn’t feel bad, but my family got all upset, so when I got home, I went to Dr. Frank. He gave me a tetanus shot and took blood work to see if I had a dread disease. I didn’t, but the tetanus shot got me down for a day or two. I don’t believe in taking medicine if I can help it, but I took my first round of antibiotics in 20 years. I have recovered sufficiently to keep up my social schedule. In rural southwest Alabama, entertaining and being entertained is a way of life.
I am including some photos of my Christmas decorating to share with you. I have recently discovered that I like to make pictures now that digital cameras provide instant gratification. I don’t think I’ll ever Ansel Adams’ successor because that kind of photography takes patience which I don’t seem to have much of. I can’t wait for the light to get right, I just have to snap it and hope it comes out well. There must be some magic in my digital camera, because so far, pictures are turning out well. If you don’t thinks so, don’t tell me. Keep my simple faith alive. This is the essence of Christmas.

CHRISTMAS AT GAINESRIDGE

2007-12-12T09:46:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I had two meals at the Gaines Ridge Supper Club in Camden. It was a good day. This is one of the spots we always direct tourists to when they are in the area. It is on the Alabama Department of Tourism’s 100 Places to Eat Before You Die list. We recommend the food, but love the atmosphere as well. It is especially beautiful in December. The setting is beautiful any time. It is located just east of Camden in an antebellum home set on a hill surrounded by trees draped in Spanish moss. In December, the house is festooned with all the accoutrements of the season. It greets you with lanterns along the gravel driveway. At night they are lit. The front of the house is garlanded with evergreens and red bows that are only a clue to what you’ll fine inside. Every room is decorated in a style befitting a grand old lady of a house.
This is not a fancy house, which is part of its charm. It was not built for a wealthy planter to show off his fortune. It was a lived in house of a normal family. It has been added on to as the restaurant business grew. The added on part is the one most folks mistake for the original part because it has the look of a pioneer cabin.
When the two Gaines sisters started the supper club, nobody in Camden thought it would last. People there didn’t eat out much. There had been only one café in town as long as anybody could remember before Gaines Ridge. Betty Gaines Kennedy and her sister prove the local critics wrong. For many years they have been serving good food to appreciative people. It is another example of how far out of their way people will come to eat well. The group I was with a lunch yesterday was from Montgomery, 60 miles away.
They were expecting to eat lunch, not spending so much time with the visual treats as well. Every visitor is free to look over the whole restaurant before settling down to their meal. It is all right to pop into the other dining rooms to see the decorations even if your party is not in that room. It’s a kind of “excuse me, I’m just looking” as we sometimes do in department stores. The other diners are good natured about it because they just did the same thing.
The rooms are all done in individual themes, but they flow easily into one another.
The homespun atmosphere of the fireplace room was my favorite. Most of the other rooms were fancier, but the decorations on the hearth were charming. There was a teddy bear and other toys in a wicker box placed next to the tree that was decorated in bird ornaments, natural materials and raffia. The mantle had simple decorations. A fire burned merrily in the fireplace. The tables were covered in red and white checked homespun. The valances at the window continued the checked theme with ribbon and greenery trim.
All of the rooms had trees. Some were grand ladies in their Christmas finery. My favorite tree was a small one that had demitasse teacup as the only ornaments. The owner has many interesting collections. I think the cups must come from those. Just inside the front door, there are bookcases filled with, of all things, a collection of gravy boats! I wouldn’t have thought of collecting those. However, some of them were pressed into service in the dining rooms as holders for sugar packets. It was clever idea, because with all the tea and coffee that gets served, I imagine there is a call for a lot of sweetener packets.
Even the back porch has red and green plaid cloths. There are red ribbons on the plants in the back garden. If you want to get the Christmas spirit, got the Gaines Ridge.
They are open all year around Wednesday-Saturday nights, and for lunch for groups by appointment. They are open daily for lunch during December and at nights for group Christmas parties. At lunch the menu will be whatever they happen to be serving. Yesterday, it was a traditional turkey and dressing dinner. It included turkey/dressing, rice and gravy, sweet potato casserole with crushed pineapple and a touch of cloves, well seasoned green beans and always hot from the oven homemade parker house rolls. There was bread pudding with bourbon sauce. There is always all the tea and coffee you can drink. When you arrive, hot spiced cider will be waiting for you to enjoy as you walk through looking at the decorations. The total for lunch including tax and tip is $15.00.
For dinner, the menu will include several choices of entrée. With this comes your choice of potato or rice pilaf, a dinner salad and, of course, those homemade rolls. For we dessert, we were fortunate enough to be served the black bottom pie, the dish that is to die for.
Gaines Ridge is worth driving for as many visitors have discovered. It is a destination in itself, but combined with a trip to Gees Bend on the ferry and Black Belt Treasures, a gallery for local artists; it makes a great day trip. A drive around town to see the antebellum homes will add to the experience.
If you don’t have the Christmas spirit now, maybe you need a trip to Gaines Ridge to put you on the right path.

