grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Riding with a Farmer

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We were driving to church for my cousin’s wedding when Daddy pulled off the highway and stopped the truck. “What are you doing?” Momma asked, even though she knew the answer. Riding anywhere with a farmer meant factoring in lots of extra time. Daddy drove slow enough to watch cotton bolls open from the highway.

“We’re gonna be late,” I moaned and applied another coat of strawberry lip gloss. I hated to be late for anything, plus I was in charge of the guest book.

Daddy grabbed his hoe from the back of the truck, ambled across the shallow ditch, and waded through rows of knee-high cotton. He wacked down the annoying weed wearing his new sport coat from Westbrook’s.

Momma sighed.

All the Tate girls had been trained to scan the horizon for johnsongrass. Teasing and waving in the breeze, the offensive plants were easy to spot, a different shade of green standing taller than the crop.

Daddy had some of the cleanest fields in Mississippi County. Everyone agreed.

riding with a farmer...

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Lord I Hope this Day is Good, Don Williams

 

Thrill Hill in the Delta

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Thrill Hill in the Delta

As we approached Thrill Hill, we braced our legs against each other and firmly planted our bare feet in the bed of the Chevy. Gripping the side, the truck felt hot against my cramped knuckles.

“Faster, faster!” we giggled.

Although Uncle Woody drove with his windows down, he couldn’t hear through the wind.

There was no reason for such a steep hill to exist in the asphalt. Jutting up in the flat Delta, it was the only hill in a county surrounded by miles of cotton and soybean fields. I was certain it must have been an Indian burial mound. No one ever confirmed my suspicion.

I counted telephone poles stringing along the ditch bank and anticipated the sensation without watching the road ahead.

Uncle Woody’s truck rattled louder the closer we got.

Side by side we perched inside a windstorm of whipping hair and teary eyes.

As the truck soared over the top, we sailed airborne. My stomach flip-flopped with a falling sensation as the truck bounced on the other side.

“Do it again, Uncle Woody!” we begged.

We did it again.

And again.

riding in the back of a chevy

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Blueberry Hill – Fats Domino

 

Memorial Day FUN!

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Memorial Day weekend. The lake was usually chilly. Sometimes downright cold. That first plunge into summer, breathtaking.

Was the water level high or low? That was an important question. We studied the shoreline while waiting for the ferry.

The answer affected our hot dog roast.

Even when the lake swallowed all but the tallest trees of our sandy island, we tied the boat to a willow branch and floated on rafts above white sand. New rafts that took forever to inflate.

The sand was still down there. We could see it through clear water.

One time (or several times) the water lapped the top of the concrete picnic tables. We used them as jumping platforms instead of eating spots. A different sort of fun. But even when our island was hidden, we never missed a hot dog roast. Momma anchored to a rocky edge of shoreline, not quite flat but almost, and built a fire, soldiering on without sand.

hot dogs - summer fun!

Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

 

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

 

grace grits in a swim cap:)

Musical Pairing:

Pontoon – Little Big Town

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!