grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Bat Cave

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I’ve been visiting Northeast Arkansas for the past week and a half. Northeast Arkansas replenishes my soul with peace and quiet, soil and wide open spaces, memories. Northeast Arkansas is a great place to write.
While here I’m staying at my mother’s house, our childhood home, known as the Bat Cave.  We nicknamed the house after my mother, Barbara Ann Tate whose initials spell BAT.

The name is fitting for both the cave and my mother…

Our old farmhouse rambles and meanders much like the nearby mighty Mississippi River. Every seven years or so, when Daddy had a particularly good crop, rooms were added on here and there by local construction workers, who may or may not have been qualified, resulting in oddly placed windows and rooms with no windows at all. Although I’ve not yet noticed a stalactite or a real, live bat, I would not be surprised.
Growling and moaning deep underneath the Bat Cave lies one of the largest seismic zones on the planet. The New Madrid Fault cuts through the middle of the carport, zigzagging under Mississippi County and into Missouri and Illinois. Like a beast, it burps and sighs as everyone in Northeast Arkansas waits for The Big One. 
Bat Cave Car Port…
I’m pretty sure I felt a tremor a few night’s ago. 
The constant earth movement has resulted in wall cracks allowing easy access for mice and squirrels and frogs and giant bull snakes (plural) that slither on the fireplace mantle…
Despite all this, the Bat Cave provides good sleeping with a extra helping of adventure.

The Spanish tile in the back game room is riddled with bullet holes from the hostage shootout. There is an entire wall of cheesy pictures marking the Yellow Corvette Days. And, like Elvis’ Graceland, we have our own jungle room.

Papa Creecy’s wild boar
I’ll be here a bit longer. Stop by if you would like a free tour.

talya

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

Musical Pairing:

I Feel the Earth Move, Carole King

Letter to my Younger Self

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Dear younger self,

Hey there. I know you never imagined being half a century old, but it happened. And it happened rather quickly.  Looking back, I offer this bit of advise to you, my younger self…

Why do you worry? You are a kid. Stop taking things so seriously. Stop being afraid of life.

Write in a daily journal. Record everything, record nothing. Random thoughts, crazy feelings, far away dreams, pie-in-the-sky goals, embarrassing failures, family traditions… You’ll thank me later when you decide to write a book.

Keep reading. The answer to life’s questions can always be found between the pages of a good book.

You have wit and insight. Trust yourself and don’t worry about what other people think or say or do. You are in charge of you.

Listen to yourself and hear what you have to say. It’s okay to put yourself first on occasion. Making your own needs and aspirations a priority will allow you to better care for others.

Challenge yourself. The road less traveled is scenic and quiet and provides more time to think.

Take more accounting classes. Debits and credits will be useful.

You.Are.Not.Fat. Not by a long shot. Why do you count calories?

That luscious, good-enough-to-slurp coconut oil may smell heavenly, but it is ruining your skin. You will never be tan like your best friends Becky and Norma, so stop wasting your time. The things that make you different and unique make you special.

Get to know your Daddy. He isn’t what he seems, and you won’t have him very long.

Learn to make Aunt Virgie’s pie crust. If you don’t, by age fifty your pie crusts will still be hit and miss…

You will meet many people throughout your life, but take a look at these childhood classmates, the smelly boys, the giggly girls. These friends you have now will be life-long friends. This is rare.

Someday you will regret that groovy spiral perm. But go ahead and get it. Looking back and laughing at yourself is a good thing. Looking back and laughing at that horrible perm will make age fifty more tolerable.

And one final thing…buy Wal-Mart stock. Trust me on this.

Your older self,
talya
Grace Grits and Gardening


p.s. I will check back with you in a few years to make sure you finished that book…

Musical Pairing:

Time of Your Life, Green Day

written at Hemingway-Pfeiffer Educational Center, Piggott, Arkansas

Hemingway-Pfeiffer

 

The Home Stretch

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     Turning north at West Memphis, I breathe a bit easier. The air seems lighter, the skies clearer.  An ordinary trip driven countless times now fortifies me, replenishes memories, helps me remember.  
     A crop duster tilts his yellow wing in my direction, then turns and dips before misting fertilizer across winter wheat. Like crocus pushing through the cold, he is a first sign of spring.  To dazed travelers and long-haul truckers, the flat landscape appears dead and dull, yet I know life churns beneath wet fields. 
     In the distance, a recent thunderstorm hovers over the Mississippi River. Clouds hang heavy and purple.
talya

Musical Pairing:

Home Sweet Home, The Farm

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!