Only blue will do

Since before I was capable of rational thought, I have connected the sensations of dissolving ice and the taste of flavored sugar water on my tongue with summer. It is this rite of passage that signals the beginning of other joyous behaviors belonging solely to summer like going barefoot, enjoying the camaraderie of strangers linked together by the collective suffering brought on by the moist MS heat, maniacal mosquito swatting and slapping, hummingbird watching, porch sitting, yard strolling, flower bed picking, pruning, and admiring, picture taking, and childhood revisiting. Living half my life in southeast Louisiana and the other half in north, central and south Mississippi has taught me that snowballs are not a phenomenon to take for granted. North Mississippi was a barren land where the crushed ice, deliciously sweet, unimaginably-enormous-flavor-optioned treat was concerned, and I complained about its absence quite frequently. It seems the further south you go, the more snowball stands pop up, serving summer's most appreciative participants, children. Most snowball stands are a mom and pop deal; tiny shacks colorfully painted with a gargantuan menu of flavors in front, with room inside for only one or two adults to grind the ice and force it into a white styrofoam cup, shape it to a point with a cone, douse it liberally with neon-colored, flavored sugar water, and if you'd like, condensed milk. Blue bubble gum snowballs with cream (condensed milk) are my life's most delicious and decadent treat, as well as the most coveted. As accessible as its ingredients are, snowballs are impossible to duplicate at home, forcing one to snatch up the opportunity to eat one when you come across one of those happy little stands that seem to be slowly disappearing. Its genius lies in its simplicity, its sweetness conjuring memories of warm days, waiting in line and deciding what flavor to choose, whether or not to be adventurous and pick a new flavor like cake batter or stick with what you know, blue bubblegum that tastes like nothing else on earth, just pure bliss, summertime perfection.

FYI: This picture is of me and my Aunt KK, (with whom I used to stay in the summer and help peel squash and eat the plums off her trees) in Tylertown, MS, at Little Alaska snowball stand. They have a new item on the menu this summer: frozen pickle juice! Apparently it's really popular with the kids!

Family

In case you didn't know, there are different rules for living in the country than in the city. An impromptu family reunion took place here at Mamaw's house this evening, distant relatives appearing almost at once, and from seemingly nowhere! Eight in all, and for 2 hours, a couple of which I'd never even met. A little cousin with a frog on her shirt and a tiara on her head taught me the proper way to cut an orange; another informed me he'd been here earlier and seen us napping in our chairs, and jokingly asked if I'd caught any flies in my mouth! There's a casual feel, a laid back atmosphere with far less distance between people than I'm used to, but it lends itself to a cozy sort of feeling that's kinda nice. The lack of planning ruined the opportunity for the best aspect of a reunion: the FOOD!
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Over the river and through the woods....

Tomorrow is my first Spring trip to my grandparents' house! Every year I anticipate the ease of Spring and Summer country living, in a place so secluded that in order to find it you have to know where you're going, warm and breezy on the front porch, bursts of color everywhere you look. My camera will be my companion on my walks around the yard, surprising the butterflies and spiders and frogs that are usually ignored by us cumbersome humans that bound through their secrets spaces, always with our own agendas that seldom include them. Baggins lives for his trips to Mamaw and Papaw's house, especially our walks in the field down to where the old pond used to sit, before Papaw decided he should fill it, years ago. Mom and I will stroll down the narrow roads, admiring the wildflowers now showing their faces anywhere dirt will hold them, and look for the spots where blackberries will grow in the quickly-approaching summer. I think I've pretty much figured out how to post from my Blackberry (the seedless, digital kind,) so I hope to be making a few short posts along the way. Here's a picture of me and my Mamaw Hildy, the sweetest lady in the world, at my Aunt BB's house at Christmas. She and I have some catching up to do, and we're going to do it on the porch!

"American Idol" does "Ave Maria,"

Schubert's ode to the Virgin Mary, "Ave Maria," regardless of its religious implications, is one of the world's most beautiful songs. When sung by a woman with an angelic voice, it stirs emotion in my guts, even though I haven't a clue what they're saying. Celine Dion's version brings tears to my eyes; it's perfect, flawless. Kelly Clarkson sang this masterpiece for the Pope just the other day, and I'm sharing it with you because it is so moving and powerful, I think you deserve to experience it! "Ave Maria" seems otherworldly when I close my eyes, there's a serenity that I can't explain.

2nd try

Trying again to blog from email!
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Top that, Jeopardy!

