Fayetteville - grace grits and gardening

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)

Stirring the Soul

June 1, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

What do these famous people have in common? George Washington, Elvis Presley, Ernest Hemingway…

…They all lived in historic homes:-)

Historic places are fascinating, particularly historic homes. Seeing how people lived and thrived over a hundred years ago while successfully changing the course of history without wi-fi and air conditioning is riveting. Historical voyeurism. But just like you and me, these folks worried about their country, the well-being of their children, their personal circumstances. They existed, survived, hoped to make a difference, prayed for rain and mourned the deceased. Walking along the beautiful Potomac exploring the grounds of Mount Vernon is akin to a religious experience. Strolling in George Washington’s footsteps, seeing his view from the lawn, his stuff, things he touched and held dear, his graveside tomb – how could every American citizen not feel a bit more united?

Mt. Vernon

We have toured old homes in New Orleans with incredible architecture and rich histories. Jefferson Davis’ home in Biloxi is a true southern treasure, nearly destroyed by Katrina. I dare say everyone already knows how I feel about amazing Graceland…And Johnny Cash’s home, across the ditch from our cotton field, is currently being restored bringing a welcomed flurry of activity to Northeast Arkansas.

The Man in Black’s House

One of my favorite things about Key West, ranking right up there with deep fried conch fritters, is Ernest Hemingway’s house where he wrote poems and stories in the early morning hours and explored Old Town in the afternoons. Antiques from his travels fill the home, and exotic hunting trophies line the walls. Inspiration is palpable, wrapped in warm breezes off the island’s turquoise waters. His desk is there. I had a sudden urge to casually limbo underneath the velvet rope and lightly touch it, but I resisted.

Turns out there is commonality between Hemingway and me. His passion was writing, and I enjoy reading what he wrote. We both like(d) wine. And surprisingly, his second wife was originally from Northeast Arkansas, just like John’s second wife (me). They met and married in Paris, France, but she was an Arkansas girl from Piggott. Hemingway spent long periods of time there visiting her family and writing. Next week I will be attending a creative writer’s retreat in the Hemingway-Pfeiffer House studying and writing in this holy place. Somebody pinch me.

Hemingway-Pfeiffer House, Piggott, Ar

I’m excited to tour the house and the barn and see the furnishings inside. I love objects with a past – old dishes, picture frames, vintage jewelry… Last week we happened upon two antique leather club chairs from a little French antique shop in Fayetteville. They are perfect for our new cottage. The well-worn brown leather is buttery soft and frayed and I wouldn’t dare change a thing about them. Circa 1930s, they were purchased by the shop owners from travels in Paris. I imagine all the interesting Parisians who once sat in these chairs, maybe drinking coffee or writing poems. Maybe Ernest Hemingway?

Hemingway wrote part of A Farewell to Arms while in Arkansas. For whatever reason, creative juices seem to flow in this unremarkable corner of the state – maybe it’s the pull of the mighty Mississippi which heavily influenced Mark Twain or the impoverished working man who impacted Johnny Cash’s bare-bones music. Or maybe sheer boredom stirs the soul. The quickly approaching writer’s retreat is a bit intimidating, pushing me completely beyond my comfort zone of blogging in familiar silence. How do I react if after ten minutes I’m advised, “Really? A writer? Bless your heart you should just return to your banking job…” What if I’m not good enough? What if I’m not good?

talya

“The first draft of anything is shit.” Ernest Hemingway

talya

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

got mail?

May 31, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

I’m thinking of wallpapering our new Fayetteville bedroom in Pottery Barn/Williams Sonoma catalog pages. Or maybe using it to wrap presents for the remainder of my gift giving days. Or I’m certain I could make a door wreath from the glossy pages of J Crew catalogs and post the crafty picture to Pinterest.

