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A Season of Loss…

jeremy-fall-18Holidays are often a source of nostalgia- as the Trees let go of their leaves- we are also letting go… some are even finding themselves in a Season of Loss. It was during just such a Season of Loss- that I began writing a Bible Study, by email of all things! A self professed tech challenged writer, I was studying and teaching from John’s Gospel, chapter 11- the account of two sisters named Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus. For a period of Four Years, I wrote; mostly for myself with my sister, then bit by bit a tight circle of trusted friends from Four Denominations within an area of Three Counties. Very few, in the study- even knew the others! I guess you could say- I wrote myself out of the Season of Loss.

Grief comes in many forms not even associated with death–

  • the loss of a job, a home, a friendship, a move, a change, a hope that didn’t come through or a dream that didn’t come true. We may not even admit to ourselves that we are experiencing a Season of Loss.

We muddle through, we dawdle or we piddle- I know, I’ve been there. What started as an email Bible Study, became a published book! I still can’t explain it.  I was not only a tech challenged writer, I was terrible at promoting my own book! It was too dear, too close, too everything.. and while I believed every word I wrote- I did not believe in myself, I could not say…‘This book is great, you should read it.‘  With all of the wisdom out there, with folks far more educated than me, amid highly acclaimed writers- well, you could say I talked myself out of Book Promotion. Invariably, folks who knew that I had taught Bible Studies and who had encouraged me to write a book- also said, ‘I was hoping you would write those funny stories!’ Go figure. The book, ‘Four Days- the Lazarus Principle’ was published Four Years ago this month, in 2012. four-days-the-lazarus-principle

I’ve been writing this blog for months now and except for a few excerpts- I have yet to outright promote my own book! My first and only book led me to writing this blog. I enjoy writing the funny or inspiring stories. Yet, it seemed good to me, now- to tell you that the Holidays and just plain old Life will sometimes knock you down. There will be losses, grief and heartache among the funny stories- there will be Seasons of Loss. The strength I found in an intense Bible Study four years ago- with my sister and trusted friends helped me heal. On the back cover of ‘Four Days’- you will read this:

‘There are many lessons in this unconventional Bible study of dis-ease, unanswered prayers, loss, letting go, struggling to believe and wrestling with God. Come with me and learn the lessons from a little green worm, two devastated songwriters, the weavers of Persian carpets, even a baby chick at the county fair. Look with wonder at the last living thing removed from the devastation of the 911 World Trade Center, the ugliest building in Boston, the boat that rescued hundreds of survivors from the flood waters of Katrina and blue glass hands. Within these stories and the lives of two sisters in John 11, I hope you will find the great love of God even when you don’t understand Him.’

I hope Life is treating you kindly and you are in a Thankful, Joyful Season; that you are not in a Season of Loss-but if you are? Well, you see I wrote a book…

Love y’all, Camellia

The opening photograph is one of Jeremy Miniard’s masterpieces! find him at: jeremy-miniard.fineartamerica.com

Four Days the Lazarus Principle- is found through major booksellers, including Amazon.com- read an excerpt by following this link- https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B00H1Q6KE6&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_WWpmybFBFN68M&tag=camescott-20

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Grits…

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Grits. Simple. Unadorned. In the South, if you truly grew up here, there is a primal instinct to crave Grits. People don’t understand this outside of the region, in fact you may not even be able to find Grits on the grocery shelves in other regions of the country, much less the world. I have a friend whose daughter moved to Los Angeles a decade or so ago, who would whine so pitifully for grits that her mother bought and sent her a bag of grits from time to time. The same thing happened when a friend’s sister moved to New York around the same time frame- ‘Well, I guess she’s homesick, she wants me to send her a bag of grits.’ To be fair, some of the great chefs have taken a low class food like grits and have elevated them to a delicacy once known as breakfast grits for fishermen or laborers near the coastal areas of the south- to Shrimp and Grits, but if a poll were taken I would be willing to bet these same chefs in major cities outside of the South would never eat Grits for breakfast! In the South, field hands to fine gentlemen, get it- they want and expect Grits for breakfast! From nursery food, to sick beds, to hearty men’s breakfasts, and ladies brunches- you will always find Grits on the savory side of the menu, never the sweet.  I can’t say it any better than Alabama girls, Deborah Ford and Edie Hand in their ‘GRITS Handbook’ *-