Christmas Parades

2007-12-05T10:35:00.000-06:00

We in the South all have an innate love of pageantry, whether we admit it our not. That is why every little town has its own Christmas Parade and they are such a success. People, who would walk across the street to avoid each other on a normal day, will shout “hello” and wave until they nearly fall off the float speaking to the same people as they parade through town. They will throw candy to people they normally wouldn’t give a crumb of bread to if they were starving.
People lined up along the parade route who are normally staid and calm will scream for candy. They will jostle little children out of the way for Mardi Gras beads to turn their conservative outfits into Christmas decorations.
Christmas parades are the great equalizer. Anybody who is willing to march can get in. In our local parade that holds true unless you are a horse. They were outlawed along time ago when the Sheriff’s Posse was mounted in the parade. The horses left too many calling cards along the way. The mothers of the majorettes complained about the condition of their daughters’ boots. Horses were outlawed immediately. The Sheriff’s Posse wasn’t about to loose their dignity by being followed by pooper scoopers.
Out floats are all homemade. Some are quite charming. They are always judged by secret judges scattered in the crowd. Their identity is always secret for their own protection. It is necessary, as anyone who has ever judged a beauty pageant or floats that parents worked late into the night to build will tell you.
It was a shock to me to learn that now we have to pay bands to be in parades. I thought they were in it for the sheer honor of performing. I guess all that changed when every town’s parade started being on the same day. Now they hire out to the highest bidder. Consequently, there are few bands per parade. There were actually some floats this year with love performers on board or boom boxes. They can’t hold a candle to a drum beat and horns, but at least modern technology has made available alternatives to the bidding on bands.
The one float that I thought went too far even in the Bible Belt was the SUV with Christian Queen written on the side and the Queen ensconced on the back tailgate. We are all far too fond of our various and sundry brands of religion to be able to agree on one brand as being able to proclaim one of theirs queen. It is quite arrogant to assume that one outshines the others and just seized the title for itself. I’ll be interested to see how many brands of Christian Queens are floated out next year.
People stand on the side of the road where their child will be facing from the float they are on. One mother who was riding in the parade (not the Christian Queen) has bought specials toys to throw to her child and friends. I hope her aim was good or she’d have more problems than even the Christian Queen with the partiality issue.
It was a long assed parade. We are very proud of our fire departments locally. They win all kinds of state competitions. We have bought them many fire trucks. All of them were in the parade. I was glad to see children back riding them. For a while, the firemen were too arrogant to allow it. They had two excuses. One after the other – the first was that if the fire truck had to pull out and go fight a fire, what would happen to the children? That was settled by parents having to walk along and monitor the floats. Then they said their insurance wouldn’t allow it. We locals thought that strange since they were climbing all over fire trucks in nearby towns. I just don’t think they wanted to be worried with children until a few of them got pretty grandchildren they wanted to show off and all that changed.
Our local parade has had the same godfather for 22 years. It’s a lot of work to put on one of these. He was an unsung hero until this year when somebody had sense enough to make him the Grand Marshall. They didn’t have a Citizen of the Year. It seems that anybody chosen citizen of the year either dies or has a serious illness shortly thereafter. We wanted to keep the parade guru in good health because it is a thankless job.
Having small town Christmas Parade really is a great way to start the season. It is all about peace and good will even if it is for just

