grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Hemingway Connection

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grace grits and gardening

 
Waiting to board the plane, we stood nearly touching. Everyone queued up in typical Southwest Airlines kindergarten style, according to boarding pass number order.
 
I was B1.
 
He was B2.
 
B3 and B4 stood directly behind us wearing matching orange travel pillows around their necks like life preservers.
 
Is Little Rock your home? B2 asked B3.
 
Yes, thank goodness. We will never ever EVER go back to Austin. It was just too weird!
 
Yes too weird. B4 echoed.
 
B2 glanced at me and shrugged.
 
I rolled my eyes and noticed the time. The flight was already thirty minutes late leaving Dallas.
The Austin haters yammered on oblivious to other B-numbered boarders standing single-file. They clutched paper sacks of Dunkin Donuts like carry on bags. Sugary sweetness mixed with the awkward closeness and made me nauseous. Plus I had consumed too much coffee.
Is Little Rock your final destination? B2 asked while scanning his iPhone for text messages. Scruffy facial hair, maybe two days’ growth, gave him a relaxed yet cool appearance.

No, I’m headed to Piggott.

Piggott? He had dimples.

Yes, Piggott.

What’s in Piggott?

The Hemingway-Pfeiffer Museum. I’m going to a writer’s retreat.

As in Ernest Hemingway?

Yes. Ernest Hemingway’s second wife was from Piggott, Arkansas. After they married, he spent time there and even wrote a portion of A Farewell to Arms in his barn studio.

Really? 

Yes, really.

Rummaging through the duffle, he pulled out a worn paperback. I started reading this a few days ago…

talya

written at the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Creative Writers’ Retreat, June, 2013. 

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” 
― Ernest Hemingway

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

L is for Lake

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Lake Norfork, Arkansas. Ahhhh!

In my family, we count down to our annual lake trip as though we are jetting off to Bora Bora.

Those not born into our family (i.e. husbands*) do not share in our delight. Oh, they are supportive of our lake love, and once every five years or so even accompany us, but they see little charm in the rustic cabins with fickle plumbing. Finding no thrill in worshipping the blazing sun, they prefer to stay inside and read until their talents are requested at the grill.They just aren’t big boat people, we say about these landlocked husbands, even as our crippled boat is being towed into the nearest dock. Our vintage boat with her smashed bow and tired motor is no beauty, but we love her anyway. Being towed by a sympathetic boater is all part of the adventure, we say. We don’t need no stinkin’ new boat, we say.
They humor us, these dry-land men, but try as they might, they don’t get it. And, how could they, really? Lake water doesn’t flow through their veins.
Grace Grits at the Lake
They weren’t around when we watched and watched for the first peep of the lake through the Ozark Mountains, then waited and waited in the long line to ride the magical ferry across. They missed the thrill of climbing the cliffs for the first time, the first time we JUMPED!
 Norfork Lake, 1970s
They never shot bottle rockets under a globe of stars. They weren’t lucky enough to taste Daddy’s melt-in-your-mouth ribs or hear Uncle Ted’s hilarious rendition of Blue Moon broadcast along the streets of Mountain Home. They weren’t part of the family when 80-year-old Aunt Virgie jumped in the lake and lost her wig.
They never fished in the foggy cove before sunrise or roasted marshmellows at midnight.
They weren’t there…
Lake Norfork, Arkansas
with my sister, 2012
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
P.S. Since this was written in 2013, we did buy a new boat and she’s FABULOUS.
[tweetthis]L is for Lake. Party in slow motion… #arkansaslife[/tweetthis]

*current, ex or pending

Musical Pairing:
Little Big Town, Pontoon

A to Z April Blog Challenge. L is for Lake:))

K is for Keiser

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Keiser, Arkansas
At first glance, my home town may not look like much. An hour from the nearest mall and surrounded by rice fields, Keiser is a small speck on the map of Arkansas, a blur to those driving somewhere else. Yet filtered among the watchful cottonwood trees, memories live—memories of cheerleader practice, Halloween carnivals, best friends, the Yellow Jacket Cafe with mouth-watering burgers and onion rings. 
I drive the streets to recharge and refill, to remember the place rooted deeply in my mind. To remember myself.

Talya Tate - Keiser Elementary

Although the gin is boarded-up, I imagine the highway once lined with over-filled cotton trailers, the wind blowing and spilling a trail of white along the side of the road like snow. The stadium lights went dark years ago, yet the buzz of junior high football lingers in my heart.

I feel your smile, even though you’re gone.

Keiser Elementary School
I remember.

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

K-E-I-S-E-R-J-A-C-K-E-T-S, hey-hey, clap, stomp, clap clap, repeat. Keiser Jackets sting ’em!

“There are some important things to remember always, no matter how hard life presses at you. One of these things is that wherever you are, and no matter for how long, there must be a home to hold you.” – Sheila Moon, Knee Deep in Thunder

Musical Pairing:

Turning Home, David Nail

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!