grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

The Home Stretch

By

     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

Ol’ Man

By

Where I come from, ‘the river‘ means only one thing – The Mighty Mississippi. Only a few miles away from my home, he is the life source for the entire delta region, the reason our little towns even exist. These towns that are so important to us. Old Man River connects us to the gulf, to the rest of the world. Our grand highway to export soybeans and rice and corn. Our livelihood.

Our soul.

America’s mightiest river.

Have you seen how low the river is lately?
NO ONE asks, which river?
When mentioned in passing, no one confuses him with the White River or the St. Francis River or the Buffalo River, although all amazing waterways.
Like Elvis, no one asks which Elvis?
Which Madonna?
Which Cher?
Which Jesus?

For those of us born on his riverbanks, his water courses through our veins. A source of inspiration and energy, a vigilant Father. Part of us.

As kids we often drove behind the levees to make sure the river was still there, like visiting an old relative. Often taken for granted, yet always needed. Driving into Memphis, we held our breath on the bridge spanning the river. A game we played in route to the Zoo or Goldsmith’s or the Mid-South Fair. It was a l-o-n-g way over. My lungs were never strong enough.

We weren’t allowed to swim in the river. But I waded in to my knees once. In high school. The only time in my life I was afraid of water, the undertow wicked. 

He commands respect, capable of bestowing great wealth or catastrophic misfortune. Doing as he pleases, meandering where he will, like a stubborn cotton farmer. Misunderstood, quiet, strong. Sometimes appearing calm but always churning, roiling underneath the surface. Muddy and brown then golden and light, flowing. Seeking the ocean. Controlled by no one.

Providing for all of us.

Generations have witnessed his greatness, forever looking the same but never the same water. And the amazing things he has witnessed… abundant undisturbed wilderness, slavery and bloodshed, milk and honey, gambling and thieving, pirates and voodoo, jazz and blues, sacrifice and dreams. 
He mus’ know sumpin’, but don’t say nuthin’, he jes’ keeps rollin’, he keeps on rollin’ along…
2011 The River from Memphis Bridge
Last year the river water levels were at an all time high, threatening crops and animals, people and history. Today a record low, tired from drought and dry with sediment.

Still mighty and majestic. Our soul.

Port of Osceola August 2012

talya

Musical Pairings:

Ol’ Man River – Paul Robeson

River in the Rain – Roger Miller

“The poetry of the earth is never dead.” 
― John Keats

All You Need is Love…. and Chocolate.

By

Growing up, my sister and I loved to spend the night with Uncle Rex and Aunt Frances. They lived in a single wide trailer at the edge of the cotton field on the home place, adjacent to Nana and Papa Creecy. Their trailer was surrounded by a little stand of pine trees which made it even more special. You were much more likely to see cottonwoods or pecans trees in Mississippi County, not pine trees. We played among those magical pine trees, collecting pine cones in late fall. I often wondered if Uncle Rex planted those trees, or did they grow from seeds that Nana tossed out her back door, like the beanstalk that grew from Jack’s enchanted beans. I never thought to ask anyone.

That mobile home was about the neatest thing ever. The huge console stereo spanned the entire living room wall and tons of albums filled the cabinet. We were allowed to play those albums unattended. I heard Patsy Cline sing Crazy for the first time in that living room. Staci and I played it over and over, placing the needle of the record player just right, careful not to scratch it. We sang along off key, while turning somersaults on the floor in front of the sofa. I was always amazed at how such a small home could seem so spacious and stay so tidy. But they had no children to mess it up.

I was a bit sad when they sold the trailer and moved to town to be closer to work. They both worked at American Greetings. In our little corner of Arkansas, if you weren’t farming, you were working at one of the factories on the banks of the Mississippi River. It’s still that way.

They were soul mates, practically joined at the hip. And at some point, they started dressing alike every single day. On purpose. They might both be wearing jeans and red shirts, or similar sweaters, but always the same color combination, as if they would be posing for a family photo after lunch. They even dressed similarly for church each Sunday. One summer they visited us in Dallas, sharing one suitcase crammed with matching outfits for each day of the trip. They discussed which outfit to wear each morning. It was cute.

John and I are not that cute, but we accidentally dress alike on occasion. It’s very plausible considering we primarily only wear jeans, gray, black and white… On those days when it does happen, I like to call him Rex.

Uncle Rex had two addictions – Frances and chocolate. And in that order. He was absolutely lost if he was separated from Frances for any period of time for whatever reason. When Frances was in the hospital, we really needed to go ahead and admit Uncle Rex – he was always beside himself with worry, making himself sick. A few years ago when she was hospitalized, worried that Uncle Rex might starve, the church ladies activated the casserole phone tree and brought food to the house, including a HugeChocolateCake. This was like a bottle of whiskey to an alcoholic. He ate the entire cake in one sitting. Having chest pains later that night, he ended up in the hospital with Frances, which is where he wanted to be. He’s the only person I ever knew who nearly overdosed on chocolate.  

Uncle Rex died a little over a year ago. They were so blessed to have found each other, but what must it be like to lose your soul mate? Frances is heartbroken and lost and doesn’t know what to do with herself. A part of herself is missing. Sometimes she just gets in the car and drives, but never straying far from home. I wonder how she decides what to wear each day?

talya

Musical Pairings:

Patsy Cline, “Crazy”
Patsy Cline, “Fall to Pieces”

Grow old with me! The best is yet to be. – Robert Browning

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!