Decking the Halls

2007-12-03T10:44:00.000-06:00

My friend Judy Martin’s house in on the Tour of Homes in Marion this weekend.
I am on standby with some fake amaryllises in case the real ones don’t force in time. We are down to the wire. The florist is applying heat and light to make it happen.
Judy is one of those superwomen that have 20 things going at once. Any physical problems she might have are never mentioned. She just gives it her all and goes full speed ahead. Last year this time, she had major surgery with complications, was renovating her early 1800s house and still selling another house two counties away. This year, I guess she got bored with ordinary life (which for her is juggling four balls of activity on the air) and decided to add a little excitement by agreeing to host the tour.
Judy has her degree in interior design which has little to with her career life which includes working with two major universities, a non-profit foundation, and numerous volunteer jobs which she does so easily, that most people don’t realize the effort she puts in. Of course, the truth is that making a hard job look easy is a talent in itself. That is the same principal she is applying to the tour of homes. I’ve known women who can make a year long major production out of planning a wedding. It would take Judy one week and it would be a quality production.
She has chosen to make her décor theme how the house might have looked in its early days. She is using all natural greenery and fruits with a few feathers of local birds thrown in. Of course, like the early settlers, she will have some of the family pieces of silver and other collected treasures on display in her tablescapes.
Judy and her husband, John, did most of the renovation themselves with local subcontractors and carpenters. The house is not one of those grand Tara/Twelve Oaks jobs. It is one of the three oldest houses in an old Black Belt town. It has upper and lower porches and two front doors. The chicken coop in the backyard is on the National Register of Historic Places. Their renovation was kind to the old house. It was actually three houses cobbled together to make what is now their home. The den, the heart of the house was a sagging enclosed back porch. They jacked it up and made it look the way it was supposed to. They took two of the multitude of bedrooms and made great big baths that have places to lounge in them. The kitchen is state of the art with the prettiest yellow distressed cabinets you ever saw. The colors in the house are soft sagey greens and neutrals. The colors of the furnishings and draperies are muted, but not dull. You can imagine how the natural decorations will enhance the holiday theme.
Judy will probably kill me for divulging plan B which is having the fake flowers that will only be pressed into service if the real ones don’t rear their natural heads. I promise that these are good fakes. They came from the NDI (Natural Designs Incorporated) in Brewton which advertises in Southern Accents and Architectural Digest magazines which don’t allow any tacky in their pages. Besides, they’ll be interspersed with genuine raised in the woods greenery and berries from the back yard. If you don’t tell, I won’t.

