Shooting Watermelon Seeds

Family gatherings are one of a Southerner's favorite past times.  Be it a pot luck meal or banquet fit for a king, when it comes time to gather family and friends for fun and fellowship, we're all in.  Our family is no different.  Be it birthday, holiday, or family reunion, ours follows the Southern tradition with zeal.

In our family, every meal begins with the blessing.  Sweet tea is poured, and the bowls passed around.  It’s a time of telling stories, swapping gossip, and sharing the events of the day.  When the meal is finished, the dishes are cleared, and the dessert comes out.  No meal in the South is properly completed until you “end it on something sweet”.  In cold weather, that usually means pies and cakes of some sort (or our beloved Banana Pudding, but that's a story for another day).  Likely as not, it’s Great Aunt So-and-So's recipe that has been passed down through the generations... and always, that recipe comes with a story.  On the hot days, it often means going outside and making homemade ice cream, or cutting a watermelon.

Making homemade ice cream is a ritual all unto itself. Every family has their favorite recipe, and every member has their favorite flavor. There’s banana, peach, strawberry, vanilla... the list goes on and on. Whether we use the modern-day electric churns, or the old-fashioned hand crank churn, the process is pretty much the same... the ice cream is churned until it’s frozen so hard the motor or hand crank can’t turn anymore, then it’s packed with ice, wrapped in old towels or burlap bags and left to sit for a time while the ice cream hardens a bit more.  Sometimes this part was done before the meal, so that the ice cream is ready to eat as soon as the meal is finished. The “women folk” were in charge of mixing up the ingredients for the ice cream, but the churning was the job of the “men folk” and the kids.

Come “watermelon season”, we’re just as enthusiastic.  We choose our melons with care, “thumping” them for the hollow sound that indicates ripeness.  The melon is sliced, and passed around.  Salt is a necessity when watermelon is served here in the South.  Most of us can’t eat watermelon without it.  Some folks prefer scooping out the red, drippy goodness with a spoon, carefully pulling out the seeds, while others don’t stand on such ceremony, and just take a mouthful and spit the seeds on the ground.  No matter how we eat it, having a slice is another cool respite from the summer heat, and comes with an added bonus.

It's OK to play with your food if you're eating watermelon.  Yes, I'm talking about the seeds.  Likely as not, it would start with Grandmother “shooting” a seed at one of us kids. Spitting seeds, other than on the ground, was seen as “unseemly” in our family, so we’d shoot them instead.  “Shooting” watermelon seeds takes a bit of practice and skill.  The seeds have a slick casing on them when they come straight out of the melon.  If you put one between forefinger and thumb, and squeeze juuuust right, it will shoot out surprisingly far sometimes.  It’s fairly simple, but can require some finesse.  Press on the back of the seed first, and then move toward the front, all in one swift move. It doesn't actually hurt to get hit with a seed, but it usually does stick to your skin or clothes.

Whether having a slice of cake or pie, having a bowl of homemade ice cream, or sharing a watermelon... this continues to be just another one of those ways we end the day in the most natural way we know how... enjoying each other's company, talking over the day's events, laughing and having a bit of fun.

The South is a place of family, friends, traditions, and a sincere caring for our neighbors and environment.  We depend on each to give us an anchor in life, and treasure them all to our very core. 

Come sit a spell... put your feet up... laugh a little and let your worries and cares fall away. We’ll offer you a glass of sweet tea, and on a warm summer evening, a bowl of ice cream or a slice of watermelon.

Two-Egg Sacks Within Hollerin' Distance

Many of my favorite memories of growing up involve my Grandmother or Granddaddy, who lived within walking distance.  Actually, they lived within "hollerin' distance" (which is always within walking distance, but often a bit closer) because we could shout loud enough to say hello across the field that separated our two houses.  Mind you, this was in the 50's and 60's, before the age of cellphones (or even telephones for that matter, during some of that time).  

We all have those moments during childhood that we mark as that time when "we're grown up now"... well, not grown up, as in adult, but not a "baby" anymore.  One of those moments for us kids was when Mom didn't have to pin a note to our shirt when she wanted us to go to Grandmother's and "borrow" something for her (2 eggs or a stick of butter for a recipe... white thread because she ran out... those sorts of things).  We'd be so afraid that we would forget and have the dreaded pinned note stuck on us again that we'd often sing a song all the way from our house to Grandmother's... some little sing-song type ditty that we'd make up on the spot, just to remember what we came for.  At first, the rule was we had to walk across the field.  As we became older, we were allowed to walk along the red clay gravel/dirt road that ran by our houses at that time.  

