grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

and what to our wondering eyes should appear?

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Today’s ThanksBlogging challenge at Arkansas Women Bloggers – share a Thanksgiving Memory…

The memory that always comes to mind…
Thanksgiving Memory, Vintage Turkey
In the 1970’s
home on the farm
gathered around the table
spread with amazing casseroles
and dressing and pies
just said grace
salivating
forks posed
about to dig in
…and what to our wondering eyes should appear
in the center of the dining room window?
a huge TURKEY!
majestic with bronze feathers tipped in black
scarlet wattle
long beard
Watching Us!

Thanksgiving Memory


There were no turkeys on our farm—we had no poultry whatsoever! 
Was that his friend on our table?
His stare made eating a bit unnerving… but we managed.
That was the first and last time we ever saw a turkey on our farm.

The End

talya

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


Musical Pairing:

I’ve Got Plenty to be Thankful For, Bing Crosby

I Was a Soul Train Dancer.

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This week I am attending a one-week writer’s residency program at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs. During this time I will re-post some of my favorite blogs from the prior year. Maybe you missed one? 

originally published 02/03/12…


Say it ain’t so! Don Cornelius, conductor of Soul Train, the ‘hippest trip in America’, DEAD? From a gunshot wound to the head? Self-inflicted? And on the first day of Black History Month? Oh the humanity. 

Daisy Mae introduced us to Soul Train in the early 1970s. She babysat my little sister and me nearly every Saturday night. She was our Aibileen, one of the principal characters in Kathryn Stockett’s, The Help. Daisy was nurturing and funny and sassy, but that’s where the similarities to the book ended. I don’t know about Mississippi, but in Arkansas, at our house, Daisy was plenty welcome to use our cramped, avocado green bathroom. She was one of our family. She came to our house every Saturday night right after Hee Haw and stayed until after we dozed off. Those few hours, once a week, ushered in a groove factor completely new and exciting to two little white girls on a farm in Arkansas. 


As kids, we LOVED to perform. We were destined to be famous entertainers like Sonny and Cher. Daisy, our biggest fan and captive audience, sat trapped in our bedroom for hours on end, patiently watching our gig du jour – a cappella musical performances complete with costumes and lipstick, skits we had written, and re-enactments of Frog and Toad Together. We specialized in Tony Orlando and Dawn songs. I was always Tony Orlando. Apparently I was totally comfortable with cross-dressing… We ran around the orange shagged carpeted bedroom singing “Tie A Yellow Ribbon”. Daisy clapped enthusiastically. Daisy was a SAINT. 

Growing worried about our future and no doubt extremely tired of Tony Orlando and Dawn, she took us under her sympathetic wing, refocused our attention while we were still impressionable, and saved us from a life of total and complete embarrassment. Late one night, in early 1972, Daisy introduced us to Don Cornelius and Soul Train. Desperately in need of actual entertainment, we were immediately hooked/saved. She schooled us in the proper way to announce, “SOOOOOOOOOUL TRAAAAAIN!” mimicking Mr. Cornelius’ high-pitched, drawn-out words, keeping us engaged so we would not relapse into another bad rendition of Donny and Marie.

This quickly became our Saturday night tradition. Daisy and Mr. C changed the beat and pulse in our house. She opened our eyes to a different type of music. Each week we eagerly studied the TV Guide like a horse racing program, excited to see who was appearing on the next show. We met Marvin Gaye and Barry White, who sang THE sexiest song ever. Oh, the way he talked at the beginning, “We got it together, didn’t we?” Smoking Hot Monkey Love Music. Mr. White knew he didn’t have to put Lil’ or P in front of his name to get and keep my attention. And ‘oh girl’ we laughed and danced and to The Chi-Lites and sang with Kool & the Gang. We sat in the den each Saturday night with a bowl of jiffy pop, waiting for the show to begin. And when it did, we all stood (including Daisy of course) and yelled “SOOOOOOOOOUL TRAAAAAIN!” together, with Mr. Cornelius, as loud and spirited as possible. Then we fell out on the shag carpet laughing. It was way more exciting than boring, stale, square American Band Stand. I felt sorry for plain vanilla, white toast, Dick Clark. Did he even know about Soul Train?

BUT, we were NOT allowed to watch Soul Train if Sammy Davis, Jr., was appearing. Daisy despised Sammy Davis, Jr. She crumpled her nose and made a face with just the mention of his name. His fake eye creeped her out and, in Daisy’s opinion, he couldn’t sing or dance “no better than her Old Pair of Pants!” (aka her husband). BestNicknameEver. So we never watched if Sammy Davis, Jr., was scheduled. She would rather listen to us sing “Knock Three Times” – that’s how much she hated Sammy Davis, Jr. Occasionally, just for fun, we played “The Candy Man” on our record player, to see her hilarious reaction.

