grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

feel of the farm

By

feel of the farm, Mississippi County, Arkansas

In the next field beyond the ditch, a crop duster hums and glides like a dragonfly. Two lemony butterflies flit and dart between soybean plants, keeping pace with my morning walk. Kildeer spring from the rice field then circle overhead warbling a high-pitched tune.

The road is rough and uneven, clotted with chunks of earth mixed with stalks as dry as autumn wheat. I smell the musty aroma of our soil, the great bridge between  past and future, life and death, the place where all living things return.

Although the sun has only begun to peep through the trees lining the far ditch bank, a sultry day builds.

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

Climb the day, Drop your dreams, Possess the day.” 
― Gail Carson Levine

String of Beads

By

This story is written for The Write Tribe contest incorporating the following  7 words in random order :


postcard, coin, tidy, wild, help, calendar, responsibility…

escaping winter, creative writing


At precisely five o’clock, she made a final ‘X’ through the calendar, gathered work files into a tidy stack, and recorded an out-of-office voicemail message.   

Her co-worker, who for the last twenty minutes attempted to help a disgruntled customer, covered the telephone mouthpiece with her fingertips and whispered, “Don’t forget to send me a postcard.” She nodded and closed the door, leaving responsibility behind in her corner office.

From her far chair on a secluded stretch of sand, she meditated on the turquoise ocean, a masterpiece of creation stretching to sunset. A lone sea gull floated overhead, dipped toward crashing waves, then soared with dinner in his talons. Stress evaporated into the briny air.
She sipped a salty margarita and watched the local man walking near the water’s foamy edge. With every step, waves collapsed behind him, erasing each sandy footprint as though perfectly choreographed. Across his forearms, strings of beads and shell necklaces glittered in the sunlight. As he approached, he held his offerings toward her and flashed a brilliant smile. His hair was wild and knotted, his face scruffy and tanned.

“Is this enough?” She raised a tarnished coin rummaged from the bottom of her new straw beach bag. 

He nodded and placed smaller coins in her palm as change.

The tiny beads were pale blue and aqua green like sea glass and draped almost to her waist so she looped the strand twice. She closed her eyes and listened to the soothing fall of waves. As the sun disappeared into the sea, she realized she would never return to her life in the city. 

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life




Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!