Seven chimneys? Yes, seven. The original part of the house was built in 1848 for Colonel William J. Oldham. It's been updated several times, but it has not lost its charm. Before the levee, the MS River came close, which was ideal for loading timber and off loading supplies and passengers. The land around the home was the Stovall Plantation and birthplace of Blues icon Muddy Waters. A few miles north on #1 is Friars Point where County Music Star Conway Twitty was born. I love his "Hello Darling".
The barn is a new addition on the farm. Don't think animals, it's for workshops with a stage for musicians and presentations. Tom Frankllin and Beth Ann Fennelly read from their new book the "Tilted World". I look forward to reading it. We enjoyed a Barbeque after. The proceeds went to the P.O.R.C.H. Society: Preservation of Rural Cultural Heritage.
I mosied out to the bonfire. Guests were gathered around in porch rockers absorbing the warmth and chatting. The man to my right had a camera and an accent. I had to ask where he was from. "The Netherlands." He was photographing the Delta for a Dutch RV America article. The Delta is a popular destination nationally and internationally.
Photographer Magadalena Sole was there for her photography workshop. Google her. The things I see never looked as interesting. She shines capturing life in the now.
Make a reservsation for a Deep South experience.
SevenChimneysFarm.com
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Fire: The Mother of All Fear
I was mesmorized by the flames in the cast iron barrel stove. "Study the fire," our friend Dago urged.
Perched on the cast iron picnic bench, I let myself go into its mind. Primitive. Raw energy. Cleansing. Tall flames licked sticks, then hunkered down, got serious, and had their way with logs. I shuddered to think what they could do to a house, a car, a person. Suffocation or water could stop it, but it would sizzle resistence to its end. Maybe the smoke off it made designs like clouds make shapes. I didn't see what Dago did.
Fire has a purpose. Animals eat ashes for salt and minerals. Ashes and lye make soap. It kept us warm, heated our teakettle on the cookstove, and baked Mom's bread. She knew exactly how many cobs it took to make a perfect angel food cake. My first encounter with fire was when I was a pre-schooler. It was my job to reach into the cob basket and pick out those with kernels of corn left on. Mom lifted the stove lid for me to add cobs one at a time to "feed the fire," she said. All was well until I rested my wrist on the stove. Ouch!!! An inch by 3/4 inch blister shot up. I ran outside to show Daddy, slid face down in the mud, and peeled off my top layer of skin. I have a permanent ID on my left wrist. I learned respect for fire, and I continue to be educated by its blessings and dangers.
Each spring Daddy bought a hundred three-day old chicks and brought them home to the brooder house. Mom caught one and held it to my ear. Its cottony coat tickled me, and the chick talked to me, "Peep." Everyday I wanted to play with them. It wasn't long until they sprouted feathers and we couldn't catch them. One cold morning, Daddy looked out and saw too much smoke rising from the brooder house. He ran out to save them. Mom and I watched him carry the circular stove out and drop it in the snow. He came in breathless. No chicks died, but, the front fell off of his new leather jacket.
District #70 had a program every month. When I was nine, I broke my leg the first week of school and couldn't be in the program. Miss Anderson put a paper napkin bow in my hair, a candle in my hand, and stood me beside the piano. All went well until I turned my head and the napkin caught fire. Mom jumped out of the audience, ran to me, pulled the fire off my head and stomped it out. I was stunned but not hurt. She said when she saw me with the candle, she never took her eyes off me. Thank God!
The most disturbing fire was the one in our upstairs bedroom. Registers were opened to allow for heat rising off the oil stove. When our parents decided it wasn't enough, Daddy lit the fuel oil stove in our bedroom. It might not have bothered me, if I hadn't been able to see the flame through the glass on the front. I couldn't sleep. I was paralyzed. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my soul, I knew I'd been burned alive. A nightmare? My imagination? Or was it another time? another place? Wherever it came from, it is my mother of all fears.
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
Perched on the cast iron picnic bench, I let myself go into its mind. Primitive. Raw energy. Cleansing. Tall flames licked sticks, then hunkered down, got serious, and had their way with logs. I shuddered to think what they could do to a house, a car, a person. Suffocation or water could stop it, but it would sizzle resistence to its end. Maybe the smoke off it made designs like clouds make shapes. I didn't see what Dago did.
