grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Nineteen Seventy Something

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Looking toward Cottonwood Corner

I grew up in Nineteen Seventy Something. I know I sound extra old when I reminisce about my good old days, but hey, I’ve been somewhat immersed in that time period. Writing a book will do that. The Delta is an interesting place for me. It’s the place I feel comfortable and at home, the place that fits me and knows me best. For so long it was my entire world—our house on Highway 140, that yard my sister and I mowed every single week, those fields that represented our livelihood, our clouds floating above it all.

Change in technology and social culture sort of sneak up on us. I notice the difference most vividly when I’m home in the Delta because that’s where life was so simple and basic in the beginning.

1970 something.
I remember working on my cartwheels in the front yard while waiting and waiting and waiting for WHBQ to play my favorite song on the radio. And I knew the moment I turned off my radio, my song would play next! That’s exactly how things worked back then.

I had this radio…

my 1970s radio

photo from morgueFile

 

Somehow I think we’ve lost something now that we can Shazam a song and download it in an instant. Of course I love Shazaming a song and downloading it in an instant (and I don’t miss that radio in the least), but still…there was a certain spirit involved in spending weeks and weeks trying to understand a certain song lyric and not being able to play it on repeat.

Am I the only person who thought the lyrics to Blinded By the Light included “wrapped up like a douche”? (I had no idea what douche meant, but I thought it had to do with s-e-x and wouldn’t sing that word very loud.)Continue Reading

Yellow Brick Road New Year

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New Year’s Eve was always a bit depressing to me—what a let down after the end of a magical Christmastime. Plus, the return to school loomed over the frozen cotton fields.

My sister and I spent the so-called most exciting night of the year watching television. We tried to stay up long enough to see the Times Square ball drop.
And what kind of fun was that?
Watching a disco ball drop from a place I’d never been and certainly couldn’t relate to was borrrr-ing. Times Square may as well have been the moon, although even the moon seemed closer to Mississippi County than New York City. 
I could see the moon from my bedroom window. I watched it set and rise behind the pump house in our back yard. I studied the moon phases noting when it grew bright and full before shrinking back to a white sliver.
In 1974 I skipped the whole ball dropping thing to lie on the couch in Daddy’s office and listen to the entire Billboard Top 100 Hit countdown on the radio. I knew almost every single song by heart and loved them all. I was twelve years old and had only recently discovered music. Each month I devoured Tiger Beat Magazine and imagined all the amazing lucky entertainers were at glamorous parties dancing the night away (probably in Times Square) while I stared at the ceiling singing along to their songs and eating Jiffy Pop.
Elton John had THREE hits on the charts. That was beyond cool.

I couldn’t wait to be cool.

I couldn’t wait to grow up and be someone else. Someone different.

Turns out, I’m still the same person.

And I’m cool with that.

Champagne - Happy New Year! - Grace Grits and Gardening

Happy New Year’s Eve Eve!

talya

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

Musical Pairing:

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Elton John – Live 1976

The Enchanted Forest

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Goldsmiths, The Enchanted Forest, Memphis
When I was a child, the coolest place to shop was Goldsmith’s in downtown Memphis. Even the journey to Goldsmiths was fantastic—driving over the Mississippi River, parking in the multi-level garage, and walking through the tunnel underneath Front Street to get to ground level.
And the tunnel?  It was no ordinary tunnel. Inside the air was hypnotic—fresh, clean, divine—infused by a zillion shampoos and hair sprays lining the l-o-o-o-o-n-n-n-g passageway .
Just beyond the tunnel, a bakery greeted us. Oh mercy. Freshly baked cookies and cakes and gingerbread men filled trays displayed at eye level. The warm lights made the sugar sparkle.
Past the bakery, a world awaited with escalators and elevators and wide stairs and rails for swinging on (when we could get away with it). Unlike Belk’s in Osceola and Westbrook’s in Blytheville, There Was A Separate Floor For Each Department. 
Trips to Goldsmith’s were reserved for special occasions such as back-to-school shopping or when Momma needed a fancy dress. The most special occasion of all was Christmas. During Christmas, the Enchanted Forest magically appeared inside Goldsmiths.

The Enchanted Forest, Memphis

Magic I tell you…

A winter wonderland spread before us filled with forest animals and snowmen and twinkle lights and glittery snow delivered straight from the North Pole to the area behind men’s clothing. We strolled through slowly, savoring each second and every step, not wanting it to end. But kinda we did because deep in the frosty forest, a visit and picture with Santa awaited.

The real Santa. 

We waited in line as long as it took.We wore our best holiday outfits.
The Enchanted Forest was THE holiday event.
We never missed it.

Picture with Santa, The Enchanted Forest, Memphis
my sister and me with the real Santa

talya

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

“On these magic shores children at play are forever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.” – J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan

P.S. The Enchanted Forest is now located at The Pink Palace Museum. Click HERE for the link. Has anyone been? I bet it’s different…

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!