grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

the amazing grace of AUTUMN

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the amazing grace of autumn

Oh my stars. The amazing grace of autumn is truly astounding. Here we are ankle deep in autumn, and I can’t get over the trees. I’m a new mother showing off pictures of her baby. I’m me showing off pictures of Lucy and Annabelle. Nothing whatsoever wrong with either scenario. Just a disclosure of what’s to come.

Pictures of trees.

And so here I go with a few of the pictures I took yesterday.

Filtered only by the grace of God.

Amazing grace for sure.

This is the block behind our house. The only thing missing is THE Great Pumpkin. The sidewalk is buried and that equals fun strolling.

ankle deep in autumn

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Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig.

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The view from our sleeping porch

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig. I’m back home after spending five days with Momma and my sister, Staci, at home-home in Mississippi County, Arkansas. (I’ve said this before, but home-home is where I’m from, and home [singular] is where I live now.)

When we were kids, Momma always said, “Home again, home again, jiggety jig,” every time we pulling into the carport. After a trip to the lake. After a trip to Big Star. After a trip anywhere.

You remember that nursery rhyme, don’t you? There are lots of versions. The jingle has been quoted in many television shows, movies, and books. (Stephen King, I’m looking at you and It.)

The version I know:

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,
Home again, home again, market is done.
(Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes)

Now I say it. Not always, but sometimes. Because I’ve turned into Momma.Continue Reading

A Brand New Day.

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a brand new day

Our house silently waits for a brand new day. In the earliest morning, there is no world beyond the opaque windows around me, beyond my cup of coffee, my pen and journal. I recently started a new journal, but I don’t much like it. Yes, the cover is pretty, it has a satin ribbon to hold my place, the pages are lined, the edges gold-tipped. But the paper itself, the weight of the journal, something is off. The feel of a journal is important to me. (But I won’t waste paper, so I’ll continue using it.)

Lucy and Annabelle nestle beside me. They recognize this brand new day, this earliest morning time, the time that comes after sleep but before the day truly begins. It’s my preferred time to write, a time when my mind is rested, still somewhat in a dreamy state, unaffected by negative, external and internal. I protect this time fervently, and for the most part, they let me. With each small breath, their curled bodies float up and down, up and down. This is the quietest they will be today, yet their stillness could end instantaneously with an outside rustle imperceptible to me. The knowledge of this keeps me extra focused.Continue Reading

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