Years later, whenever we went home to Arkansas for a visit, Daisy was to first to stop by to see us, running up the driveway squealing, “There’s my B-AAAAAA-B-IEEEEEEES!,” and giving us big, warm, bear hugs. She had a large family with lots of babies of her own, but she always called us her white babies. And she was our black momma. And, she said B-AAAAAA-B-IEEEEEEES just like Don Cornelius announced “Soul Train”. 

Daisy died a little over a year ago. I know she is missed by many, many people, including her two white babies. She was Kind. She was Smart. She was VERY Important. 
“They say it’s like true love, good help. You only get one in a lifetime.” 

RIP Don Cornelius and Daisy Mae Stevenson 


talya

Musical Pairings:
You’re the First, the Last, My Everything, Barry White


I Love a Rainy Night

By



This week I am attending a one-week writer’s residency program at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs. During this time I will re-post some of my favorite blogs from the prior year. Maybe you missed one? 


originally published 01/24/12…





A trip back home to Northeast Arkansas would be incomplete without at least one long night of thunderstorms, complete with hail, straight-line winds and the resulting power outage.  Last night was that night for my mom and me.  As huge storms brewed in the nation’s mid-section, they roared toward the Mississippi River and our house.


We were relaxing in the den watching Dateline when we were first notified of impending bad weather.  A severe thunderstorm and tornado warning flashed along the bottom of the television screen.  
These storms came up with very little warning. Living on a farm off a dark country road, we were somewhat out of touch with the world. The weather reporters became more and more animated and their maps became more and more colorful. Twirling arrows indicated possible tornadoes and tiny ping pong balls mimicked hail. They predicted an 8 in 10 chance of a tornado in our area. I was skeptical of this statistic.

We ignored the warnings. We were much more concerned with whether or not the newlywed had drowned his young cute wife, but as Dateline was interrupted yet again we realized we may never know.  I thought he was guilty. And I bet the people watching The Bachelor were plenty upset with the interruptions…  

Another alert was issued with this specific instruction that spoke volumes….  “Abandon mobile homes, hide in a ditch and wear durable shoes”.  Seriously. Exact Quote. LifeInTheCountry. I looked at my bare feet as I lay on the couch under a quilt. I glanced over at my mother.  She was wearing purple fuzzy Ugg slippers. Maybe I didn’t give this weatherman with the bad comb-over the credit he deserved?  He actually knew his audience pretty well. Perhaps we should heed his warning? As the wind began to howl and whistle through the fireplace, and the interior door in the den began to shake, I saw visions of those freaky munchkins and flying monkeys.

Ok, I’m going to get my durable shoes!

We escaped into a tiny, interior, window-less bedroom. It was cave-like. At night you cannot see your hand in front of your face. My mother converted it into a kids’ room when the grandchildren were born. It became a place to store old dolls that now had that semi-creepy appearance, old plastic jack-o-lanterns and other toys forgotten by time. In fact, it was quite possibly scarier than a tornado. 

There were at least 30 stuffed animals staring at me, and it was no wonder. I was wearing a black t-shirt from my favorite pizza restaurant, gym shorts and my durable shoes. I had quickly snagged a sweater from my bedroom, along with my bright blue bra. Seriously, if I awake in our rice field in the morning, I will not be braless. It is common knowledge that reporters seek out the most pitiful and scary people to interview after a disaster – I would not be this person tomorrow morning! I also grabbed my well gnawed night guard. I simply cannot sleep without my night guard – it protects my teeth as I clinch and grind. If the house is blown away, and we are relocated to a temporary shelter at the high school gym, I will need my sleep. Plus, this small piece of hard plastic is incredibly expensive!   In the event of a disaster, I will need that money for other things. Like Wine. My mother brought her cat, into the room. Gabby knew the routine well, as she had been born in tornado alley.  She just stared at us, probably freaked out by the stuffed animals everywhere. Or by me.


After about 30 minutes, we ventured out of our “safe room” to complete silence.  Either the storm had passed or the eye was directly overhead. Do tornadoes have eyes?  Exhausted, I slept well (with the help of my night guard). When we awoke in the morning, there were several large limbs scattered throughout the front yard from the pecan trees. Water stood in the field across the road. The sky was clear and blue. We had survived another storm. I was so relieved that we had not been relocated north of the Mason-Dixon Line during the night. I’m pretty sure that’s where the flying monkeys reside.

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!