Hot! Hot! Hot!

Mississippi summer found us! We have been enduring the typical heat of the season. Though the temperatures are not as high as some years, the humidity is producing enough stifling heat to steam some fish. Perhaps, I exaggerate, but not much. The heat index was 110° yesterday.

The heat arrived just in time for The Neshoba County Fair. We attended just to prove how tough we were and because seeing antique trucks, steers getting a bath, jockeys hanging onto rickety pieces of aluminum while being towed around a red clay track at alarming speeds, coveted, rickety-crickety cabins, and brightly colored carnival tents on the midway is excitement that just can't be missed. Ever!

The fair draws huge numbers of people despite typical hot, humid weather, raging thunderstorms, red clay dust infiltrating every pore and ruining clothes, or on those rainy days, mud slick enough to need ice skates. People come from all over the state - really, several states - and make a week of it.

We go, but we are not "fair people." We only attend a couple of days each year to let the children compete, eat, wrangle with carnies, and ride. Of course, I like to watch people and look at the brightly painted cabins. I think there is a competition to see who can push the limits of taste using the brightest paint colors available.

This year, I didn't eat a thing. It was just too hot to eat anything fried. I did drink some Lindsey's Lemonade. I also ordered a glass of tea, sweet tea. They only had sweet tea. I haven't drunk sweet tea in years and I suppose during that time I forgot what drinking sickeningly sweet syrup was like. I pitched the tea and risked dehydration and heat exhaustion.

I guess I'm not as southern as I thought I was.

But, I still enjoyed the fair. The children did, too. They hauled home blue ribbons and cash winnings for their projects, rode every ride except the ring of fire (the circle thing in the background), and wandered around the grounds with the confidence of regulars. I guess you get a taste of red clay at an early age and then you are willing to sacrifice comfort, tolerate heat, and cabins packed with relatives, while finding a sense of your childhood at The Neshoba County Fair.

Summer Food

Now is the time of good eating. I'm making jelly, preserves, and jam. We've harvested and have a wonderful excess of taste enhancers like garlic, onions, basil, dill, and peppers. And the summer melons are getting to that heat produced sweetness that only Mississippi can supply.

This week, I produced blackberry preserves and syrup, and plum jelly. The plums weren't mine, but I should have enough of mine (from the rent house's small orchard) to make another batch or two later this week. I was worried that there would be nothing for jelly, since most of our fruit got frozen. Our larder is bare, except for fig preserves, so I put out word in town that I needed some plums.

Luckily, we found some. Plum is Mr. W's and E's favorite.

I thought y'all would want to see my garlic braided. Obviously, it isn't a wreath. That didn't work out, but this year's creation is much better than last year's. The true test, though, comes once garlic is cut from the braid. A good braid will remain. A lousy one will fall apart. I'm hoping for the best.

Mr. W took some meat out of the freezer this morning before he left for work. I guess that means he is tired of zucchini. I may have overdone it a bit. Just this week, we've had sauteed zucchini with Parmesan, sauteed zucchini in tomato sauce served over pasta, zucchini and onions, zucchini tart. I suggested omelets with, you guessed it, zucchini for supper last night, but was overruled. We had pasta and pesto, instead, but no meat was in sight.

Tonight, we'll have meat and no zucchini.

Yesterday, when I was delivering the pay checks in town, I saw a truck load of melons.

Mississippi Melons.

I knew the man. I asked a few questions about the origination of the fruit, while smelling the cantaloupe and thumping a few watermelons. Even though there have been melons in the local grocery store for weeks, they weren't the real thing. They weren't from here. They were picked a little early.

I waited patiently.

Waited until the pick-up trucks driven by locals were pulling into town, loaded with melons.

I was rewarded - rewarded with the sweetest Smith County watermelon and perfectly ripe cantaloupe.

The chickens approve!

Fungi

We are in the rainy season here in Mississippi. Though the longer term effects of this rain are aquifers full of water, lush growth for spring, and full streams and rivers after a drought year, the short term effect is a lot of fungi. Thanks to K for all of these pictures. Isn't he doing a great job?

