grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Arkansas Girl

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Home
I don’t know no town,
like the old town
Even when the miles are many,
I feel like I’m still around….

The road I travel always brings me home. To the history inside me. Just a girl from Arkansas.

Where people are not perfect, but real. These people who shaped me and call me one of their own. We speak as if in mid-conversation, even though it’s been years.

These do-anything-for you-no-matter-what people.

The junior high sits empty but the memories remain. Takes me back to those autumn nights. Hometown bleachers packed real tight…

The town seems small, the trees huge, grown up around the stories imprinted on our hearts. Memories of first grade, first kiss, first everything. 
The place I’m reminded of what’s important and good, unnoticed at the time, lost and forgotten by the wider world.

Brinkley Chapel

Those who never left may not understand. Or maybe they knew all along.

I breathe it in, hold it inside and take it with me.

I usually take one last pass through town
Stop the car and touch the ground….
Somethin’ fore I go.

Turning Home – David Nail

In memory everything seems to happen to music.~ Tennessee Williams

Lighting the Way to Autumn

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Lighting the way to autumnSeemingly out of nowhere, spider lilies bloom in Munger Place. Yesterday the bulbs were hidden underneath matted ground cover and thirsty summer grass. Suddenly they make an early morning appearance, randomly scattered, tall and sincere on leafless stems, blooming the instant late summer sunlight sends its subtle message. Surprise lilies are a sure sign that autumn is on the way.

Had I known the time was at hand, I would have watched them grow through the night.

Mother Nature’s nonchalant, often unrecognized message is bittersweet. The end of carefree summer days, lake trips, lightning bugs.

First day of kindergarten. First day of college. Change.

Hatch chile peppers and sweet corn pack the produce aisles. Fresh and fragrant. Watermelons and raspberries are priced to move, tired.
Soon the trees will be on fire. Orange, Red, Yellow. Hiding summer. Lighting the way to winter.
I dream of The Great Pumpkin.

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

The Great Pumpkin Waltz – Vince Guaraldi

Oh Great Pumpkin, where are you? – Linus

Imagine

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This morning I am enjoying my first cup of coffee outside. Two days after the city aerial bombed us with poison, there are no mosquitoes. I am skeptical, still waiting for a sting, and worried the war on mosquitoes has destroyed all life in my back yard.


Thankfully I see a dragon fly buzzing around the pool seemingly unaffected.

The temperature, still warm, has a hint of fall tucked within the slight breeze. Is it my imagination? I watch the clouds overhead. They watch me.

As kids, we spent hours flat on our backs in the front yard studying the clouds. Our grass blanket itched and stuck to our sweaty legs, but we didn’t mind. Cloud gazing, an impromptu cool down from cartwheels or freeze tag, wasn’t planned in advance, so a quilt was never considered. 

We called out the shapes of animals and objects like a game of I Spy. A dog. A rabbit. A donut. A boat. White and fluffy, the clouds adding color to sunset. I wondered where the clouds ended up after drifting over Mississippi County. 

Overhead, thin airplane vapors were always exciting to see. At the top of the sky, curving, never stopping in Arkansas. I imagined where the lucky people were going. I imagined where I would go.


Today I see the remains of jet vapor – a straight line with hash marks. A white picket fence. A railroad track. I imagine where the busy people are going. I am content to be drinking coffee. I imagine I am not the only one. Just watching.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Imagine – John Lennon

You must not blame me if I do talk to the clouds. Henry Thoreau

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!