The borrowing of two eggs became such a common thing, that Grandmother, who was always kidding around and laughing about something, invented the "Two-Egg Sack".  Well, invented might be stretching the idea a little far... she renamed the very small paper bag that you'd get at the store sometimes (smaller than today's lunch bags).  Forever after that, it was called a Two-Egg Sack.  Why?  Because it held 2 eggs just perfectly without them having to stack on top of each other.  

Grandmother was what we always referred to as a "cat bird", meaning she was always up to some sort of mischief to keep life interesting... and was always finding something to laugh about, or kid around about.  Her joy for life and the people in it were never-ending and infectious.  She infected all of her grandchildren with that love of laughter, and taught each of us that love and laughter would get us through even the hardest of times.  She was, far and away, one of my favorite people to be around.  

She was "crafty", too... as in arts and crafts.  She knew how to knit, crochet, do all sorts of thread and needlework, and created all sorts of handicrafts all the time.  She painted in oils, sewed everything from clothes to drapes to anything she needed from cloth.  She knew how to cane a chair seat, how to create a quilt or rug from nothing but cast off old clothing ready for making rags out of (after you cut off the buttons and saved them, of course).  She grew up in the era where you made whatever you needed or you didn't have it.  So when we went to visit, she always had something interesting going on that we could learn if we wanted to... and I often wanted to.  

There's a poem that was read at Grandmother's funeral when she left us many years ago, that I've always felt described her well.  It's called "The Bridge Builder", by Will Allen Dromgoole.  The poem described an elderly man that takes the time to build a bridge across a chasm after he's already crossed it, not for himself, but for future generations.  Grandmother was a bridge builder... always leading us in ways that would serve us all our lives, whether it was showing us how we could make something on our own instead of buying something similar (but often of lesser quality), or whether it was teaching us some of life's lessons through her kind wisdom and gift of laughter.  I was blessed to have had her as such an integral part of my formative years.  

So, next time you come across a "Two-Egg Sack" (yes, they still exist), remember that it's not what a thing is that's important... it's all in how you look at it.  

And remember to laugh!!!!

"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter."  
                                                                        ~ e.e. cummings ~

Two-Egg Sack:  A paper bag small enough to hold two eggs 

on the bottom without the eggs stacking up on top of each other.

Flowers on the Roadside

Daisies... we've all seen them growing on the roadside somewhere. Their white petals around a yellow center with their raggedy leaves on long spindly stalks wave at us as we go by.  They are often found growing in clusters in random places along country roads. Wild, seldom cultivated, yet so beautiful in their simplicity. They've always been my favorite flower. I suppose some of the reason is the memories I associate with them. However, mostly it's their simple beauty that has always caught my eye.

When we were kids, our maternal Grandmother lived just on the other side of the field from us. We'd walk to her house several times a week just to visit (and have a cookie from her cookie jar). On our way to her house in the summer, there would always be Daisies and Queen Anne's Lace growing on the roadside. I'd pick her a bouquet, but not one of those store-bought sorts. This was flowers of all heights, some bent, some straight. Some would be missing petals by the time we got there because, you know, "Love me, Love me not" would happen, and putting one behind my ear, and such as that. But always there would be a few to take to Grandmother. She would lovingly trim them all and arrange them in a bud vase, and put them on display somewhere special.  

It's those special memories that I find forming in my mind and on my fingertips as stories to tell. It's those special "flowers on the roadside of life" that make it all worth while.  

That is why I named this blog "Picking Daisies", and that is why the URL is "flowers on the roadside". It is my hope that I can share some small part of these memories with you, dear reader, and somehow bless your life, as mine has been blessed, with a bouquet of wild flowers, some crooked and bent, for you to enjoy.  

Daisies in my Mom's flower garden

Photo by me

Lightnin' in a Bottle

When I was a kid, there was always something to do... and most times, it was us kids who thought up that "something".  In warm, dry weather, it was always an outside "something".  We'd play kids games, like "Mother May I?" and "Red Light, Green Light".  We'd play in the sand pile that Dad made each year, or swing on the swings.  We'd walk to Grandmother's house (just a field between our house and hers), or play with our cousins, sometimes at their house, sometimes at ours.  There was always something to do.  