These are shelf fungi on one of the dead, eighty year old pecan trees we have left for the woodpeckers, but no matter where you look fungus is everywhere. We are staying just warm enough to produce a bumper crop.

Mushrooms, anyone?

Dixie National Season

We've had visitors again. The Dixie National Trail Ride rode through our town and stayed at our sale barn. Last year it was cold. This year it was wet. In fact, many of the riders drove their horses and mules forward and let them stable in our barn while the worst of the rains passed. I don't blame them one bit, but with the local riders we tried to predict who was dedicated to ride even in stormy weather and mud.

This led to the "Would you ride?" questions. Mr. W said he was sane enough to park the horse for a day and resume riding the following day. I, of course, said I would ride just to prove how tough I was. No surprises here.

I didn't have to do the food this year because we loaned the kitchen to friends who were fund raising for the family of a man who just died of cancer. Originally the fund raising was for the man, but he died before the event, so the money was raised for the family who will be paying his medical bills for the rest of their lives.

Though I didn't have time to comment appropriately to Zilla's post, this is an example of one life moment leaving you homeless or in financial ruins - despite the best planning. I hope the cool, wet ride made everyone ravenous.

Much is the same year to year on the route of the Dixie National Trail Ride. Yet, at the base camps you can see how soft people have gotten. Trailers have gotten bigger and fancier. More people require electricity to supply power for heat or cooling, hot showers, television, and all of the other amenities of home. I sometimes wonder if anyone notices that they have left home because none of the comforts are gone.

Don't judge me for questioning.

I feel the same about the enormous RVs. What is the point of camping if you don't actually experience the outdoors???? Are we incapable of disconnecting even for a moment?? Just asking.

Do you think our insistence on immediate gratification has anything to do with our present economic situation, political corruption, and dissatisfaction with life in general?

The Neshoba County Fair

I thought about not doing a Fair entry since I did one last year and much is the same, but then I thought people return to the Fair over and over counting on that very thing. People want The Fair to remain practically unchanged by time and guess what, The Neshoba County Fair has succeeded. The Neshoba County Fair draws people from several states (not just the county), has been featured in The National Geographic magazine, and is home to enough people during two or three weeks to merit its own post office, yet remains what I remember from 30 plus years ago.

The main gate is the same as it has always been. At one time the ticket house was painted brown, but has been mostly yellow. It still is. I talked last year about how some of the cabins have updated to more comfortable arrangements with glassed windows and air conditioners. More have done so this year, but even with the air conditioning people still prefer to spend most of the day sitting on the porch in the heat so they can see and be seen, greet and be greeted, entertain and be entertained. I hope that social aspect of the fair will never change.

Another thing about The Fair that won't change is the politicking. If you don't make the fair, don't expect to be elected. Presidential candidates even come to garner votes here. Political speaking, hand shaking, and poster hanging runs rampant. Political pamphlets are great, but why stop there. Those in the know, bring fans printed with their names. One candidate even handed out Popsicles to children at the horse races. Every bare, non-cabin surface has a poster stapled to it.


Though the midway is only a quarter of the size of the state fair, the Neshoba County Fair has rides for every age and courage level. This year we got to ride in crowns. I also rode some strawberries and have come to the conclusion that something must happen to you as you age that renders spinning and twirling nauseating. Age aside, the midway is much more fun at night when the sun isn't unmercifully cooking the rides, people, and red clay.

Food is the best part of the midway, not that you should expect to find any haute cuisine. You won't. You can get fresh squeezed lemonade, hand-dipped corn dogs, freshly spun cotton candy, candy apples, chicken on a stick, fried pickles, catfish (definitely not from China), and funnel cakes. And this is just on the midway. At the cabins you will find the real southern food and hospitality donning the picnic tables, but you have to look closer for it than you used to.

