Brinkley Chapel - grace grits and gardening

A Very Brinkley Christmas

December 15, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

I love Christmas music. Christmas music in the car makes every drive better. A drive to Plano, a quick trip to the Texaco for gasoline, or even a long slow haul through Oklahoma.

Winter Wonderland reminds me of Brother Brown and Brinkley Chapel Christmas programs—a private joke among the youth choir, and I use the term choir very loosely… We were an impressive group—me, Staci, our cousin Lesa, and the three Davis girls who ironically were also cousins. I was the oldest, the leader of the pack, but we were all within 3 years of each other. Without fail, we performed a Christmas pageant every year at Brinkley under the direction and choreography of my mother, church pianist.

Staci, Lesa, Talya, Jamie, Karen, Monica
How excited were we?

As young girls, we wore similar floor length velvet-ish dresses sewn by our mothers or grandmothers. We loved those dresses. Those dresses were the ONLY reason we agreed to perform.

In junior high we showcased our more individually developing talents like playing the flute or guitar to Away in a Manger, more of a 1970’s variety show, made popular at the time by Sonny & Cher, Tony Orlando & Dawn, etc. One year we were even allowed to wear bell-bottom jeans. Eventually, younger Davis kids came along—Kim and Jeff and Mitzi—never part of the core choir, but allowed to play lesser roles such as lambs in the manger scene.

By the time we were in high school, we six girls were completely mortified by this musical spectacle. There was much loud protesting, teenage moaning, hair flipping and eye rolling. We begged and pleaded to pass the torch permanently to the younger Davis clan, but to no avail. Our fan club (mostly relatives) demanded it, feigning absolute delight each year with our performance. There was nothing much to do in Mississippi County.

The finale was always identical, year after year, a Brinkley tradition—We Wish You a Merry Christmas with the entire congregation joining in for the final verse (which was the same as the first verse).

Finally, Santa magically appeared in the sanctuary complete with red suit, fluffy white beard and a large burlap sack on his back. He spread good cheer and plain brown paper sacks to everyone. Inside, an apple, tangerine, assorted nuts, individually wrapped chocolate and peppermints. I can still smell that wonderful combination of treats. These goodie bags, a highlight and huge indulgence, made the whole debacle worthwhile. I made my chocolate last for days.

Jimmy Davis, church secretary and official keeper of all valuable statistical information, was Santa. He got all the best church jobs.

Santa Davis trades in his sleigh for a tractor in the fall…

talya

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

Musical Pairing:

Winter Wonderland, Bing Crosby

Rain

June 12, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

I awoke to clapping thunder and a downpour. Perfect dozing weather. Except in our tiny Fayetteville bedroom on the air mattress, it seemed the house would be whisked off to Oz. I was just being introduced to this home – its storm sounds new. The rain reverberated on the tin roof sounding like golf ball-sized hail. Nearby flashes of lightning illuminated the interior – partially painted, barely furnished. Lucy and Annabelle burrowed underneath the quilt thinking the end was near. It was peaceful.

Dallas rain from upstairs porch

The next morning back in Dallas, thunder and a much needed rainstorm drenched the already parched city. The weathermen were animated. Everyone breathed more easily.

One week later I spent my first evening in Piggott amidst a typical Northeast Arkansas tornado watch. The blackened skies immediately put me at ease, made me feel at home. With all my recent traveling, I was becoming a storm chaser. Or a storm magnet?

Growing up on a farm, there were many thirsty summers when no one dared look at Daddy or accidentally smile about anything, followed by days of rising flood waters. Mother Nature has a wicked sense of humor. We grew up studying the clouds and the sky, sniffing out wind direction and predicting rain by our achy bones. We did August rain dances, careful not to twist an ankle in the bone dry cracks splitting the front yard open. On Sunday mornings during the every-eye-closed-and-every-head-bowed part of Just As I Am, every farmer’s wife and child prayed for rain. The farmers did their praying out in the fields scouting for rain on the steamy horizon.

Tate Farm (aka florida farm)

Spending the day out on our farm Saturday, I learned about new irrigation techniques and pumps, laser leveling to save water and increase yield, and the inner workings of center pivots. I can spot pigweed from the interstate. After a day of studying the slope of each field, I realized for the first time Mississippi County isn’t pancake flat. It started looking downright hilly by the end of the day as I noticed low spots around Little River and the built up banks along Kochtitzki. Even the topography has changed since Hernando De Soto explored the Mississippi River Valley. I wonder what Thomas Tate thinks about the new fangled farm technology? Tractors drive themselves now…

electric pump Tate Farm

Leveled irrigated fields would certainly allow the farmer to sleep a bit easier during the long hot summer, if farmers slept. But they don’t.

When I water my herbs and flowers in Dallas during a string of 100 degree days, I can keep them alive. Barely. But if it rains, a steady slow soaking, they smile and grow. Nothing replaces the real thing when the heavens open and the rain falls.

talya

Musical Pairing:

“Rain is a Good Thing”, Luke Bryan

The rain, rain, rain came down, down, down
In rushing, rising riv’lets,
’til the river crept out of it’s bed
And crept right into Piglet’s! (Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day)

from a pew away…

May 13, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

At Brinkley Chapel we all wore roses pinned to our dresses on Mother’s Day Sunday – white if our mother had already passed away and pink or red if our mother was still alive. I really don’t know if this is a tradition everywhere or just at our little church in Arkansas. We had lots of unique traditions there.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Momma ordered a corsage for Nana from the flower shop in Osceola. It was always a white Gardenia, her favorite, the most fragrant of all flowers. I could smell it from a pew away.

Momma wore a red or pink rose corsage with a bit of baby’s breath, but Staci and I were too little to wear big, fancy, store-bought corsages. We ran outside on Sunday morning, getting our shoes wet in the grass, and clipped a tiny pink rose from the bush beside the driveway. Luckily the rosebush was always in full bloom on Mother’s Day, as if it understood the importance of its job.

Momma always told us to pick one of the buds not fully open. If we wore one of the pretty big roses already in full bloom, the petals fell apart before the invitational hymn leaving only a pin and a thorny stem on your dress. No telling what the significance of that might have been.