grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Let heaven and nature sing!

By

Momma
The sky reflects a brilliant sea of white, the blanket of white mirrors the fleecy clouds above. An outline of bright blue sky illuminates the land. A globe of white, the heaven and earth indistinguishable, saturated with the aroma of cotton. White gold hanging on stalks ripe for picking.
My mother gives final instruction to her accommodating farmers.
In ten days, if the weather holds out and you observe carefully, you might glimpse a farmer smiling. 
All year they toil for this moment.
Christmas in Autumn. Let heaven and nature sing….

talya

Musical Pairing:

Joy to the World, Three Dog Night

The BAT picking her own cotton.

Blackbirds

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Throughout the spring and summer they send up silent prayers. These rough, hardworking, strong farmers ask for very little else other than ideal growing conditions. Not too hot. Perfect rainfall.
Just one more good crop.

Self-taught, yet like highly educated scientists, they control weeds and pests and test soil for nutrients, constantly patrolling the fields, sensing the slightest alteration in the landscape. They hear the wind change direction and feel the days get shorter.

The rice grows. Flat green blades, heading and flowering, ripening into a milky stage.  Finally golden brown, heavy, dry. Ready for harvest they pray once again for late summer storms to scatter, to blow over the county, leaving them at peace to work into the night.

Combines, massive and roaring, move into the fields, threshing and cutting, churning up dust and debris, leaving jagged stalks and stubble behind. Leaving duck blinds, partially revealed.
Duck blind pit mid-field…
Thick flocks of black birds circle at a safe distance, curious, panicked. They watch their summer food vanish. Winter is not far behind.
talya
Musical Pairings:

Ol’ Man

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Where I come from, ‘the river‘ means only one thing – The Mighty Mississippi. Only a few miles away from my home, he is the life source for the entire delta region, the reason our little towns even exist. These towns that are so important to us. Old Man River connects us to the gulf, to the rest of the world. Our grand highway to export soybeans and rice and corn. Our livelihood.

Our soul.

America’s mightiest river.

Have you seen how low the river is lately?
NO ONE asks, which river?
When mentioned in passing, no one confuses him with the White River or the St. Francis River or the Buffalo River, although all amazing waterways.
Like Elvis, no one asks which Elvis?
Which Madonna?
Which Cher?
Which Jesus?

For those of us born on his riverbanks, his water courses through our veins. A source of inspiration and energy, a vigilant Father. Part of us.

As kids we often drove behind the levees to make sure the river was still there, like visiting an old relative. Often taken for granted, yet always needed. Driving into Memphis, we held our breath on the bridge spanning the river. A game we played in route to the Zoo or Goldsmith’s or the Mid-South Fair. It was a l-o-n-g way over. My lungs were never strong enough.

We weren’t allowed to swim in the river. But I waded in to my knees once. In high school. The only time in my life I was afraid of water, the undertow wicked. 

He commands respect, capable of bestowing great wealth or catastrophic misfortune. Doing as he pleases, meandering where he will, like a stubborn cotton farmer. Misunderstood, quiet, strong. Sometimes appearing calm but always churning, roiling underneath the surface. Muddy and brown then golden and light, flowing. Seeking the ocean. Controlled by no one.

Providing for all of us.

Generations have witnessed his greatness, forever looking the same but never the same water. And the amazing things he has witnessed… abundant undisturbed wilderness, slavery and bloodshed, milk and honey, gambling and thieving, pirates and voodoo, jazz and blues, sacrifice and dreams. 
He mus’ know sumpin’, but don’t say nuthin’, he jes’ keeps rollin’, he keeps on rollin’ along…
2011 The River from Memphis Bridge
Last year the river water levels were at an all time high, threatening crops and animals, people and history. Today a record low, tired from drought and dry with sediment.

Still mighty and majestic. Our soul.

Port of Osceola August 2012

talya

Musical Pairings:

Ol’ Man River – Paul Robeson

River in the Rain – Roger Miller

“The poetry of the earth is never dead.” 
― John Keats

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!