Take a side trip through the exhibit halls to see the competition for blue ribbons in arts and crafts, canning, and produce. My children exhibited this year and both won ribbons in the youth division. Next year, they say they will enter more stuff, because in addition to the blue ribbons they won cash prizes. I would guess that the cash prizes are encouragement to participate. The pride involved in winning the blue ribbon in canning or sewing is not what it once was, or there are truly fewer people canning and gardening, or few have time to create entries. Who knows why, but the exhibition hall is not as full as in years past. I suspect my children will solve that problem next year. The exhibition hall is not plush, just a barn structure with a closed and air conditioned room for the craft entries. Both my children were so proud of their blue ribbons that we had to run through the exhibit hall at least a hundred times before they were satisfied enough to leave the fair grounds.

Are you tired yet? We've just gotten started. On Sunday, there is always an antique car show. Once judged, the winners sit in Founder's Square and talk to interested people, then there is a parade around the track at the grandstand. I'm always amazed by the effort and money spent to get these cars in new condition. When I was much younger, many of the cars were driven to the fair. I used to get so excited when they passed our house. Part of it was that I knew where the cars were going, but I was also excited to see the unexpected. Few drive now. Maybe they don't because the other traffic is going so fast that there is fear of being crushed. Maybe they don't because the owners don't like to putt-putt along. Who knows. But tradition still reigns at the fair, so on Sunday morning you can still see antique cars and trucks.

When you are completely exhausted and your feet are aching, get some lemonade and sit in the grandstands while watching the races - mule, trotter, and quarter horse. Recover in time for the nightly shows and pageants, more food, and dancing when the sun hides behind the cabins and temperatures moderate.

I went to the fairgrounds yesterday, so the children could pick up their entries. They are already talking about next year. Next year - almost just the same, only better.

Common Sense Fashion Tips

From the usually fashion unconscious stationed at the Neshoba County Fair.

1. Think of wearing proper foundation garments if you are voluptuously endowed and are planning to ride fair rides. Doing so will go far in reducing embarrassment to yourself and others when you are shaken, tossed, and revealed. I really didn't need to see all that.
   
2. If you weigh over 300 pounds, the tube top is not your best look, especially if you have to do major adjustments every few minutes. Honestly, I didn't know those tops had been sold since the 1980's, so why stop there. If you have reached puberty and need foundation garments, regardless of your weight, stay away from tube tops. They are not sexy, but everyone is looking while you drag, tug, and sag.
3. Teenagers, if you have to lie down on your bed to zip and button your low rider jeans, don't leave the house. If you leave the house anyway, please don't wear a form fitting belly button revealing tank top. You look like an over stuffed sausage hanging out all over the place.
   
4. Men over 18, if you win a silver winged hat with a dollar sign embroidered on the front, resist the urge to wear it. Give it to a child. You look ridiculous.
5. Men, dress shoes and socks do not go with shorts and scary white legs.
6. If you're planning to ride rides and eat junk until you vomit, bring an extra tee shirt or buy one of the lovely, but expensive Fair shirts. That splattered, stinky look is not flattering. Truly, do you really think people want to sit next to you on the rides?

Japanese Privet

Japanese Privet, technically called Ligustrum japonicum is a pest plant here in Mississippi. The plant thoughtfully placed in some one's landscaping has become an invasive species. When we first moved onto the hill, we took a backhoe (yes, it is that stubborn) and ripped privet and fence row to clear the view immediately surrounding the house. We pitted the yard trying to remove every last root. But removal is elusive. We still have a beautiful specimen flowering next to a mature tree.

As you can see we still have fence rows that don't really need fences because of the thick cover of J.Privet. To the locals and the US Forestry Service the plant has become a pest.


Yet, the blooms are beautiful and the sweet fragrance perfumes the entire farm (actually the town and outlying area). Unless someone is burning or spreading chicken fertilizer this is what you smell here in early May. The cows loll in the shade. The brown thrashers love the messy fence rows. And, when you have bees hanging on their hives, the privet is a welcome nectar and pollen plant. Look at the pollen on the leaves in the first picture. In fact, we have been busily assembling honey frames to try to keep up with the bees' production in this privet induced honey flow.


After the flowering, the privet produces a little purple fruit on which the birds feast all winter.

So, I wonder if all invasive species are bad?

