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Browsing Tag: #southern
Purina Mills has been around for over a century. In that time they put on the most informative sales meetings (for companies & feed customers alike) I have ever attended. A few stick out in my mind. One was where they showed a tag for a 12% horse feed. It sounded pretty good from a nutritional percentage standpoint. When you got down to the ingredients they were actually motor oil, cardboard, and a whole host of deadly components that carry protein, fat, and fiber ratios. Purina sets itself apart from competitors by constantly researching. Their private farm is home to over 3000 animals situated on 1200 acres. Once upon a time, I was attending a training meeting hosted by Purina. This presentation began by telling a story that *I benignly thought* had nothing to do with feeding horses. Seems that there was this woman that was cooking her Christmas ham. Her husband was in the kitchen, underfoot and watching. He noticed she cut a good two inches off each end of the ham. “Why’d you do that for?” he wanted to know. “Do what?” “Cut the perfectly good ends off.” The wife reportedly scrunched her brow. “Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know. My momma always did it when she fixed the ham.” The ham was pushed into the oven to bake in pork peace. Later, as it was transferred to the table, the woman…
It feels weird to have a website. I’ve been updating my favorite social media sites with my web address. Now I’m one of those people. Today I’ve done normal things…laundry, made sausage gravy, wrapped Christmas presents, watched Romy and Michelle’s High School reunion-I’d give you the link if it were any count, but it ain’t, so I’m not- {did anybody else just sing Janet Jackson with that? No? Just me then.} and submitted my book review for the library’s blog. Thank God they keep that one updated for me. I was just relieved to finish that book. It’s another’n I’d give you the link to if it was worth reading. But it’s not. Such a shame. I hate it when books and authors disappoint me. My next one is going much better. I DESPISE wrapping Christmas presents. I much prefer the buying aspect. I even like the buying of the paper. And I continue to buy more every single year, even though we have more than enough to see us through the next decade. My wrapping skills are sorely lacking. Johnny has these precise corners…mine are a wadded up, torn, much-taped, hideous disgrace. It truly is shameful. Now that is an example of one of my worst case scenarios. The package was too big for my wrapping paper. What choice…
As they say on Steel Magnolias, “There’s a story there….” I’m sure you can tell what this present is 🙂 My good friend TammyLynn (the one who almost got eaten by a bull shark at Douglas last week) brought it to me this morning. Here’s what happened, although I’m ashamed to admit it. It all started last year, when I got it in my head to be a good wife & make my husband homemade biscuits. I’m not a fan of homemade biscuits (just hush) & every time I say that in the presence of a baker, they gasp aloud, & say, “You’ve never had mine!” all scandalized. I have determined that in most of my experience eating them, I have found them dry & hard. I much prefer the frozen type, it’s really hard to mess them up. Anyway, so I went to Pinterest, found the prettiest picture, & used the accompanying recipe. This particular endeavor involved putting the dough in the blender. Johnny chose that moment to walk in the kitchen & took in the scene, blender whirring, flour dusted on every still surface (including my hair). “Never seen my granny use a blender to make homemade biscuits,” he commented drily. “You might not live to see these,” I replied icily, as he beat a trail back to the living room. Well, those biscuits came out…
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl with long golden hair. She met & fell in love with a handsome young man. They were wed in the middle of Crawford’s Notch by Jimmy Temple. The little family grew, & soon they had three wild mules running around the house & over the hills. They had a swimming pool, but preferred the pond. Theirs was a picturesque farm on the river, in the middle of town, with beautiful horses grazing in manicured pastures. As the mules grew up & formed relationships with others, these friends were welcomed as family. Their home was always full to brimming with an ever growing group of people. There was much laughter & fun & plenty of tasty food. We sought counsel many times over the years & found understanding in their eyes and a big hug at every turn. The family remained strong & close knit as the years went by. They gathered every Sunday morning at the main home for biscuits and gravy at 9:30 sharp. It was the one time a week everyone was expected to convene together as a whole. They believed in agriculture, & they all worked hard to keep the Sevier County fair going so it would always serve as a special memory for all the kids of the county. They brought it out of a black hole & made it the best one in the state. And we were proud. This family was loved…
This morning felt & looked like January in East Tennessee. What I mean is, it wasn’t super-frigid-freeze-your-fingers-off, but there was a heavy frost. As I drove to work, I took the time to admire all the ice crystals glimmering in the pasture fields & birds sitting close on power lines. There were cattle gathered at gates waiting for their breakfast to be brought around by the bundled up farmer on his tractor. As I drove through hollers, smoke generated by woodstoves & fi…replaces lay low to the ground. There was a stillness to be envied by all those in cities rushing around, too busy to look up (and probably nothing to look at but buildings anyway). I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at the mountain ridge & thinking, “I’ve hiked that…I will hike it again soon.” So you’re probably thinking I crashed ol Patsy into one of those beautiful bare branched trees, but no. I pull into the parking lot & I get a whiff of polecat. I speed around the building, hoping it won’t get stuck in my truck all day. The smell just gets stronger. I hurriedly open my door & bail out gagging. Skunks. Now, that’s life in the mountains…