Official Start of Christmas

2007-12-03T10:39:00.000-06:00

It’s official. Christmas has come to rural Southwest Alabama. It started Sunday with the first activity in Demopolis for their annual Christmas on the River week. They have something going every day and night this week. The first activity was a choral concert by the Demopolis Singers. They are a group of volunteers who perform under the direction of Clyde Williams who just happens to be a Julliard graduate. I know that surprises those of you who think of us down here is not wearing shoes very often. Although I am very much in favor of a shoeless lifestyle, I also love culture. I am part of the Demopolis singers, even though I live in Thomasville, 45 miles away. I am a tagalong. The real singer is a friend of mine who wanted company on the ride. My original intent was to go hang out with my friend Cindy while he practiced. Somehow, they needed another soprano, so I ended up singing in a funny suit that looks like I should be carrying a tray with champagne glasses on it. To tell the truth, I really enjoyed it. It’s not every day that we can work with a Julliard led chorale. I sing in the local church choir where one member it under 40. The average age of the rest of us is almost AARP qualified. Our director is also the organist/pianist. He is a very talented musician, but I am not sure he can always hear what is going on. We are sort of like his backup singers. The truth is – our claim to fame is the fact that we robe up every Sunday. We are adequate for serving the Lord in a routine sort of way, but for real enthusiasm, you’d have to look elsewhere. You’d fund that enthusiasm in the Demopolis Singers.
Being part of a group that belts out carols is a good way to lead off the season. There are lots of things going on around here for the holiday. There are several tours of homes in the area including ones in Marion, Monroeville and Coffeeville this weekend.
There is a candlelight tour of the public antebellum homes in Demopolis Thursday night. There is a barbeque cook off Friday night and an illuminated boat parade on Saturday night. There are other activities going on during the day. A visitor could spend this whole week in Demopolis and not get bored. There are a number of family oriented activities going on.
As we drove back from Demopolis last night, I noticed Christmas lights beginning to sprout up all along the way. I hear some people complaining that it’s too early, but I just love it. To me, Christmas is a celebration of life and joy. There are positive uplifting things on television every night. The stores are playing carols. Homes grand and humble are decorated. Even the most humble abode is beautiful when outlined with lights. It’s beginning! Merry Christmas, Ya’ll!

November 19, 2007

2007-11-19T15:41:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I went shopping. Where I live is in a wonderful place. I can buy what I need and most of what I want, but it’s hard to spend many hours shopping, unless you’re like my sister, who can spend three hours in one store. When she comes to visit, I just drop her off and tell her to call me when she’ done. I am one of those sweeps in and out shoppers. I can do a whole shopping area in half a day. I love shopping so much that my friends say my idea of economic development is to take my friends shopping.
Being the tourism director for rural southwest Alabama requires that I have a full inventory of assets in the area. Shopping opportunities are among our attractions. People love the out of the way shops that they find in our area. We have some great gift, antique, and clothing places as well as some bargain places that are better than the famous Unclaimed Baggage place in Scottsboro that is frequently in national magazines and on television. I have found so many great things there that even the famous discount chains in the city seem overpriced now. Of course, it is like a treasure hunt. Nothing is beautifully displayed, but it’s unbelievably cheap. In fact, the chain is called Dirt Cheap. When I go out of town to a meeting, I try to wear one of my finds, just to prove to people what is there. We call it DC so we don’t sound so cheap. In fact, the merchandise is so good that when we say DC many people think we got it on the Beltway around the nation’s capital. You never know what you might find. You have to go in with no preconceived notions. If you are open minded, you can do wonders. However, every day is not a good day. In fact, we say that if you have luck in Jackson, Ala. On a certain day, you won’t in Thomasville at their sister store. However, if you don’t, you might as well travel to Thomasville, because there is something there for you more than likely. I try to limit my forays to bi-weekly, if possible. You can end up with a lot of stuff. How many Egyptian cotton duvets cover or down comforter’s doe’s one house need? As for clothes, my rule is – if it costs less than a hamburger and fries, go for it. We have disposable clothes now. When we tire of them, we just pass them on to charity.
My shopping yesterday, however, was in the city. I had a meeting in Montgomery. My home town is 100 miles from anywhere. In fact, that’s part of the city’s slogan. It requires planning for when you are going to town. You have to decide what your shopping priorities are in advance. Sometimes, it could be just looking for nothing in particular. Otherwise, you have to map out a strategy for getting everything done. Yesterday, mine was to get two new pair of pants with comfortable waists – one brown and one black. You can’t be that specific at DC, you just have to fish (DC fishing, get it?). I went to one of three discount chains I frequent where I can get those things I can’t find locally.
I have reached the age where my feet speak to me. They let me know when I have been too proud for comfort. I saw a beautiful young girl in the city with what I swear were 4 inch heels. She had to be fewer than 30 because after that, her feet would have rebelled mightily. I am well past 30 and my feet yell when I mistreat them. I like shoes that don’t look like granny comforts, but feel like them. I find these, hit or miss, at the discount stores with designer or high end brands. I found a great pair of brown loafers yesterday that look good and feel better. I can’t usually do that at DC or anywhere locally.
I had a wonderful time shopping into the night. I got out of the meeting and hit the stores. Santa Claus came yesterday. I am not an on-line shopper. I like to touch whatever I buy and see it up close. I know of all the things available on EBay. In fact, there is a local antique dealer who has a business on EBay that she says sells 5 times what she did in her shop. I don’t want any part of it. I’d rather go to one of our small town antique stores and poke around. I like to think I’ve discovered a hidden treasure. Some of the shops are pretty hidden, too.
There is Tucker’s Treasures at the end of a county road between Nanafalia and Myrtlewood. They have 3 warehouses full of antiques, plus another small building of glassware. There are two shops in Thomaston. One is open Thursday through Saturday. The people who have these shops clean out old houses and estates. Then there’s the shop in Thomasville that has several partners. The town of Marion has several shops. It’s fun to get around the region and antique. Add that to our quality art galleries, and there are things to see and do. I don’t have to go to town for anything but fancy food and clothes. When I do it’s an adventure just like it would be for you to come visit us in rural southwest Alabama.

