Rising Appalachia

I love these ladies, not only because of their sound, but also because I'm in love with the complicated Southern culture I was born into.  I love the South despite its shortcomings, flaws and faults.  Sometimes, you just have to embrace the good, bad, pretty and ugly in those you love. 




Did I ever tell you that I once lived in Mississippi?  Well, once upon a time, I did live in Mississippi, a state that I learned to spell the name of by repeating this little phrase:  m i crooked letter crooked letter i crooked letter crooked letter i humpback humpback i.     My time living in Mississippi predated grade school, so I only have a few memories to remind me of the time I lived there.  But oh, what memories they are.  I remember being banished to one of four corners of our little house.  I cannot remember the deviant behavior I must have been guilty of, but I remember that the other three corners were also occupied.  One by my sister, the other two by the daughters of my mother's best friend.  Since I was the youngest and turned out to be the most level headed and responsible one out of that motley crew, I suspect I was only guilty by association.  The only other memory I have of my Mississippi experience was when Hurricane Camille blew through town. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Camille  Hurricanes don't leave much room in your brain for forgetting.  They mean to pack a lifetime wallop.  I remember the force of the wind blowing the rain through the walls of my uncle's house.  We were staying with him, because he lived about one mile off the beach, and we lived closer than that to the beach.  I only know this, because my mother told me.  She didn't have to tell me about the rain blowing through the house, because that is engrained in my memory.  Nor did she have to tell me about the boats and large wooden spool wheels that were scattered everywhere they shouldn't be.  She didn't have to tell me about the misery that ensued in the days that followed Hurricane Camille.  But, she did anyways.  She told me it was SO MISERABLE THERE, so hot, and so out of needed supplies, that she said to hell with this ... and packed us up and drove straight back to our home state, where we have been ever since.  But, we still have family in Mississippi, so it stood no chance of becoming a stranger to us.  While I love Mississippi like a cousin, I love Louisiana like a lover, Georgia like a mother and Florida like one of my bestest friends.

House Rules: Any and all passersby, stalkers and the like, can post comments under "lurker comments." They will be screened for hexes, spells, foils, curses, foul smells and cooties before posting. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Camille

Give peas a chance

Pea picking must be going out of style, because I can't find anywhere near to pick a mess of peas, and that's unusual.  The pea of my finest choice is named Sadandy, which I find funny, in the hey, that's interesting way, because remove a couple of letters, and hey, there I totally am by way of letters.  If you didn't know, I live in an area of the country that is no stranger to pea farmers, bean farmers, melon farmers, tomato farmers, peanut farmers, cotton farmers, corn farmers, tobacco farmers, soybean farmers and gosh who knows what else they farm.  Not me, because I'm not a farmer.  I'm just a pea picking, tomato plucking, blueberry picking, gnat waving, mosquito slapping, sweat wiping small city (yes, I said city) dweller who occasionally finds her way to the source of locally grown goodness.  Yesterday I spent the better part of my day tracking down and putting up two bushels of peas for the time of year when there won't be any fresh peas to be found.  I not only gave peas a chance, I embraced peas early on as one of my favorite vegetables, albeit a starchy childhood choice for certain.  I'm sad to say that my other favorite veggies also fall into the starch category -- peas, potatoes and corn.  I wish they didn't taste so good, but oh how good they taste.  My mother invited me to stay for dinner after I had finished blanching and bagging two bushels of peas under her supervision yesterday.  I'm not a canning, preserving, pickling expert, because my mother often does this for me while I'm working, but since both she and I are getting older, I thought it best to re-familiarize myself with the process, which can be hard to hold onto between growing seasons.  I'm no everyday cook either, so when she invites me for dinner, I'm there, and since I was already there, I stayed.  And reader, the only thing we didn't have of my favorite starchy veggies was potatoes.  My mother made fresh cream style corn, fresh peas, fried chicken, sliced tomatoes and the best lacy cornbread I think that woman has ever made.  It was so thin, crispy and delicious that I almost could not believe my taste buds.  One day I may rue the day I was born a southerner, like say the next time I get my cholesterol checked, but yesterday wasn't that day.   

Which brings me back to those Sadandy peas that I'm in search of.  I can't find them.  On top of that, I'm worried that the small southern farmer is going by the way side.  When I called around looking for a mess of Sadandys today, I was told that my favorite small farmer is no longer farming, due to health issues.  And he isn't the first of his generation to give up the pea planting ghost.  Gosh, I hope I won't have to add the role of pea planter to my ever growing list of things I need to learn before the all-knowing and growing generation disappears.  Where are the future farmers of America?   If you know any of those national treasures, please show them this way, or at least give them a well deserved hoorah of encouragement!


                                                            Here lies lacy cornbread. 

I borrowed this photo from the world wide web.

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Public enemy number ....

While I know that I chose to make this blog a public affair, and while I know I love connecting with fellow bloggers, I'm feeling a bit leery of anonymous visitors.  Actually, I'm more leery of anonymous followers via websites other than blogger.  It freaks me out when it appears that one of my own blog posts visited my own blog, so I have to follow the thread to see what other site is the source of that seemingly self visit.  Today, I ended up at a site called bloglovin dot com.  I had never heard of that site before today.  If you have, tell me all about it.  It looked to be a site that assembles lots and lots of blog links in one place.  Hmmm.  How do I feel about that?  I'm not sure, but since I couldn't find my own blog in their lineup of "popular" blogs (hey, no surprise or disappointment there), and because I actually like having referrals to blogs other people deem likeable, I figured what the hell, even though my first reaction was to bolt.  Bolt like a deer surprised by a noise while drinking from a babbling brook.  

This internal flight or fight reaction was instant, but I'm not sure why I felt it, since my blog is public, and most people who write supposedly also enjoy being read.  Let the wonder begin.  Hmm.  Am I embarrassed or defensive of my writing, my lack of worldly knowledge, my lack of blog direction, my everyday ways, my appearance, the things I intentionally and unintentionally reveal?  I think it may be because although I welcome strangers, former strangers and only three (yes 3) non strangers into this secret world of mine, I don't want anyone else in my non computer life knowing about this blog.  I love having somewhere to go to vent (in private) when I need to vent, and as we all know, we most often create vent-able situations with those whom we most often associate.  And, I love or at least like most of those people, and I would never wish to subject them to what should be private thoughts.  

I guess taking even the slightest chance of offending someone is one of the few ways I live dangerously.  The other is forcing myself to drive or ride through a metropolitan area.  I will force myself to do that, but I hate that bitchy danger.   Yep, I recently chose to risk my life in Atlanta.  As a reward, I had a few good meals here and there , one scrumptious burger from Vintage Pizzeria in Chamblee http://vintagepizzeria.com/chamblee, 5 pair of new shoes from DSW where "good shoes come to those who wait," and a new song for the hours upon hours which I do or do not spend at the gym .... drum roll please ... and wait ... wait for this song by this band (both of which I am a late learner and lover of -- but hey, better late than never):




If you like this song as much as I do, then perhaps you would like to hear it again by way of a completely different video ... I found it especially fun ... 




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