Other than trying to take over yard, garden, and pastures, Japanese Privet seems to give much to nature and farm.

The Southern Spring Queen

I was overcome by the sheer spectacle of the azalea yesterday and had to share. I feel a bit guilty since I have just found out one of my Northern friends is being pelted by blizzard like conditions, but once my camera was raised to my eye the inevitability of these pictures showing up here was cast. Maybe they will bring a smile.

This weekend the show will be over. I think our temperatures will dip to almost freezing and the blooms will fade. Every year we Southerners are lured into thinking the cool weather is over only to be slammed with freezing weather on the weekend when white shoes and light-weight, sleeveless dresses premiere for Summer. Because we are a slave to those clothing rules and what people think, we will wear our white shoes and light clothes anyway and pretend we aren't cold. We are good at pretending. Sometimes when it is over 100 F in the Summer, we pretend we don't sweat.

Let's go back to safer territory, the azaleas. Lest you think I have this flashy show occurring in my garden, let me set the record straight. This is my mother's side show. I was lured into picking up my camera when I was picking up her contribution for the Salvation Army. My foundation plantings are virtually non-existent, because we are still working on hardscapes.

When we plant, I will plant azaleas because I won't be able to resist the month of melodrama each year.

Reality

The morning I left the Alluvian and the Viking Cooking School for home, I said to one of the people I had met the night before, "Back to reality." I'm not exactly sure what I meant when I said, "Back to reality," because it could have had a thousand nuanced meanings. I could have meant that my life isn't great and the weekend was a diversion from misery, but I didn't mean that. I love my life and can only think of a few things that I would change. I could have meant that the lull in regular activity was a diversion from reality. I could have meant that the surroundings and activities were so structured that they provided a break from reality. I could have meant that the surroundings were so spectacular that they seemed out of place.

Whatever I meant when those words escaped from my lips, I had a fabulous diversion in Greenwood, MS. My fantastic mother-in-law gave me and my sister-in-law a weekend cooking retreat for Christmas. We attended the Viking Cooking School, which is not so much a cooking school, as a place for you to use and fall in love with Viking equipment and socialize. I have been to a professional cooking school and this is nothing like that. This was just fun. By the time I left, I felt as if I knew people who hours before were perfect strangers. By the time I left, I had eaten well over any one's calorie allotment for a day, but had done so by eating well made and delicious food, not a bag of Robin Eggs. By the time I left, I felt relaxed, lucky, and just plain happy.

We stayed across the street at the Alluvian Hotel and Spa. Accommodations are unbelievably spacious, luscious, and just astounding. Go to their web site and have a look. The complimentary Southern breakfast is the final touch - the little extra that all true Southerners feel the need to add. All this and I haven't even mentioned what wonderful companionship my sister-in-law is. She even suggested we go to a bookstore. She suggested it. I promise.

Turnrow Books is a new independent bookstore in Mississippi. We have a wonderful literary tradition here and independence is our mantra. The entire first floor of this wonderful store focuses on the South, particularly Mississippi. Many of you are thinking it must be tiny. But, Mississippians are verbose. We cook, we date, we marry, we divorce, we read, we write, we grow flowers, we arrange flowers, we decorate houses, we take pictures and we want to talk about it. All these beautiful books are here. I bought a book because I have a passion to support independent book stores. I also have a passion for Southern writers. Plus, I needed a memento of my excursion. My husband understood.

Let's talk about my sister-in-law (I don't think she reads here so I can talk about her). My sister-in-law is one of those rare people for whom I can think of absolutely nothing negative to say. She is kind, happy, never meets a stranger, remembers names, cares about others, sets boundaries(and keeps them), and is honest even with herself. She has fantastic college age children (I hope my children turn out so well). She is together. I loved watching her interact with people across the enormous work table. I loved watching her explore the room. I loved watching her turn perfect strangers into friends. She is the Old South.