IT’S PECAN TIME AGAIN

2007-11-19T15:40:00.000-06:00

I have 13 pecan trees in my yard and not a single nut. I have a lot of shells on the ground, which means I would have had a lot of nuts, if it wasn’t for the squirrels. I never meant to get in the squirrel raising business. They chose me. When my son was growing up, we didn’t have as much of a problem. He had a pellet gun and a fair aim. He would shoot the squirrels and give them to Susie, our housekeeper who would fry them up with grits and gravy. People who like to eat large rodents thought they were good fixed that way. I could never bring myself to eat one. My granddaddy used to like squirrel brains and eggs for breakfast Mama said. If we were hungry, I’m sure we would have learnt to eat all manner of critters. We never got that hungry, thank God. I just looked at their skinny carcasses and gave thanks that they weren’t my supper.
Of course, we in the South know that most things are enhanced by pan frying and smothering in gravy, especially if you have a pan of cat head biscuits along side. I probably could eat the gravy off the squirrels, if not their rodent bodies.
As it is now, Susie died at 95 and Jeremy, the erstwhile hunter grew up and moved to the city. The squirrels and I stayed. I heard on NPR the other day that it’s not uncommon for squirrels to live 20 years. Some of the ones that didn’t get hit by the pellet gun may still be the fat, healthy one frolicking in my pecan trees.
Fortunately, this has been a bumper crop year for pecan trees in my friends’ yards. I am lucky to have generous friends. One came by yesterday and brought me 10 pounds of pecans she had picked up and cracked for me. Now, that is friendship. Picking up pecans is not easy work. It’s like Easter egg hunting with camouflage for adults. Pecan trees have wide spreading limbs. The wind carries the nuts as they fall, so they may or may not land in close proximity to the tree. I’m sure the professional tree harvesters have perfected a way of getting the nuts without the hunt or the nuts would be $100 a pound.
Anyway, all I have to do is pick the nuts out. On a cold winter’s evening, it’s something to do with your hands while you watch television. Unfortunately, it’s not cold yet here. We are in mid-November and I’m sitting on the porch barefooted and quite comfortable in the early morning. We’ve had a cold snap with a light frost, but the frost wasn’t enough to kill the flowers yet. I’ll probably sit on the porch and shell the pecans. Actually it will be more convenient to just toss the shells into the flowerbeds.
There is some discussion across the South about how to say pecan. We pronounce it with a like in “ah ha”. People in the Carolinas say it like “can”. We tell a joke about that. A woman from South Carolina was visiting in South Alabama. She went into a hardware store that advertised that it sold pecans. She pronounced it her way, saying “Do you have any pe-cans?’. The perplexed young man who waited on her scratched his head and said “No’m, but we’ve got some slop jars”. It must be an old joke, because we don’t even have slop jars now.
We may not agree on how to pronounce the nut, but we can agree on ways to serve it. Hands down the favorite is pecan pie. It is easy to make. Some people insist on whole nut halves in it. They must be better at picking out than I am because I don’t have that many whole nuts. I prefer chopped pecans because they get the sticky filling better distributed. It is an easy pie to make, but expensive in years when nuts are few.
One of my life’s ambitions is to be able to make a good homemade pie crust. I will go a hundred miles to eat a pie with a homemade crust. In fact, I do go 60 miles to Livingston to the Bakery Café where the Mennonites do make scratch crusts for their pies. In my kitchen, I have generic brand frozen crusts. I have learned that if you put the frozen crusts in for a few minutes before the filling, you are less likely to get a mushy crust. I do that for all pies with filling, including quiches. For pecan pies, I prepare the crust, then fill it with the simple filling that turns through the alchemy of baking into a crunchy, gooey pie that is perfect as is, or can be topped with a few teaspoons of bourbon while it is hot, then garnished with ice cream. I have even seen pecan pie in a jar, with the filling ready to be dumped into the crust (adding butter and eggs, of course) for sale at Black Belt Treasures in Camden. I make my filling by melting a stick of butter in a bowl in the microwave, then adding a cup of brown sugar, 2 tbps corn syrup, 2 eggs, and a dash of salt and a cup of chopped pecans. I then cook the pie very slowly, with a sheet of foil laid lightly over the top. The foil trick is something I learned from my former mother-in-law who was a wonderful cook (and a terrible gossip). I’m sure her place in heaven was earned by her pecan pie.
Other things that I like to do with pecans, is add them to any icing that has cream cheese in it (red velvet or Italian cream cake, for example). I like to use them in the cookies that we can either sand tarts because of their texture, or Viennese crescents by those of loftier language. I love to read old cookbooks and find the names of things with foreign titles that turn out to be things that people of other nationalities never heard of in the countries ascribed to the recipe, Chinese Beef Stew, for example. I love the way we country cooks upgrade our creations by giving them foreign names. Sometimes we do the same thing by adding pecans to squash casserole, or water chestnuts to green beans. We take the bounty of our harvests and create new things with it. For my part, I’m delighted that somebody thought of turning pecans into pies.