When was the last time I ordered or purchased anything from Pottery Barn? I have no recollection. Nevertheless, I receive Pottery Barn, Pottery Barn Teen, Pottery Barn Bed & Bath, and Pottery Barn Baby every single week. I ordered a quilt from Pottery Barn Teen when Tate was 10. Nine years ago. So in the company’s fancy computer tracking systems, why don’t they make note of this purchase? Seems logical that whoever was using that quilt with bright blue stars in 1992 has probably moved on to a different style. That little boy has one year of college under his belt and buys only gray bedding and clothing. And it goes without saying, if the household has a dorm dweller, there probably aren’t any babies at home to buy from Pottery Barn Baby. What a waste of trees.

Of course many teenagers have babies so maybe people go from buying teenage room accessories to bumper pads for the grandbaby cribs without a beat. But wouldn’t it be more prudent to wait until someone actually buys something or at least visits the baby website before spending all that company money to print and mail out senseless catalogs all over the country daily? I bet most teenage parents can’t afford Pottery Barn…

I am going to spend time someday somehow getting myself off these lists. So far the catalogs haven’t followed us to our new address in Arkansas.

the mail came!

These catalogs do provide entertainment for Lucy and Annabelle who wait for the mailman, snatch the catalogs from the mail slot and shred them as fast as possible. I take these shredded catalogs, as well as the unshredded ones, and immediately drop them into the recycle bin where I suppose they are recycled into more Pottery Barn catalogs.

We recently received a Restoration Hardware Catalog larger than the old Sears Christmas Catalog we received as a kid. Remember when the only catalog was from Sears? We couldn’t wait for that catalog – the official countdown to the Christmas season! Staci and I studied it for weeks, memorizing the toy section, circling our favorite items. Afterwards we used it to cut out paper dolls. This was recycling at its best. Restoration Hardware doesn’t even have any people in it.

One day last year the postman delivered a whole stack of books to our house. Hardback novels. They were wrapped in cardboard and stacked on the front porch addressed to Sam Smith. We do not know a Sam Smith, nor did a Sam Smith ever live here. But apparently he joined a book of the month club for our house.

I loaded up the books and took them to my neighborhood post office where I waited in line forever to complete an official form for a postal investigation with the U.S. Postal Inspector. The postal worker thought Sam Smith was the victim of possible mail fraud. Someone had enrolled an unsuspecting Sam Smith in a book club, gardening club, knife club, etc. all at a bogus address – ours. If we didn’t return everything – if we simply threw away all the notifications and bills that would follow, the company would be out money/books and Sam Smith’s credit would be harmed. What about us??? Our porch was being bombed every afternoon with towers of books that I was expected to haul down to the post office on my lunch break. I was having flashbacks of my Columbia House membership in 1975 – 25 eight-track tapes for one penny….Columbia House thankfully lost track of me in Waco.

It became immediately apparent the postal lady left her sense of humor at home and was sucking all the fun from the immediate postal area.
Me: Sam Smith is already getting bills for this stuff.
Sourpuss: How do you know?
Me: Because I opened some of the letters to see what they were.
Sourpuss: Opening someone else’s mail is illegal. You cannot do that. Blah Blah. Stink eye…
Me: So stop bringing me someone else’s mail! Return stink eye…
So now I’m guilty of mail fraud and this exchange has likely been recorded in my permanent file.

We still get tons of mail for Sam Smith which I mark “Return to Sender” each time. We also receive mail for the Hultses who lived here 10 years ago, my first ex-husband, John’s first-ex-wife, and Kelsey’s first ex-boyfriend who wrote down his name and our address at a college fair in 2006. How on earth will the government shut down some of the post offices? Who will shuffle around junk mail door to door? Is the government creating this junk mail to keep the post office entitlement program alive?

After ten days in Fayetteville, we returned to a two foot stack of mail. Mostly catalogs. Some duplicate catalogs sent to me, John and Kelsey. Tate received mail from Oaklawn Park. My first ex-husband received his AARP card – and so did John. Sam Smith received mail too. I promptly returned it to Publisher’s Clearinghouse.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Elvis Presley, “Return to Sender”