grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Little Church Campers in the Big Woods

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School will be out for summer in a matter of weeks and parents will be shipping the kiddos off to camp somewhere. As kids, we went to church camp at Ravenden Springs, nestled in the Ozark Mountains. It was an idyllic setting. Just imagine Camp Walden, that perfect summer camp in The Parent Trap where identical twins Hallie and Annie accidentally met. Now take away the lake and fun activities like canoeing and horseback riding and archery and add tons of hellfire, brimstone and Kumbaya. AllDayLong. Now you have the picture.

Seriously, we had a great time there – lots of girls from our home town bunking together in one cabin – how can that not be fun? The beds were rustic, like a prison, but we didn’t care.  It was a one week slumber party! Toothpaste in the nose for the camper who fell asleep first, shaving cream fights – fun times! Who got the top bunks? That was always a big thing. We stayed up late at night writing letters to our friends left behind at home, as if we would never see them again. I’m sure we made it home before those letters. It was just a one week camp. 
But it seemed waaaaayyy longer. I knew it was a church camp, but I wasn’t expecting preaching 24-7. I thought it would be more like Vacation Bible School with arts and crafts and games and snacks mixed in. But in reality it was a very long church revival. We sang Pass It On until I wanted to pass on. “It only takes a spark to get a fire going…” If you’ve ever been to church camp, you know the song well. In addition to singing and preaching, there was lots of praying and crying and handholding. We would have slammed shots of Reverend Jim Jones Grape Juice if they passed it around and told us it was the right thing to do. The spirit moved us.
Our only non-church activities were eating 3 square bad meals, swimming (boys and girls separately) and one day of hiking up to Needle’s Eye and Devil’s Bathtub. Even on our hikes they had to work the devil in somehow…
At the end of the week, I was sooooo ready to go home to my real bed and my private shower and Momma’s cooking. The last morning after breakfast, we dilly-dallied around in our cabin, saying goodbye to all our new best friends. Finally, we decided to walk outside to check on our bus. That’s when we discovered we had been left behind. The Keiser Baptist Church bus left without us, and no one on that bus even missed us??? It appeared we were the only humans left. Church camp became eerily quiet. Did I hear dueling banjos in the distance? I couldn’t let myself become panicked – I was the oldest. But I bet this place was spooky at night, deep in the dark woods with all sorts unholy spirits. 

Staci, Lesa and I formulated a brilliant plan in no time. We would phone home and explain to Momma and Aunt Lavern that the three of us had missed our bus. They would have no choice but to drive up to get us. And then, once they got to camp, they would realize we were already half way to the lake.  We may as well go on to the lake. Right? Made complete sense. We always prayed to go to the lake, and it was the perfect place to recuperate from church camp.

the lake!

Just at that moment some preacher from Blytheville saw us strolling back to our empty cabin. After a bit of questioning, he realized we had missed our bus home. He and his small group were the last ones to leave camp, and we were forced to ride back with them. NO! There was to be no happy accidental lake trip. No singing Kumbaya on the return bus ride home with giggly friends. Instead I was crammed in the back of the preacher’s brown station wagon with a load of dirty laundry and a strange boy who cracked his knuckles the entire way home. Staci and Lesa were in some other vehicle.  It was a terrible ending to the week at church camp.  And after all that praying and singing, I just couldn’t believe this was to be our fate. Next year I was going to cheerleader camp! There was spirit there too.


talya

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

Sisters

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Every girl needs a sister.

Yesterday was my little sister’s birthday. HOW did she get so old so soon? Staci’s 47 which means Lesa (our sister-cousin) will be 48 next week, and I am holding at 2 Score and 9.75 until July. I’m thinking 5, 6 and 7 years old was waaaay cuter.

Time flies. 

Me feeding Staci.
Staci was my first, best friend. Although when the stork brought her, I was a bit skeptical about our future relationship. She stole my thunder. The new cute baby syndrome ran rampant in our house. It was annoying.
Cotton Pageant 1970
We were thrilled.
I think Momma must have always wanted twins? For years, she dressed us like twinkies in handmade outfits. It was SOOOOO embarrassing. Especially when she made us model her home sewn frocks in the Cotton Pageant. We were never meant for the runway. Staci and I were much more comfortable playing with our matchbox cars in the dirt field behind our house. 
This picture of our Cotton Pageant experience was in the newspaper, and it speaks volumes. Staci, at 5 years old, is shooting daggers at the cameraman with those expressive eyes. Yet she has her hands sweetly clasped, as if she’s just biding her time before having a total all-out hissy fit. I’m standing uncomfortably like I’m posing for an awkward school picture. My arms and legs are braced as I wait for the perfect opportunity to vault off the stage and run all the way home from Burdette. I prayed NONE of my 2nd grade friends saw this picture in The Osceola Times.  