‘Grits are eaten with butter, gravy or cheese- never sugar.’image

Y’all, trust me on this- true Southerners crave Grits from their bassinets to their deathbeds. Grits are the ultimate comfort food, considered a healing aid, a cure for the sick. I once heard my grandmother say, ‘I knew he was real sick, when he turned his nose up at a bowl of grits.’  Grits are like kinfolks, we sometimes take them for granted, they are the unsung companion to many a fine meal. Grits are the big-hearted, open-to-embellishment relative at the Southern table, it accepts additions graciously- butter, cheese, shrimp, crumbled sausage and bacon, even eggs have been poached in Grits’ Casseroles. Just remember, never sugar. There is a limit to even the most generous among us! You will never find Grits on a dessert table so why would you even think of adding sugar?  We southerners love our food, we talk about it- we pass recipes down and around; what we may have lacked in fortunes, was more than made up for on food laden tables, generously shared, eaten heartily without shame or daintily with lively conversation. Even when we’re eating out, someone will say ‘Here, try this’ – to say ‘No’ –is out of the equation you will just hear- ‘Really, you have to try this.’- as we put at least one bite over on the loved one’s plate. We can get downright biblical about food– someone once asked, ‘How many people will that pot of grits feed?’ The answer? ‘Oh honey, multitudes.’ Grits have served multitudes, down through Southern history- using the basic elements of fire, water, salt and that most ancient food- Corn. image

In my southern childhood innocence, there was no doubt Goldilocks interrupted the Three Bears’ breakfast of Grits, not porridge! Southern women have a distinct, almost unnatural fascination with ancestral food, like Grits. We rely on family recipes, our grandmothers’ ancient potions and mysterious cures. When prescriptions or modern medicine fail us- we offer Grits as part of a curative white diet, along with chicken broth, weak tea, ginger ale, soda crackers, rice, dry toast,mashed potatoes and scraped apple.image

When we cook Grits, we are communing with our ancestors; even when I am alone in my kitchen- the mothers, aunts and grandmothers are with me- informing me. Like taking care of a family- Grits have to be watched, tended to, kept moving- stirred gently with a languid patience, especially when they are absorbing the hot water of life. You learn to swirl the Grits into water that is at a rolling boil, then bring them down to a soft bubble- never stepping away from the simmer, taking the time to get it right, gently adding a bit of cool water if they start to thicken too soon- bring them to just the right consistency, turning off the flame, adding a bit of butter for richness; then covering with a lid almost like tucking them under a quilt. You learn this when you’re the cook, when you’re the nourishing caretaker of a husband, of a family or a community. You learn how much effort it takes to get it right, just from making a pot of Grits. The humble bowl of Grits-is proof that whether in a rundown shack, a double wide trailer, a lake house, a high rise beach condo or a country club- in the South we are all linked by a simple warm bowl of Grits.

You either like them or you don’t- but you can’t deny the allure of Grits- the generous big hearted food of the South is what culinary dreams are made of- in fact, I’m dreaming of having a Build Your Own Shrimp and Grits Party! We’ll top it with spicy shrimp, cheese, crumbled bacon, ham or Andouille  sausage- maybe some red eye gravy,  fried okra, bell peppers, finely diced purple onion and red tomatoes …what else? Well, my grits are getting cold…

Love y’all, Camellia

*quote from The Grits (Girls Raised in the South) Guide to Life by Deborah Ford with Edie Hand Product Details