2007-04-20T08:49:00.001-06:00

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A Front Porch is a State of Mind

2007-02-01T16:20:00.000-06:00

Front Porch is a State of Mind

What does a front porch mean to me? It's the place where I go to find myself when the world is bearing down on me. It's a place where I get in tune with myself and myself in tune with nature. It's a place where I can sit and think where I can read in peace or where I can be joined by a neighbor for a cup of tea. It's my outdoor living room for at least 6 months of the year. That is one of the wonders of living in Southwest Alabama. We have all the seasons, but in moderation. There are even days in the winter when we can comfortably be on the front porch. I really could stretch it to say that we can be on the porch for 9 months of the year, but I don't want to brag too much, or you'll all want to move here. We would love to have you visit but if you all came here to live; the front porch might not be as peaceful anymore. Right now we are the place that time forgot. We have a slower pace of living that gives us time to be who we are without having to wear our workday roles on the weekends or our dress up clothes all the time. As I write this, it is a sunny, cool Saturday morning. I am sitting in my sunroom wearing my favorite robe, listening to my favorite music, drinking flavored coffee as I write this. I am in no hurry to do anything.

Isn't it great to have day with no shoulds in it? I should be doing something constructive. I should be working on something…. all those things that make us prisoners of our own expectations. To really stay who we are, we have to have a quiet day every so often. I call them mental health days. If I have one of those, I don't have to get sick to get a rest day. Do you realize that we do that to ourselves? When we don’t voluntarily take time for ourselves, our bodies will do it for us. I try to take time off before that happens.