Staci had a Thomas Tate Temper when she was little. She threw tantrums at Big Star on more than one occasion, flinging herself to the nasty sticky floor, flailing her arms and legs. I never knew what triggered these meltdowns – maybe she was protesting our lack of store-bought outfits. Momma, remaining cool and calm, somehow completely ignored these outbursts. She lightly stepped right over her, grabbed a basket and strolled down the grocery aisle shopping for supper. I’m sure inside she wanted to slam a cocktail. I just stared at both of them,  completely mortified.
Thankfully Staci outgrew those tantrums pretty quickly. We continue to have hilarious adventures together, and nothing much horrifies either one of us anymore. Except maybe our 1980s big hair photos. 
HAIR.

“Big sisters are the crab grass in the lawn of life.” – Peanuts, Linus Van Pelt


Musical Pairings:


Rod Stewart, “Forever Young”
The Beatles, “In My Life”


All You Need is Love…. and Chocolate.

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Growing up, my sister and I loved to spend the night with Uncle Rex and Aunt Frances. They lived in a single wide trailer at the edge of the cotton field on the home place, adjacent to Nana and Papa Creecy. Their trailer was surrounded by a little stand of pine trees which made it even more special. You were much more likely to see cottonwoods or pecans trees in Mississippi County, not pine trees. We played among those magical pine trees, collecting pine cones in late fall. I often wondered if Uncle Rex planted those trees, or did they grow from seeds that Nana tossed out her back door, like the beanstalk that grew from Jack’s enchanted beans. I never thought to ask anyone.

That mobile home was about the neatest thing ever. The huge console stereo spanned the entire living room wall and tons of albums filled the cabinet. We were allowed to play those albums unattended. I heard Patsy Cline sing Crazy for the first time in that living room. Staci and I played it over and over, placing the needle of the record player just right, careful not to scratch it. We sang along off key, while turning somersaults on the floor in front of the sofa. I was always amazed at how such a small home could seem so spacious and stay so tidy. But they had no children to mess it up.

I was a bit sad when they sold the trailer and moved to town to be closer to work. They both worked at American Greetings. In our little corner of Arkansas, if you weren’t farming, you were working at one of the factories on the banks of the Mississippi River. It’s still that way.

They were soul mates, practically joined at the hip. And at some point, they started dressing alike every single day. On purpose. They might both be wearing jeans and red shirts, or similar sweaters, but always the same color combination, as if they would be posing for a family photo after lunch. They even dressed similarly for church each Sunday. One summer they visited us in Dallas, sharing one suitcase crammed with matching outfits for each day of the trip. They discussed which outfit to wear each morning. It was cute.

John and I are not that cute, but we accidentally dress alike on occasion. It’s very plausible considering we primarily only wear jeans, gray, black and white… On those days when it does happen, I like to call him Rex.

Uncle Rex had two addictions – Frances and chocolate. And in that order. He was absolutely lost if he was separated from Frances for any period of time for whatever reason. When Frances was in the hospital, we really needed to go ahead and admit Uncle Rex – he was always beside himself with worry, making himself sick. A few years ago when she was hospitalized, worried that Uncle Rex might starve, the church ladies activated the casserole phone tree and brought food to the house, including a HugeChocolateCake. This was like a bottle of whiskey to an alcoholic. He ate the entire cake in one sitting. Having chest pains later that night, he ended up in the hospital with Frances, which is where he wanted to be. He’s the only person I ever knew who nearly overdosed on chocolate.  

Uncle Rex died a little over a year ago. They were so blessed to have found each other, but what must it be like to lose your soul mate? Frances is heartbroken and lost and doesn’t know what to do with herself. A part of herself is missing. Sometimes she just gets in the car and drives, but never straying far from home. I wonder how she decides what to wear each day?

talya

Musical Pairings:

Patsy Cline, “Crazy”
Patsy Cline, “Fall to Pieces”

Grow old with me! The best is yet to be. – Robert Browning

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!