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Stars Fell on Alabama…

Explosive Arrival

Well y’all, it happened again- Stars Fell on Alabama! According to NASA, it is just a warm up…Delta Aquarid meteor showers lit up the night sky over Alabama on Friday night of this week! Now, I didn’t actually see them…but I did go outside after midnight…I did what they said…I looked to the southern sky, I used my naked eye- no binoculars – saw the Fingernail Moon- which is the ‘friend’ of meteor shower watchers. I didn’t have a reclining chair out front, I didn’t put a quilt on the ground like they suggested. I sat on the front porch steps…by myself. I heard a rustling sound under the front porch, I couldn’t be sure if it was a stray cat or a possum. I didn’t wait around to find out…instead I ran through the house and went out on the back porch, oriented myself again- stretched out on the warm wrought iron lounge chair and watched the twinkling skies. If you want to see the ‘show’- go to Slooh.com to find out how to watch…

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‘Stars Fell on Alabama’ has graced our license plates-

  The song became a popular tune in the 1930’s Big Band Era, being written by Mitchell Parish and arranged by Frank Perkins- then performed by Guy Lombardo. Ella Fitzgerald, Jimmy Rogers, Billie Holiday, Kate Smith, Louie Armstrong, even Frank Sinatra made the song legendary. Whenever I attended an event at the Alabama Theatre- and heard the Mighty Wurlitzer Organ being played- most of the time- ‘Stars Fell on Alabama’ would be played. Go check it out on the Alabama Theatre’s website– http://www.alabamatheatre.com Let me tell you something- there was nothing more awe inspiring than hearing the Mighty Wurlitzer!

The Mighty Wurlitzer

From Debutante Balls, to beauty pageants, honky tonks, Shrine Clubs, Elks Lodges, country clubs, under the revolving ball in the Cloud Room at Cascade Plunge, at leadouts, even dance clubs where you could win a chicken dinner if you were the best dancers- all the way to Mardi Gras Balls-  (yes! Alabama was first to observe Mardi Gras)- one thing you could count on was ‘Stars Fell on Alabama’ being played, couples swaying and swinging around the dance floor.

In 1833, stars really did fall on Alabama– it is estimated at 30,000 per hour and continued for approximately 9 hours in Alabama but over a 3 day period elsewhere-constituting a meteor storm. It was a terrifyingly beautiful night- most were scared out of their minds- fearing Judgement Day was at hand-folks gathered in churches with open Bibles, then fearfully throwing dice, cards and liquor into the flames. Some even began to count time from this event in 1833- the only group that was not frightened were the American Indians who thought it was a lucky sign and I believe some sort of treaty was signed by the Cheyenne tribes. Several more meteor showers continued on into the 1860’s – Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass even Abraham Lincoln were said to have commented on the falling stars. However bizarre the 1833 event was in Alabama, in 1954 a woman named Ann Hodges from Sylacauga, Alabama, the only known person to have been struck by a meteor- was laying on her sofa, covered up with thick quilts- I suspect taking a nap- when a big rock crashed the roof, bounced off of her radio and left what National Geographic describes as a pineapple shaped bruise on her leg- through all of those quilts! Throwback Thursday: The day a meteorite hit a Sylacauga woman | AL.comSylacauga meteorite: 60th anniversary of a human hit by a space rock.shows where Ann Hodges was struck in the hip by an 8.5 lb meteorite ...

Some thought it was a plane crash, others thought it was an overt attack by the Soviets- it was during the Cold War after all! The Police Chief confiscated the rock and turned it over to the U.S. Air Force because folks were so paranoid about it all. A court case ensued once the rock was declared a meteorite- Ann Hodges and her husband rented the house from Birdie Guy who claimed since it hit her house- it was her star. The courts agreed. Ann and her husband had public opinion on their side and settled out of court- paid Birdie $500 and later when it wasn’t really worth that much even to the Smithsonian- they donated it to the museum of natural history. Once again- Stars Fell on Alabama! This story was so interesting to another Alabamian, Fanny Flagg, that she fictionally incorporated into her book, Whistlestop Café, which became the movie, ‘Fried Green Tomatoes’!

Now, there are great YouTube videos of Alabama native, Jimmy Buffet singing ‘Stars Fell on Alabama’ and the Jacksonville State Marching Southerners as they play ‘Stars Fell on Alabama’ at every home game, however, I love the version done by the Lennon Sisters- DeeDee, Peggy, Kathy and Janet- holding their train cases on the Lawrence Welk Show!