Alright. Y’all have to read this book. It will take you one day. I would say it will take you one hour, but it won’t, because you’ll have to stop after every story and laugh, then read it to anyone standing near you, then call everyone you know & read it to them. Repeat x81 (that’s how many stories there are). Then you’ll call me & tell me what an excellent recommendation I gave. You’re welcome. Messing With Tourists There’s supposed to be a picture there. Oh well. Here’s a couple of my favorite segments…
Most of you know today as Pearl Harbor Day. To me, it will always be my Grandmother’s birthday as well. I could always remember it because it fell on a National day of remembrance. She has been gone a little over six years. I miss her, but not as much as I thought I would. My grandmother, a few of you know, was a bit of…how shall I say???…loose cannon? You’re a pistol growing up, and if you achieve adulthood & are still out there tenaciously fighting tooth and nail, you are a warrior. I can tell these stories now that she’s gone. She was married for awhile, but her husband was a bit of a spendthrift (among other things, I gather). Once, he came back to the house for a “chat” & she pulled a gun on him. He scoffed that it wasn’t loaded, and she shot the dirt from under his feet 25 feet away. That was the last time he visited. Oh, I know that .38 pistol well. I pulled it on Johnny one morning when I thought he was an intruder. Luckily, he was expecting it & came through the door hollering, “it’s me, baby, don’t shoot!” I reckon he’s always known me pretty well. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. She knew me better than anybody. I…
Y’all settle in. There are a few places in this world where life gets real. You know what I mean. Where rubber meets the road. Hospital rooms, church altars, courtrooms, gravesides, and bars at two a.m, to name a few. Delmar Maples was my co-worker for my cumulative years at Co-op. He didn’t say much, but that’s ok, because what he said counted. He always, always, said “Good Morning,” (which seems to be becoming less common these days). If yes or no was adequate, that’s what you got. I think the first time we ever really had a conversation was when he was showing off his first grandson, he carried him all over the store, grinning ear to ear. Delmar was a small man, with ropy muscled arms, dark eyes, and a scraggly beard. He was never without a mesh-backed “old man” hat that he carefully folded down in the center, essentially making a crown around his head. He traveled with a limp & a whistle. Delmar changed the oil in Patsy many times, & filled a bunch of propane tanks for me & the rest of Sevier County. He didn’t complain or ask for a break in the rain & sleet & snow. He simply bowed his head to the weather & kept working. He crushed boxes too, & I’m ashamed to admit how many times he saved…
Last Sunday I was driving down Boyds Creek & I saw these two old ladies out in the yard. One was pointing to a particular plant in her flowerbed, and the other was peering at it & nodding sagely. They wore polyester pant suits, it looked like to me, with their hair sets & big-enough-to-notice-but-not-big-enough-to-be-tacky necklaces. I slowed, and resisted the urge to stop & watch them, or better yet, join them. They reminded me SO MUCH of my great-grandmother, my Mamaw. I was fortunate enough to have her next door until I was in high school. She loved her flowers. There were several flowerbeds surrounding her home, taking up most of the yard. She had a huge sage patch, and she grew dill, and tended the biggest aloe plant I have ever seen (For those of you that have seen mine, think x3). She also had this magnificent Christmas cactus that blossomed so hot pink it didn’t look real. Anyway, any time she had company, that was part of the ritual: touring the gardens. No matter how many times you’d previously visited, or how recently, you still had to observe the growth of her “cannies” (gigantic leafy red plants with enormous stalks I always thought were hideous), her prizewinning elephant ears that I could hide behind until I was ten, her millions of tulips, the weeping peach tree she was so proud…
This was one of those turnaround posts. One that people loved and shared and complimented me on for days after. And made me consider getting serious about my writing. Today I’m thankful I live in the south. Can y’all even imagine me in Yankeeland? I’m thankful for the flowering dogwoods, magnolias, and crepe myrtles. I’m thankful for the summer days where it’s too hot to even swim, {forget about getting married 😉}I’m thankful for the accents that use every letter in the word. I’m thankful that most people still have enough manners to hold a door open or let you in front of them in line if you’ve only got an item or two. I’m thankful that we have people willing to keep history alive by re-creating the War of Northern Aggression. I’m thankful for the music of cicadas in the late evenings. I’m thankful for all the little festivals celebrating bar-be-que, apples, & catfish. I’m thankful for fried food, sweet tea, cornbread, and beans. I’m thankful that we’ve captured the hearts of everyone who passes through. I’m thankful that we have a church on every corner. I’m thankful for days spent fishing for trout on the foggy Clinch river, hiking and tripping over the mountains in the Great Smokies, & going even further…