When the sun started going down, there was a special something we loved doing... "ketchin lightnin bugs".  Lightning Bugs, or FireFlies to some folks, are slow flying insects that primarily come out at dusk.  They have a bio-luminescent abdomen that they can blink on and off in an attempt to entice a mate.  We thought they were magical.  Sometimes we'd get Mom to make us a mason jar with holes punched in the lid to put them in.  We usually remembered to let them go after awhile, or just take the lid off the jar and leave them to find the opening.  They'd be gone by morning, but to this day I can call up images in my head of those twinkling lights, as if we had somehow captured magic in a mason jar for just a little while.  

It was a time of dreams, a time of wonder, a time of discovery.  It was a safer time, not just because our parents protected us and saw to our needs, but the world as a whole was safer.  There weren't as many diseases carried by bugs nor as many people as a whole  It was just a time when doors weren't locked at night, when it was safe to go wandering through the woods, when you knew all your neighbors and we all helped each other when the need arose.  

Nowadays, there are more people living on our rural road than ever.  Where once there were 8 - 10 houses on our entire 2 mile road, there are well over 200 (so says the mailman).  Side streets have sprung up off what used to be a dusty country road, with lots of houses clustered on each.  Where acres of pasture and fields once lay, now stands houses of all sorts with groomed yards and, often, barking dogs.  Nowadays, there are more neighbors that we don't know than that we do.  Nowadays folks more or less stay to themselves, surrounding themselves with the familiar, not daring to go out and meet new neighbors because of all the hate-mongering that is so permeates the media these days.  We fear the differences in people nowadays, rather than embrace them for what could come of combining idea and ideals.

Nowadays.... doors are locked, cars are locked, bugs carry all sorts of diseases, the woods are no longer safe to go walking in, neighbors ignore neighbors, and kids are more often inside than out.  It's a sadder and scarier world.

Here's the thing though...  if we continue to think that so much can change in the world without it affecting not only each of us, but all future generations, we are sorely mistaken. Change can be a good thing, but it can be a dangerous thing if we're not paying attention well enough to guide those changes from bad to good, to stem the chaos and propagate more peaceful times.  It really is up to us.... all of us.

And here's the sad thing... our lightning bugs are dying... extinction is not an impossibility.  Imagine a world without fireflies.  Just like when we forgot and left them in the mason jar too long, their numbers are decreasing all over the US.  Scientists don't really know specifically why, but often point toward advancing urban development and habitat destruction, too much light outside during the night, climate change, and pesticides.  Why don't they know for sure?  Because lightning bugs have been so common for so long that no one thought to study them.  There are several studies going on now that their decline has been noticed, but it may be another sad story of "too little, too late".  There are some links in the footnotes, if you want to learn more about what's going on and what you can do to help.

The magic of a warm summer evening will never disappear from our mind's eye. The memories we made and the stories we tell about them will keep that magic alive forever. With a little effort, we can see the magic live on for future generations.  It's all a part of being a good steward of those things we are given charge over... our memories, our land, our neighborhood.  

Take a little advice from a FireFly:  Be full of bright ideas... Pulse with excitement... Have a healthy glow.... Delight in summer evenings... Keep a childlike sense of wonder.... Set a shining example.... Lighten up!

Photographer Unknown

More information on lightning bugs:

http://www.firefly.org/

Firefly Watch - a community of Citizen Scientists working with the Museum of Science. 
Anyone can join:

https://legacy.mos.org/fireflywatch

Swattin' Skeeters 'n' Tellin' Lies

Nothing soothes the Southern Soul like sittin' on the porch with a tall glass of sweet tea (or homemade lemonade) in the cool of the evening (just before the sun goes down) after a hot, sweltering day in the summer sun.  It's been a Southern Tradition since time immemorial, and it's always more enjoyable if there's several others there to "jaw with" (talk to). It's a time of evaluation (of the things accomplished during that day, and things that still need to be done). It's a time of reminiscing (of times shared in the past)... and it's often a time of laughter and "pokin fun"...... and that's where the lies often come in. ;)

Tall tales are spun, often getting taller with each telling. Family stories from the past somehow get twisted ever so slightly to make them all the funnier. Speculation about anything from crops to weather to the neighbors down the road are shared and debated, often with colorful validations and conspiracy-like reasoning. Everyone knows that there might be stretched-truths and half-truths all mixed in but no one cares.  We're all just there to end the day on a high note.  

