Dear Sunday Letter friends,
I’m baaaack. Sorry I missed writing my letter last week. It was a crazy week (part of which is detailed below). This week brings the Great Pumpkin and Halloween and Milk Duds that I’ve already begun sneaking from the trick-or-treat stash. You know what all this means?
Santa Claus will come to town in fifty-eight days…
Yikes, y’all. Somewhere in the sock drawer of my mind it still seems like mid-summer to me.
Cheers To The Bat!
We’ve had a big couple of weeks. Momma official moved to Fayetteville. For those new to the Grace Grits family, Momma’s nickname is the Bat, not because she’s batty or anything, but because her initials spell B.A.T.
Not to worry–we still have our farm in Mississippi County, and she will continue to spend time there too. But it’s super nice to have her a hop, skip and a jump away for much of the time.
We officially toasted her arrival with our special bat wineglasses.
You may have heard through the social media grapevine that Momma had an accident last weekend. On the way back from her annual, much-anticipated Arkansas Tech homecoming weekend, an almost-car-wreck (she was in the back seat and the details are still unclear to me) resulted in a deep gash down her forehead.
The attentive doctors and nurses at Washington Regional took great care to check her out from head to toe. After nine stitches, two black eyes, a whole bunch of bruises that continue to blossom and spread, and several hours in ER, she’s on the mend. Soon, she’ll be ready for wine-thirty on the porch and other social invitations with her new neighbors.
Time is still on her side thank goodness. It could have been much, much worse.
Not Born South Enough
Sometimes I truly believe I wasn’t born south enough. Don’t get me wrong, I love living in the Ozarks. Having four distinct seasons and summers that aren’t scorching hot and swarming with mosquitoes are definite northwest Arkansas perks. But honestly, when I drive back into the delta, say around Pine Bluff or Stuttgart or Forrest City (depending upon where I’m headed), that’s when the feeling of home hits me smack dab in the heart. For me, crossing over the Mississippi River is nearly a religious experience.
When we were kids and Momma took us to Memphis, my sister and I always tried to hold our breath while we crossed the Mississippi River. (I’m not sure how or why this started, but we always did this driving over any decent-sized bridge.) Now when I cross the river, I hold out my phone, snap pictures, and hope I caught at least one good photo of the water.
They all look the same. A blur of water, a sliver of sky, and a reminder that objects are closer than they appear.
On my bucket list: a riverboat cruise down the Mississippi.
I don’t know why American Queen Steamboat Company hasn’t comped me a cabin and sent me blogging down the river. Other than the fact they have no idea who I am.
Tada! Lucy and Annabelle just got back from a much-needed day at the groomers. They look like schnauzers again and are walking the golden carpet of autumn wearing matching fall-themed bandanas (courtesy of The Whole Pet).
Really, the main reason I wanted to show you this picture isn’t to highlight their synchronized schnauzer skills, although they are on pointe. My primary reason is to show you the leaves.
I wonder if the leaves have any idea how stunning they are?
I wonder if the schnauzers know how synchronized they are?
Remind Me Next Summer
Can someone remind me next summer to mass plant Pentas and Globe Amaranth? Both annuals are beloved by butterflies, pollinators, and now, me. These flowers have been the stars of our garden this past spring and summer (and it was my first time to plant both). Here we are knocking on November’s door, and these beauties are still putting on quite the show.
While we’re at it, can someone remind me next fall to skip the pansies altogether? Or at least restrict them to containers on the porch?
I planted two flats of pansies three weeks ago and they look dreadful today because every single night a stealthy creature roots them up and scatters them in the bed. They become more and more bedraggled with each attempt to poke them back in the soil.
I suppose I should try to trap whatever critter is causing the ruckus. Armadillo, mole, possum, raccoon, squirrels, deer, who knows? Just somebody, anybody, remind me next fall to walk on by when flats of smiling pansies hit the nurseries. Or like I said, confine them in a pot on the porch.
Things Momma Says
(as I drove her to ER with a damp washcloth clamped to her bloodied forehead…)
I think this was my last homecoming reunion…
Well, there’s one good thing about getting conked on the head— it takes away your appetite.
Bye for now Sunday Letter friends. Wear your seatbelt so you don’t end up with Dr. Guinn shooting you up with numbing meds for Halloween. That’s a trick no one needs.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.