Our region is famous with hunters. They think they come here just to kill animals, but I have news for them. I have listened to them over the years and learned a few things. What they really come for is the peace and quiet. They come for the chance to be in nature. They come for the informality of the living in hunting camps, wearing camouflage or other baggy clothes and not shaving. They come for the quiet evenings where they sit by the campfire or curl up to read books. They drink beer and watch sports in their underwear if they want to. They are with like-minded spirits who share their values. They don't have to please anybody but themselves. A front porch is something most hunting camps have, even if the camp is a mobile home planted in a thicket, because it is a chance to be in nature and to be informal. The front porch is where the hunting stories are told and the bourbon is sipped. The front porch is the symbol of our region because it says a lot about who we are. We share a sense of community with each other and our neighbors, while at the same time respecting our own need for quiet time in nature. The front porch connects us to each other and to nature as well as our own soul selves.

You are welcome to join us. We in Southwest Alabama are famous for our hospitality. Just don't move here unless you share the same values and the same needs. We don’t want to change our way of life too fast. We like who we are and think you will, too.

For more information call:

Linda Vice @ (334) 636-5506

Or email linda.tourism@yahoo.com

We can arrange a trip here for a day of a season. While you are in Gulf Shores, We're only a couple of hours away. Come sit on our front porch!

For more information on tourism in rural southwest Alabama, please refer to the main Alabama's Front Porches website!

Remembering Lucrethia

2007-01-26T16:39:00.001-06:00

After 93 years, a legend is gone. My friend Lucrethia Cairl has gone to meet her maker. When she was 85 years old. Her family thought they would surprise her with a birthday party. She came in dressed up in her Sunday dress, wearing elaborate jewelry and stiletto high heels. She came in with a look of surprise that could only be well rehearsed. She was a bit too surprised, flinging her arms wide with surprise and exclaiming with high pitched squeals of glee. We had been friends for a number of years, so I took her aside later in the party and said that was an academy award winning performance. How did you know?".

Her reply was "When your son-in-law has been your son-in-law for 27 years and he ain't never taken you to ride, comes by and says 'let's go riding', you know something's up." She was always that savvy. She had to be. She raised her children during the depression as a black single mother. She made her living as a cook, mostly at the Alabama Grill. It was the local landmark and watering hole,of which one local father said when his son was ready for college "I'm not going to send him to college, I'm going to send him to the Alabama Grill. He can learn everything he needs to know there anyway."

Lucrethia taught me a lot about cooking just by listening to her. She was a narrative cook. She had a story for every recipe. Not only did she teach me to put bell pepper into my dressing along with the standard onions and celery, but she taught me to stir it to get it to set, instead of putting in a number of eggs to do the job. She said that years ago, hens didn't lay many eggs except in the spring time, so the eggs had to be saved for the holiday cakes where they were really needed. To get the dressing to set, the cook had to stir it around in the baking pan to get the texture right. Her dressing was the best I ever had, right up there with her chicken pie. The highest compliment she could pay anybody was to make them a chicken pie. Like most of the cooks in our rural south, Lucrethia equated cooking with love. We feed those we love. It is our favorite way of honoring those we love. I guess that's why we call it soul food.

I knew that Lucrethia and I had a real bond when she made me a chicken pie. She used to make it regularly at the Alabama Grill as a lunch special. She worked there until she was in her eighties.

At the surprise birthday party, Lucrethia had to make a speech. One of her daughters introduced her. The daughter said that members of the family have always been told that their mama could out walk them and out talk them any day of the week. Lucrethia proved the point by strutting around the room on her high spiked heels before she started her speech. Then she strutted to the middle of the room. She gave credit for her good health and vitality to her skills as a root doctor. She made up a potion consisting of various herbs and turpentine which she dosed herself with daily. She had never been sick she said and it was all due to her root potion. Something certainly worked. She was the highest stepper as well as the best cook in town. Her positive attitude didn't hurt either. Lucrethia will be missed both for her vital presence and her famous chicken pie. Although her presence is no longer among us, her chicken pie lives on. She shared her cooking skills with all her daughters and with others who loved her. She shared a bit of her soul with us, which we still turn into chicken pies and dressing with bell pepper in it.