Aren’t they just darlin’ with their matching suits and bouffant hairdos? From now til August is over….hope you get to see some Stars Falling over Alabama!

Love y’all, Camellia

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Statuary…

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This is Eleanor. She has graced a secluded place beneath a clump of dogwood trees in our garden for over ten years. The angel was given to us during a dark season of grief. I never called my husband’s mother by her given name- Eleanor. From the moment the statuary angel was put in place, she has been Eleanor to me. I look at her everyday from my kitchen window- from the street she is unseen- if you go to the side yard, down a long curved path, there is a round circle of purple irises with a large urn in the center- beyond a pair of fruit trees, your eye is drawn to Eleanor. My mother in law died in early spring right before the dogwoods begin to bloom. Tiny daffodils bloom at her feet. Statuary in the home or garden should have meaning, Eleanor does; she is a sweet reminder of my gentle mother in law every day. She was an angel.

The great cities of the world have iconic statuary. New York-

Santa Fe’s Canyon Road has incredible sculpture and statuary-

Great statuary, no matter where it is, should have significance, purpose and a sense of place.  What would the Statue of Liberty look like surrounded by gnomes, pigs, baskets, urns and rabbits?  IMG_0899 (Edited)

There is a place for whimsy in our world, yet even whimsical statuary should have significance, purpose and a sense of place. The statuary planter on the back porch is an example of whimsy. Whenever I have acquired statuary, the piece has found me, not the other way around. If you are shopping, don’t overlook local plant nurseries or shops, they will often have a good selection at reasonable prices.

I happen to love statuary in great cities, in shopping areas, in public gardens, in cemeteries, on battlegrounds or playgrounds- in public buildings, homes and in cathedrals…

Let me show you how we have used some statuary in Camellia’s Cottage…

Each piece follows the design principles I believe in…significance, beauty, whimsy, mystery, scale, focal point, texture, purpose, emotion and a sense of place. To find a few small birds beneath a big basket of homegrown hydrangeas, to have a muse looking over my shoulder as I read a book, to perch a facepot on a pedestal as a whimsical reminder to save for a rainy day, to discover a bird in hand or a tiny bird poised in flight beneath a map of our home county, to bring the outside in with a heavy urn and a wise old man- those things have a place of significance without saying one word. The statuary, large or small, are gentle memories and peaceful inspiration for our sweet home in Alabama.

Love y’all, Camellia

*This post is written in loving memory of my mother in law, Eleanor McKinney Wyatt.IMG_0666

 

 

 

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Pit Barbeque…

 

Three Barbeques, Two Fish Fries, One Pancake Breakfast, a Wedding and a Funeral- all in one day. No time to change in between…if this was a fashion blog I could tell you what to wear- a black dress. Fill a bag with accessories, several pairs of shoes, make up, a damp rag and deodorant. It got me through and we had the time of our lives! I don’t hold a world record on attending events- my husband probably deserves a medal.  We’ve gone to so many Barbeques, we might claim expert status on tasting barbeque. Mastering a pit is an entirely different skill.  Real Pit Barbeque is cooked 10-12 hours…this isn’t backyard grilling.  There’s no doubt in my mind that American Pit Barbeque originated in the South- poor rural folks, fattened a few pigs- so  fresh pork was cheap and available.Raw Peanuts

Alabama’s own -George Washington Carver  taught the art of growing peanuts right here in Alabama; Smithfield Hams of Virginia were known for fattening their hogs on peanuts.  What fattens a hog, fattens human beings, y’all. Boiled or roasted peanuts are almost always found near Pit Barbeque;  shells strewn on the floor add ambience and soak up the grease.  Most farms had a smokehouse for hams and bacon. No part of the hog was wasted. Fresh pork was Pit Smoked to feed harvest workers on large farms, to celebrate or commiserate. The love of barbeque knows no social class. We all love it.

