this is a page for
Browsing Tag: #southernsummer
Sometimes I dream of moving. Living elsewhere. Like the Oregon coast. Or the forests of Idaho. Then I laugh and know I can’t– I’m southern through and through. I talk southern, I cook southern, I dress southern. I love horses and God and football. Lord, how I love football (SEC football, that is). I love beer drank on a tail gate and sweet tea sipped on a porch swing. I love cotton fields and apple festivals. I love Dolly Parton. I love magnolia trees and pearls and swimming in the lake. I love old stately homes and hound dogs and athsmatic preachers. I love old ladies who wear hats and whose pocketbooks match their shoes. I love flamingos in the front yard and rusty mailboxes and picking squash. I love taking the long way home and giving directions that include “turn right where Charlie Maples’ grandson used to live”.I love barn cats and pocketknives and flipping over rocks to hunt for crawdads. I love novels set in the south, movies set in the south, and people who come here searching for the real south. I love butterflies and bluebirds and barn swallows. I love fishing from a riverbank with worms you just dug from under the apple tree. I love blue tailed lizards and groundhogs and counting the stars. I love tomato sandwiches on white bread with Duke’s mayonnaise and a dash of salt. I love knowing summer’…
November Writing Challenge Day 17 Grass cuttings You know summer is on the way in the south when you smell wild onions. Most people have Kentucky 31 fescue with a healthy heaping of weeds. People will build half million dollar homes and then slap two bags of grass seed on their plot and call it done. It was quite the joke at the Co-op. And some people cut their yard so short, grass has no choice but to die. Growing season is March through October, fescue prefers the cooler seasons and will go dormant in the hottest part of the year. Or will get brown patch disease and look like hell. But heaven forbid you suggest Bermuda to anybody. That’s a weed. Gets in the flower beds and you can’t pull it out. Sigh. It’s hard out there for a seed salesman 😉 But anyway. I remember as a wee tot I’d gather up all the grass cuttings and go to town, covering up my tomcat, Sylvester, or making a nest for my Greyhound, Candy. Sometimes I’d go make a bed for the rabbits or feed it to the cows through the barbed wire fence. I really felt industrious. I was a primitive grass catcher. I guess that’s about the best I can do with this topic. Why can’t they give me something I can relate to, like cornbread? Then I…
