ramblings from an arkansas farm girl
I hadn’t eaten homemade salmon croquettes in a hundred years, not since I left home for college. When we were kids, Momma made salmon croquettes for my sister and me nearly every week—it was one of our favorites. (But we called them salmon patties.) Last weekend I made them using the recipe in Momma’s copy of the Keiser’s Kitchen vintage cookbook. And I’m dedicating this recipe to Project STIR, storytelling through international recipes. Continue Reading
A few days ago I decided to dig into our family genealogy. I knew a bit about the Johnson side thanks to Momma’s first cousin who did research before the days of the internet. I knew less about the Creecy side and very little about the Tate/McGougan side other than at some point someone was scalped by an Indian. I remember being told about the Indian story but apparently no one else does (although I haven’t quizzed my sister, so maybe she does, but since she has a faded memory, probably not).
Let me just say right off—what an easy way to lose track of time. As I began to find clue after clue and unravel generation after generation, the whole thing became addictive. Sort of like working a crossword puzzle. I fill in one name which makes another name easier to discover. But I have a difficult time focusing on one particular tree branch and seem to jump branches a lot. Like a squirrel.
But the sheer possibilities, the idea of what might be found, is so intriguing.Continue Reading
If she could have chosen any life, her mornings would have begun on a small screened porch surrounded by trees and clover and breezes off the lake.
With strong, hot coffee,
a favored paperback
and thoughts to fill a page.
If she could have chosen any life, her afternoons would have begun with a worn gravel road,Continue Reading
