Arkansas - grace grits and gardening

How High’s the Water Mammaw Ruby?

June 13, 2014 By Talya Tate Boerner

Most of Mammaw Ruby’s customers lived in Victoria and Luxora. She even sold Avon to the gypsies living on the edge of Osceola. On Saturday, I helped her with deliveries. Her car was crammed with white sacks filled with lipsticks and lotions and rose-scented perfume. She said while we were out, we needed to see how high the Mississippi River had risen with all the recent rain, in case Papa Homer needed to build an ark.

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Mammaw Ruby wasn’t known for her driving abilities.

Driving to the top of the levee, she hogged the entire road. I held my breath and prayed no one was speeding up the other side.

As her car straddled the levee, the river roiled only inches away lapping against the asphalt.

A tree floated by.

“I’ll swanee! We’re stuck!” Mammaw said in a panic. “I can’t turn around.”

“Let me out. I’ll walk.” There was no way I was going to drown in Mammaw’s car when she plunged over the edge. Even though I was a good swimmer, the current was dangerous. Daddy said if we EVER swam in the Mississippi River, we would surely drown.

Before I could escape, Mammaw reversed the car and backed down the levee the way we had come. The motor moaned. My knuckles cramped and clutched the door handle as I prepared to jump.

Later that night, I relayed the story to Momma at the supper table. Momma promised we would never again ride with Mammaw Ruby. Momma forgot all about that promise the next time she needed a free babysitter.

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Johnny Cash – Five Feet High and Rising

Riding with a Farmer

June 8, 2014 By Talya Tate Boerner

We were driving to church for my cousin’s wedding when Daddy pulled off the highway and stopped the truck. “What are you doing?” Momma asked, even though she knew the answer. Riding anywhere with a farmer meant factoring in lots of extra time. Daddy drove slow enough to watch cotton bolls open from the highway.

“We’re gonna be late,” I moaned and applied another coat of strawberry lip gloss. I hated to be late for anything, plus I was in charge of the guest book.

Daddy grabbed his hoe from the back of the truck, ambled across the shallow ditch, and waded through rows of knee-high cotton. He wacked down the annoying weed wearing his new sport coat from Westbrook’s.

Momma sighed.

All the Tate girls had been trained to scan the horizon for johnsongrass. Teasing and waving in the breeze, the offensive plants were easy to spot, a different shade of green standing taller than the crop.

Daddy had some of the cleanest fields in Mississippi County. Everyone agreed.

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Lord I Hope this Day is Good, Don Williams

Thrill Hill in the Delta

May 31, 2014 By Talya Tate Boerner

As we approached Thrill Hill, we braced our legs against each other and firmly planted our bare feet in the bed of the Chevy. Gripping the side, the truck felt hot against my cramped knuckles.

“Faster, faster!” we giggled.

Although Uncle Woody drove with his windows down, he couldn’t hear through the wind.

There was no reason for such a steep hill to exist in the asphalt. Jutting up in the flat Delta, it was the only hill in a county surrounded by miles of cotton and soybean fields. I was certain it must have been an Indian burial mound. No one ever confirmed my suspicion.

I counted telephone poles stringing along the ditch bank and anticipated the sensation without watching the road ahead.

Uncle Woody’s truck rattled louder the closer we got.

Side by side we perched inside a windstorm of whipping hair and teary eyes.

As the truck soared over the top, we sailed airborne. My stomach flip-flopped with a falling sensation as the truck bounced on the other side.

“Do it again, Uncle Woody!” we begged.

We did it again.

And again.