Southern Pit Barbeque ventured off the farms to become Backroad joints, Dives and Honky Tonks. The old ones had a ‘risque’ feel to them. My mother once whined – ‘We can’t take these children in there! Folks are drinkin’ and no tellin’ what all..’; which made the joint even more appealing to children and menfolks. I heard a BBQ Pit Master say: ‘I feed this pit some whiskey every night.’  I’m not sure what he was talking about- however, the combination did exist. You can’t get good barbeque in a chain restaurant– the quality goes down by miles. In fact, folks will drive for miles down blacktop, gravel, or dusty red roads out in the middle of nowhere- just to find a real Pit Barbeque joint. If you’re willing to drive backroads-

  •  scented with Loblolly pines,
  • look for hand written signs-
  • roll down the windows-
  • follow the fragrant wood smoke- That’s where real Pit Barbeque is cooked.
  • Rusted out trucks and dented cars are a good sign;
  • Then look for grimy folks who tend the pit round the clock.
  • BBQ joints are often charred shacks or a blackened concrete block buildings- usually near a small creek to douse the flames.

I have a letter written close to 50 years ago, telling about a shack, a hot plate with a pot of dried beans and a ‘Still -right ready to make up whiskey’  when a fire broke out.  I’m just sayin’ – they had to augment their incomes and somebody must have been feeding a pit somewhere.

Pit Masters are a rare breed– those men are browned to perfection either by birth, the hot southern sun or a combination of both. They are soot streaked, well greased, smoke tinged, and speckled with burn marks up and down their arms. Their aprons are soiled and smeared. Listen to me- never trust a Pit Master who has on a starched white apron– he hasn’t been near a Real Pit and don’t know nothin’ ’bout it!  Pit Barbeque was the usual fare for private parties, political rallies, mysterious Barbeque Clubs, fundraisers and Church Picnics. I’m not sure how church picnics got on the short list– maybe a pit man escaped serious injury, the revenuers or was alone one spooky moonlit night and found Jesus. Of course, there have been many slurs against those of us who enjoy barbeque- calling us hogs, saying we root around or grunt like a pig when we eat it. We endure the ribbing because we know how good Pit Barbeque is for the soul- Southerners can get downright Evangelical about it.

Great Pit Barbeque is born in hot fiery coals. Don’t let anyone tell you- the secret is in the sauce. Whole families would argue me down about this- but if the meat isn’t good, you can’t cover it up or smother it with any amount of sauce and make it taste good. Now here’s how to order-

  • Fold your hands in prayer;
  • Contemplate whether you want it sliced, pulled or chopped; Amen.
  • Baptize it with whatever sauce you like: Red, White, Vinegar based, Sticky, Thin or Thick; Hot, Mild or fire on the tongue-hot! Your choice.
  • Snort, snort, uh-ah, grunt, Soo-ey!  Sorry about that hog-callin’,
  • I like my Barbeque – Chopped Outside Lean- if you don’t understand the lingo, I can’t help you!

One of my favorite local joints is affectionately called the Texa-que, a combo gas station and Pit Barbeque. The real name is Butts to Go. The blackened cylinder pits, the stacks of hardwood, the fragrant smoke billowing up- slows you down, your stomach makes guttural sounds. Butts to Go also smokes hams and turkeys which are to die for; wonderful comfort food for a bereaved family. Spicy hot food, like Pit Barbeque is considered inappropriate funeral food. But if you’re ever on I-20E toward the Talledega Super Speedway,  watch for the signs- pull over, you’ll be glad you did.

From the first bite you’ll know – you’re either a Hog or Evangelical about Pit Barbeque by the sounds that come out of your mouth. I’ve said it before: Southern Food Tales are part passion, part potion and part outright lies. Butts to Go is the real deal.

Love y’all, Camellia

* A big thank you to Wade Reich for allowing me to use his Butts to Go logo and website photo from http://www.buttstogo.com

All others are AOL Images, if any are not public domain or copyrighted  I will be glad to make the corrections or remove the photographs.

Check out http://www.smithfieldhams.com too!