grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

L is for Lake

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Lake Norfork, Arkansas. Ahhhh!

In my family, we count down to our annual lake trip as though we are jetting off to Bora Bora.

Those not born into our family (i.e. husbands*) do not share in our delight. Oh, they are supportive of our lake love, and once every five years or so even accompany us, but they see little charm in the rustic cabins with fickle plumbing. Finding no thrill in worshipping the blazing sun, they prefer to stay inside and read until their talents are requested at the grill.They just aren’t big boat people, we say about these landlocked husbands, even as our crippled boat is being towed into the nearest dock. Our vintage boat with her smashed bow and tired motor is no beauty, but we love her anyway. Being towed by a sympathetic boater is all part of the adventure, we say. We don’t need no stinkin’ new boat, we say.
They humor us, these dry-land men, but try as they might, they don’t get it. And, how could they, really? Lake water doesn’t flow through their veins.
Grace Grits at the Lake
They weren’t around when we watched and watched for the first peep of the lake through the Ozark Mountains, then waited and waited in the long line to ride the magical ferry across. They missed the thrill of climbing the cliffs for the first time, the first time we JUMPED!
 Norfork Lake, 1970s
They never shot bottle rockets under a globe of stars. They weren’t lucky enough to taste Daddy’s melt-in-your-mouth ribs or hear Uncle Ted’s hilarious rendition of Blue Moon broadcast along the streets of Mountain Home. They weren’t part of the family when 80-year-old Aunt Virgie jumped in the lake and lost her wig.
They never fished in the foggy cove before sunrise or roasted marshmellows at midnight.
They weren’t there…
Lake Norfork, Arkansas
with my sister, 2012
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
P.S. Since this was written in 2013, we did buy a new boat and she’s FABULOUS.
[tweetthis]L is for Lake. Party in slow motion… #arkansaslife[/tweetthis]

*current, ex or pending

Musical Pairing:
Little Big Town, Pontoon

A to Z April Blog Challenge. L is for Lake:))

H is for Hot Flash

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If you see me around the neighborhood appearing flushed or faint, don’t worry, don’t judge. I’m having a hot flash. 
Several times during the night, I wake drenched in tangled, saturated sheets with wringing wet hair. The fan blows full blast over my damp body doing little to cool me. John is frozen and motionless, wrapped in an extra blanket like a burrito.
Before the next hellish Dallas summer descends (in fifty-three days based on my estimation), I am determined to find a natural, healthy way to alleviate night sweats. Desperate for relief, John researched my affliction and discovered sage tea helps.

After an hour at the gym (exercise also helps…), I ran to my local grocery store in search of sage tea.

“How can I help you?” 

“Do you sell sage tea?” 

“Yes.” The young grocery employee handed me a canister of tea. “This brand is mixed with blackberries. Personally, I don’t like the taste of sage, but I like this tea because the blackberries make it fruity.” He flashed a wide smile. Was he flirting with me?

“Do you think the blackberries dilute the health benefits?”

“Not at all. You’re buying it for hot flashes, right?”

EXCUSE ME? Okay, I realized I had just left the gym, and I was working a nice endorphin glow, but…  “No, actually I love the taste of sage….,” I lied. “Okay yes, I’m buying it for hot flashes. Is it that obvious?”

“No, no I buy it for my mother, so I thought that might be the case,” His mother? I was NOT his mother’s age! Was I? He laughed and laughed and laughed...”It really helped her with hot flashes,” he continued, blah, blah, blah.

“Okay I’ll try it.” So you’ll stop your loud yammering… “Hey look,” I noticed pointing to the tea label, “apparently sage tea is also for wisdom. Something for both of us…” 

“Yes, ma’am!” He beamed.

talya
Musical Pairing:
Smooth, Santana featuring Rob Thomas

E is for Elvis! Elvis! Elvis!

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Elvis's Graceland

I grew up just across the river from Memphis, a magical city with Goldsmith’s for back-to-school shopping, Libertyland for roller coaster riding, Mid-South Fair for corn dog eating, and Graceland for possible Elvis-sightings.

Elvis's Graceland

 

The King was sometimes spotted at the hallowed gates outside Graceland chatting with rabid fans and handing out diamond rings like sticks of Juicy Fruit. Elvis sightings always made the front page of The Commercial Appeal. 
When Elvis was sick, which was often, the Baptist Memorial Hospital became his hotel.  This too made the news which prompted a family road trip across the river to keep watch over Elvis. Momma circled the hospital around and around and around, as Nana, my sister and I strained our necks to see his window.

We prayed not for Elvis’ health, but to see him stroll across the parklike grounds. Elvis’ room was easy to spot. He was always on the top floor and his windows were completely covered with aluminum foil.  

The mere sight of his aluminum foil-covered window was thrilling.
A Memphis cop directed traffic on the street. We were not the only crazy fans.
Graceland
talya

Grace Grits and Gardening

Musical Pairing:

Paul Simon, Graceland

“Before Elvis there was nothing.” 
― John Lennon

p.s. According to the newspaper, the aluminum foil was to keep out sunlight. We know it was to keep fans (us) from scaling the building and peeping inside…

 

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!