Be sure to tune in to NBC this Monday night and catch president Bush on "Deal Or No Deal!" Captain Joseph Kobes, who has served in Iraq three times and has been the recipient of the Purple Heart as well as the Bronze Star, will be trying his luck at the popular game show in hopes of winning enough money to pay off his parents' home. A pre-taped video clip of Bush will air, thanking Captain Kobes for his service and wishing him luck in the game. Can you even believe this? I find it bizarre, yet strangely fitting in these days, when Comedy Central has our presidential hopefuls interviewed on parody shows which are followed by "South Park," or "Kenny Vs. Spenny." I remember in 1992 when I saw Bill Clinton play the sax on "The Late Show" and, for the first time in my short years, realized the president was human. This new accessible president idea still shocks me sometimes. After giving it some thought, I believe it to be a good thing, a narrowing of the gap maybe, and damn fine breeding ground for jokes!
FYI: This picture of the president dancing with the Kankouran West African Dance Co., was taken at a Malaria Awareness Day event at the White House.
Factoid: 66 countries across the world are currently airing a version of the game show we Americans call, "Deal Or No Deal," including China, Poland, Zimbabwe, and Morocco!

Cock of the Walk

While sipping sweet tea out of my little silver tin cup, I began reading the short bits of information on the walls and brown-paper-bag type menu of my favorite catfish spot, Cock Of The Walk. These folks have perfected the art of frying the infamous bottom-feeders, one of the loves of any real Mississippian's lives, and they serve it up with hush puppies, fries, cole slaw, greens, marinated onions, and cornbread that has, prior to being served, been the star of a table-side show put on by your server. Your server is decked out in garb reminiscent and reflective of this information that, once you notice it, seems to cover the wooden half of the partly glass walls of the joint, which look out onto the moving water of the reservoir. Mike Fink is a name that's printed on many of these wooden signs filled with quotes and tidbits and factoids, and the one that first caught my eye says, Fink liked to say he was, "half horse and half alligator, with a fire-eating devil thrown in." Wow! Those are mighty big words from an awfully self-confident man, so I decided to do a little investigating and see where this information takes me, and it has taken me all the way to the Natchez Trace. Men like Mike Fink made their livings by moving merchandise up and down the MS and Pearl rivers (among others, like the TN) and the only ground route North out of MS to Nashville, TN, and beyond, was the Natchez Trace. The Trace got its start as a path made from bison travelling North to Nashville to find salt licks in the area. The Native Americans, specifically the Cherokee, Choctaw, and Chickasaw, broadened the path by using it extensively and introduced it to the Europeans who began to trickle in. At that point it was simply a path, and in 1801 the US Armed Forces claimed it for a postal route and major work began on the Trace to prepare it as a main artery for travel. By 1809, the trail was finally fully functioning and navigable by wagon. Thus began much of Mississippi history, from Washington, MS's first capital, "old Greenville," which was made famous by Andrew Jackson, Natchez, and Port Gibson. Men poured into the area motivated by personal desires, each and every one looking to gain something from this new opportunity, and many of these men were tough when they got there, but maybe not as tough as they thought. The vast majority of the hopeful men who came to work the rivers left defeated or in a pine box. The Trace and the rivers I referred to held hands in many respects, for they were used by the same people much of the time. The keelboatmen, like Mike Fink, who were running merchandise up the rivers, were dangerous men, known for their hard-drinking and trigger-happy lifestyles, as they had to fight continuously for their lives and livelihoods, and the baddest of them all was known as the Cock of the Walk. He wore a red turkey feather in his hat, and was respected as the leader, and to buck the system meant not returning home. Many of these men who worked the rivers would take their goods to "Natchez Under-the-Hill," (as opposed to the real city of Natchez atop the river bluff) which was where the MS river boats docked, and get their pockets stuffed with cash, which they promptly spent at the many brothels, bars, and gambling halls that lined the streets. It was the same on the Trace as it was in the old West, the killing and drinking and debauchery, though you never hear of it or see movies with ole Mike Fink, Cock of the Walk, portrayed by Clint Eastwood or John Wayne. Of course, the missionaries came, hoping to save these men of sin, and they became large in number, converting anyone who'd listen, including the Native Americans. Large gangs began to run operations outside the cities along the Trace, forming the country's first real organized crime rings. But the Natchez Trace was short-lived because of the popularity and modern improvements in water-bound trade and travel, and in 1830 the Trace was officially abandoned as a road. Now we as Mississippians know it as the Natchez Trace Parkway, 444 miles of modern road that follows a close approximation of the original route, parts of which are still accessible. So as I washed down the last of my tarter sauce-dipped fish with my sweet tea and got ready to leave, I pictured my waiter, a young guy of about 20, with the rest of the vast majority of dejected, disappointed men who failed in their quest for money and notoriety, heads bowed, travelling back up the Trace towards home. I imagined them trying to make sense of it all, and trying to figure out how to explain their failure to their wives and families when they finally saw them, as they attempted to avoid bandits and danger on their return travel, eventually telling their grandchildren about Mike Fink, and how he could "out-run, out-jump, out-shoot, out-brag, out-drink, and out-fight, rough and tumble, no holds barred, any man on both sides of any river, down and back again."