Bugs are plentiful in the South.  Two things amazed me about the West Coast when I lived out there:  the ocean water is cold all the time, and finding out that there weren't all that many flying bugs out there.  Here in the Southeast, we have all sorts of bugs... flying bugs, hopping bugs, crawling bugs, creepy bugs, stinging bugs... you name a bug, we probably have something similar here.  So one of the things we are always doing as we lounge on the porch with our sweet tea is to swat at bugs... flying ones mostly, like flies and mosquitoes.  

Grandmother used to tell me they had something called a "Shoo Fly" that they used.  When asked what that was exactly, she'd explain that it was nothing more than a small branch cut/pulled from a bush that was waved in the air (around the food, or around a person) to keep the flying bugs off.  It was a very effective method. The branch needed to be limber and floppy, and the motion used was a slow, lazy one, with the branch waving in the air like the branches of a Weeping Willow tree in a soft breeze.  

Simplicity... another hallmark of Southern Ingenuity. Some folks who have never been part of the Southern culture look on Southerners as less than intelligent and lazy.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  We figure out the most efficient way to get things done.  We use the least amount of resources, both physically and environmentally because we understand, to our very core, the need to get the most done with the least amount. That's who we've been from our beginning.  

We share those ideas and solutions with our families and neighbors, and in so doing, build a unity and fellowship among those we know and meet. That's where the idea of Southern Hospitality came from.  We're just friendly, sharing folks. Need advice or directions?  We're always glad to tell you "the best way to get something done", whether it really is or not, and we'll tell you "the best way to get from here to there", whether it really is nor not.... all the while fully believing in our own minds that we're completely and utterly correct in what we're saying. It's both blessing and curse to be so confident in those sorts of things.  In truth, it's more like flipping a coin. But we'll always tell you in a confident, friendly, ever-so-glad-to-be-helpful fashion.  

Southerners are a unique lot... but they are a fascinating lot, and a friendly lot, and truly understand the simple joys in life.  

Stop by sometime and sit a spell.  We'll offer you a glass of sweet tea and some tall tales to end your day on a high note.  

Photo by suburbanmen.com

Death of a Legend

"Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men

who find it easier to live in a world they've been given 

than to explore the power they have to change it. 

Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion.

Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare.

Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary.

Impossible is nothing." 

~Muhammad Ali, 1942-2016~

Muhammad Ali died yesterday. It's always sad when humanity loses a legendary person, and he was one. Daddy always loved watching him box. Something about the two of them always seem kindred spirits to me. Both of them faced Life with a tenacity and "stick-to-it-iveness" (a made up word I heard as a kid) that really left an impression on me as I was growing up. Both had strong opinions, and both weren't afraid to stand up for what they believed.

I'll always remember my Dad. He died back in 1988, but the lessons he taught me about life, and how to do things, and how to treat people will stay with me as long as I live. I've tried to pass those values down to my children. Dad would have liked the quote that I put at the beginning of this post. He would have talked long and hard (as the saying goes) about how it was true, and what it meant.

He always told me that I had the potential to be whatever I wanted to be. That served me more than perhaps anything else anyone told me when I was growing up. He didn't' know that one day I'd be called upon to figure out how to raise three children all on my own without a spouse. He didn't know that one day I'd have to figure out how to go back to school at the same time, so that I could make enough money to be able to raise those three children. He didn't know the hardships and trials that I'd be put through, all on my own, during those hard years, nor the hard decisions I'd have to make along the way. But what he DID know was the potential in every person to be more than they think they can be. The key is to never give up, always keep trying. Things will work out in the least expected ways sometimes.

I look back on my childhood with gratitude and fondness. Glad for the people that influenced me and the things I learned along the way.

Believe in yourself! There's much more inside you than you are aware of.

Watching a Flower Bloom

There's a window off to the left of the chair I sit in during the day, and the flowers outside have finally gotten tall enough to be seen over the sill.  They have giant leaves, and bright red flowers.  The hummingbirds go crazy over them.  Canna Lilies, I think they are called.  

What has been interesting this year is that one of the flower stalks is up above the window sill and can easily be seen.  At first, it was just a stalk with knobish protrusions at it's end.  Eventually the knobs became tightly furled flower petals.  In the last two days, those petals have begun to unfurl.  Each day a new one opens, and more beauty can be seen.  They are especially pretty in the late afternoon when the sun has finally gotten past the tree canopy and can shine on them directly.  Then they seem to glow, almost like stained glass.  

It's amazing the beauty you can see if you just look around... and more amazing still if you are patient enough to watch it's graceful, but slow, appearance right before your eyes.