She also knew the way to the Alluvian. I never called for directions before I left home. I just pulled off Highway 82 at the first Greenwood sign. I saw the parts of Greenwood that Viking and the Alluvian and the investors behind the four or five block downtown restoration would prefer you not to see. It is a different world. Reality. Not to say that the well read, well polished public face of Greenwood is not reality, too. It is just a different reality. If the South ever comes to terms with the dual realities, it may not need to write.

Yee Haw!

Last night one group of the Dixie National Wagon Train camped at our Livestock Sale Barn. The Wagon Train and individual riders begin riding about 20 miles from our town, then ride all the way to Jackson, which is about 70 miles from here, and finally ride in the opening parade for the Dixie National Rodeo and Horse Shows.

Mules, ponies, and horses pull a mish-mash of homemade carts, wagons, and mini homes. Some of the wagons are meticulously outfitted and decorated while others look as if they won't make the miles. Cowboys, weekend warriors, and wannabes ride the 80 plus miles, camping along the way. The riders spend the week roughing it, yet some rough it more than others. Many have generators or buy electricity from us to run their electric blankets, heaters, and hot showers. No one is completely miserable. Look at the grill attached to the back of the wagon in the second picture.

This morning the wagon train paraded through town with police escort before heading off the paved roads for a more bucolic tour. I believe they try to make 20 miles a day. Not all days are that long, but many are. The weekend warriors aren't prepared for such long riding days and with their sore legs are a sight to watch when they are saddling, hitching, and moseying. The weekend is completely rowdy!, with revellers who are not necessarily part of the organized ride. They follow the organized participants, but only ride the weekend, then pack their trailers and go to work Monday morning.

Not all riders suffer the misery of misbehaving animals and sore inner thighs, many practice with their mules and horses all year. We've played host for four or five years and seen all types of riders - even babies.

Today, while I was taking pictures of the wagon train pulling out, Princess was standing on the other side of the access road and a man with some wild, runaway mules yelled, "Honey, step back!! I can't control these thangs!" He had cleared the ditches on either side of the road before he had gotten to where she was standing. There were only a hundred yards left until the highway. Can the police pull over a swerving mule driven wagon?

If you overlook the rough edges, the trail ride looks like so much fun. I would love to get a team and a covered wagon and join the parade or perhaps just ride a good horse. The owner of our crazy horse felt his top selling point was that he knew the trail (this trail) and if you over imbibed and fell off he would wait for you to recover, then ride on, knowing just where to go. Maybe next year!


In the event you are curious about the Dixie National, here is the link. We usually go to a few of the competitions, especially the Free Style Reining Event.

I'll leave you with another picture or two since my husband, son, and I took over a hundred. The horses, mules, ponies, and people are so mesmerizing we just couldn't stop.

I love this picture even though the cowboy is a touch out of focus. He looks so happy to be riding.

Neshoba County Fair

Today, we finally made it to the fair. Every time I walk through the entry I am bombarded by memories of fairs past. I remember trying to act tough on the scary rides, spying on a boy I liked, trying to look great to impress said boy when it was 98 degrees and had sweat making rivers in the dust on my face, holding hands, and begging Daddy to let me stay out later than ten o'clock. The band started at nine and one hour of dancing was just not enough.

Many things are exactly as I left them - Founder's Square with the pavilion where the bands played, the midway, the garish assortment of fair cabins, traditions and reunions. There are some upscale cabins now, complete with air conditioning and separate bedrooms and baths, but there are some of the old, too. The old cabins don't have windows or screens. The inhabitants, usually multi-generation families, sleep in one big second floor room, or on the porches. Today, I saw a great grandfather teaching fiddle to a little one. They were in front of one of the less modern cabins. I think that eating, sleeping, and living in such close quarters without amenities would make you know someone better, faster.

Though sitting on one of the hundreds of porches reminiscing is the main activity of the week for the older crowds, the younger entertain themselves racing mules. You read correctly. Mules! There are races for adults, children, and small children. Today, a tiny girl was plopped atop a mule and the race started. A couple of steps in the mule revolted and jerked around. The little girl fell, but a man who realized trouble was brewing ran up and grabbed the reins and the little girl. Once I saw that the little girl was safe, I couldn't help laughing. The man grabbed the little girl by the back of her jeans and was hanging her upside down while dancing around with a very disobedient mule. What were the parents thinking, letting a four year old race a mule.