Fire has a purpose. Animals eat ashes for salt and minerals. Ashes and lye make soap. It kept us warm, heated our teakettle on the cookstove, and baked Mom's bread. She knew exactly how many cobs it took to make a perfect angel food cake. My first encounter with fire was when I was a pre-schooler. It was my job to reach into the cob basket and pick out those with kernels of corn left on. Mom lifted the stove lid for me to add cobs one at a time to "feed the fire," she said. All was well until I rested my wrist on the stove. Ouch!!! An inch by 3/4 inch blister shot up. I ran outside to show Daddy, slid face down in the mud, and peeled off my top layer of skin. I have a permanent ID on my left wrist. I learned respect for fire, and I continue to be educated by its blessings and dangers.
Each spring Daddy bought a hundred three-day old chicks and brought them home to the brooder house. Mom caught one and held it to my ear. Its cottony coat tickled me, and the chick talked to me, "Peep." Everyday I wanted to play with them. It wasn't long until they sprouted feathers and we couldn't catch them. One cold morning, Daddy looked out and saw too much smoke rising from the brooder house. He ran out to save them. Mom and I watched him carry the circular stove out and drop it in the snow. He came in breathless. No chicks died, but, the front fell off of his new leather jacket.
District #70 had a program every month. When I was nine, I broke my leg the first week of school and couldn't be in the program. Miss Anderson put a paper napkin bow in my hair, a candle in my hand, and stood me beside the piano. All went well until I turned my head and the napkin caught fire. Mom jumped out of the audience, ran to me, pulled the fire off my head and stomped it out. I was stunned but not hurt. She said when she saw me with the candle, she never took her eyes off me. Thank God!
The most disturbing fire was the one in our upstairs bedroom. Registers were opened to allow for heat rising off the oil stove. When our parents decided it wasn't enough, Daddy lit the fuel oil stove in our bedroom. It might not have bothered me, if I hadn't been able to see the flame through the glass on the front. I couldn't sleep. I was paralyzed. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my soul, I knew I'd been burned alive. A nightmare? My imagination? Or was it another time? another place? Wherever it came from, it is my mother of all fears.
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
Monday, October 14, 2013
Harry Truman's advice to parents
From At Knits End by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee
Harry Truman said, "I have found the best way to give advice to your children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it.
"I have three daughters," he said, "and they all knit. The youngest knits with persistence; the middle one with a passion; and my eldest, now a teenager, wouldn't be caught dead with the needles in her hands. At first I thought it was because knitting wasn't 'hip enough' for her; then I thought she was worried about what her friends would think. Finally, I realized that she doesn't knit . . . because I do.
"I will remember that kids need to rebel to establish their own personalities, and that her rejection of knitting is nothing perosnal. I will also try not to rub it in she takes it back up in her twenties."
And that's my contribution to humor for today. Enjoy!
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
Harry Truman said, "I have found the best way to give advice to your children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it.
"I have three daughters," he said, "and they all knit. The youngest knits with persistence; the middle one with a passion; and my eldest, now a teenager, wouldn't be caught dead with the needles in her hands. At first I thought it was because knitting wasn't 'hip enough' for her; then I thought she was worried about what her friends would think. Finally, I realized that she doesn't knit . . . because I do.
"I will remember that kids need to rebel to establish their own personalities, and that her rejection of knitting is nothing perosnal. I will also try not to rub it in she takes it back up in her twenties."
And that's my contribution to humor for today. Enjoy!
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
Friday, October 04, 2013
Fear of city driving
Recounting fearful situations, driving in a big city was high on my list. I lived in Wahoo, NE and did not drive in Omaha until I was thirty. Of course I got lost and was scared to death. I asked for directions twice. Both times they were wrong. A nervous wreck, I finally make it to my destination. Now that I'm in MS, I frequently make the drive to NE in one day, all 800 miles of it. Those baby steps gave me the courage to tow a vehicle through Kansas City, St Louis, El Paso, Dallas, Nashville and Atlanta, to name a few.
Thirteen years ago today we bought a used forty foot motorhome. Talk about a challenge! The rear wheels are set forward, not close to the end like a bus. Too quick of a turn could wipe out a lane of traffic. I learned to drive it and by myself from Big Springs, TX to Tucson, AZ.
If I had stayed in my comfortable NE home, there's a lot I would have missed.
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
Thirteen years ago today we bought a used forty foot motorhome. Talk about a challenge! The rear wheels are set forward, not close to the end like a bus. Too quick of a turn could wipe out a lane of traffic. I learned to drive it and by myself from Big Springs, TX to Tucson, AZ.
If I had stayed in my comfortable NE home, there's a lot I would have missed.
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
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