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.
Monday, December 15, 2008
A GREAT PLACE FOR CHILDREN
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.
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.
Friday, November 7, 2008
RETIREMENT PARTY
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.
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.
Friday, October 31, 2008
LIVE ENTERTAINMENT IN TOWN
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.
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.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
A NEW DINING ROOM TABLE
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!
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!
Friday, October 17, 2008
STAYCATION
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!
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!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Canoe and Camping Trip
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!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
FALL IS IN THE AIR
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.
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.
Friday, September 19, 2008
WHY TURKEYS DON’T LIVE IN TOWN
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!
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
HURRICANE GUSTAV ARRIVES
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!
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!
Friday, August 22, 2008
Chef Dodd's Recipes for Soups
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!
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!
Friday, August 15, 2008
COOKING WITH MAMA N’EM
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.
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.
Friday, August 8, 2008
DINNER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY
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.
Monday, August 4, 2008
THE PREMIER IS A WINNER
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!
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!
Monday, July 21, 2008
TO EAT OR NOT TO EAT?
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
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.
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.
Monday, July 7, 2008
THE PARTING OF DEATH
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.
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
THE SCENIC RIVER TRAIL OPENS
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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
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.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Kathryn Tucker Windham’s Birthday
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.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wilcox County Takes Off
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.
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.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Vacation at Home
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Avoiding the Food Police
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.
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.
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