We have horses in Neshoba County, too. Trotters dominate the grandstand fair week. Excitement, grace, danger - a place to sit down in the shade to eat your hand dipped corndog and drink your super sweet lemonade. What more could a person ask? We didn't stop at the corndog and lemonade. I remember a funnel cake, chicken on a stick, popcorn, and several bottles of water. I am sure more food was purchased because both of the children are complaining now that we are back home.

Of course, great tasting but not so healthy food combined with fair rides and the thrill of competition against the not so even odds of the fair midway vendors is not soothing. Both the children broke balloons with darts to win prizes. They each went three for three. My children aren't daring so we didn't have to endure any of the scary rides only enough of the mid range rides to make anyone sick. Next on the list of things to do was a visit to the exhibition halls to compare our produce and jars to others. Then, we went to the livestock barns to see the beef cattle show.

We had a wonderful time. I'm not ready to be a cabin family. Living a few miles away and visiting when I get ready, then coming home to a quieter place is certainly a more peaceful option. I stayed a few nights at the fair when I was younger and sleeping is not a real possibility until the band has finished, the midway is closed, and the daily fair goers have gone home. As a trade off for a peaceful night sleep, you get to make connections with people, experience the rhythms of fair life, or have the ultimate people watching porch perch.

Mimosa

Mimosa, not the champagne kind, are blooming now. Mimosa is not a native species and is very invasive. Thank goodness we don't have any on our property because I probably wouldn't have the heart to cut them down. The pink pom-poms and fern like leaves are pretty on the roadsides. In the fall they get these pea-like seed pods that are beautiful. Unfortunately, mimosa is a nuisance.

This plant like wisteria, kudzu, nandina and others got planted in someone's formal garden and vigorously reproduced and ran wild. Now, mimosa is everywhere (except our property) and I think of it as having a bit of Southern history.

McCarty's

One of the bags containing perfect wedding gifts, wrapped in Bolivar Chronicle overruns, for my good friends who are getting married next month and ex students who are marrying next weekend. I am so excited that I was able to get something beautiful and useful, all in a timely manner.

My MIL, ever efficient, was able to get us to Merigold at 9:56 a.m. this morning. McCarty's opens at 10 and within minutes the small showroom was packed. We were able to shop while we could still appreciate the subtleties of shape, texture, and color and before we felt pressured by all the others who were looking for similarly priced pieces. After choosing a few pieces, we took a break and walked the gardens.

The gardens are beautiful in their naturalness. Limbs of small trees are allowed to flow over the paths and moss is allowed to cover surfaces of the fountain. Yet, there is structure in the rooms and pebble paths. Carefully controlled Bamboo and aged cypress is the canvas for the other plants (many of which are singles). The verti-linear movement of the bamboo and cypress has a very Asian feel, but the seemingly chaotic plantings of persimmon, fig, hydrangea, ferns, and mosses warm the atmosphere. Pottery bunnies and pigs hide in every corner. Huge pots, none of which are for sale, are thoughtfully planted and placed. I would have loved to sit and daydream in the cool, damp shade of the gardens. Instead, we were rousted back in by the swelling crowds of shoppers.

These are the pieces I bought (except for the bluebirds which I will explain later). I know! There are more than two pieces. I always say, buy a gift for others and then one for yourself. The signature Mississippi River is clearly visible on the nutmeg pieces. The vase is a replica of bamboo. The bluebirds are a gift to my children. Mr. McCarty gives each child a bluebird to ward away sadness and bad thoughts. Each bluebird is a little different and is packed in its own signature bag. Mr. McCarty signs and dates the card and teases the children and makes them feel truly special. I think he actually said, "Stop selling and wrapping, we have important visitors." He was speaking of my children who left feeling significant.

Nothing more needs to be said, but I will add that the McCarty's live their love and version of truth and you can feel it in the interaction with the customers, the unity with nature produced in the pottery, and the dedication to the small Delta town. Read their story at their web site.