Book-satchel in tow, I scrambled off the dusty, yellow school bus onto where the farm-to-market road comes to a “T.” Finally home, I was glad to leave the hand-clapping game in the front of the bus and the loud kissing in the back. My second-grade stomach grumbled loudly, anticipating the brownies my mother promised to bake. As I rounded the …
Granddaddy’s eyesight was in decline by the time I was born. Maybe it had something to do with the kerosene lantern he read by in his early years. Despite his eighth-grade education, Granddaddy loved books before electricity arrived in his shack. His Bible and dictionary were tattered and worn from decades of use. Because I was born late into my …
Puberty probably had something to do with it — that time in every person’s life when too much anti-acne cream can short-circuit the brain. I was thirteen, weighed 85 pounds, and planned to be mistaken for a supermodel one day. Just because I didn’t like the shag carpet in our den didn’t mean I didn’t choose a haircut with the …
It was a day of bees in the clover and bolls on the cotton. While heat radiated from the asphalt, the constant drip of the outdoor facet kept the fresh mint alive into the autumn. Windmill blades creaked overhead, and two orphaned goats kicked in the stall. It was an Indian summer in West Texas, and I was determined to delight …
I put down my book and looked at my watch—1:15 a.m. Surely I could fall asleep now. After all, I was already in bed. The events of the week had been tiring. A fifteen-hour flight back to the States. A graveside service for my 79-year-old dad. A stretch of tedious days and nights with my elderly mom. I wondered how …
My training union teacher had the flu, and Mama was substitute teaching at our small, rural church. Pansy Baptist Church sat between two cotton fields, smelling of old hymnals and potluck dinners, with an attendance board that testified ten present that evening. I was the only child. As Mother and I settled in the classroom, I asked her to tell me a …
I may be the worst cook in my bloodline, but it’s not because of the lack of aprons. The womenfolk of my people believe in them religiously. Every sepia picture from our past is proof of this conviction. My grandmother wore an apron for her granddaughter’s birthday photo, and my great-grandmother had one in her hand in the only surviving …
By: Kandy Persall Ever since I can remember, Ray Tinney has been in my life. He married my sister the autumn after my first birthday, and my devotion to him began. When I was eight, a little event lifted that devotion to pure infatuation. It happened one Saturday morning after my friend Scarlet spent the night with me. At that …
I still remember those summers. According to my memories, the first fish fry was in the late ‘60s. According to black and white photos, the events started long before I was born. The parents, or maybe even grandparents of those I remember, began this summer celebration at a time when cotton was blooming and catfish were jumping. Living landlocked, my …
“You came from tough stock,” my Mama always said, and I would ponder just what lineage she was referring to. I knew about livestock in our field and the tree stock used in grafting, but I recognized she meant neither. When I asked, she always pointed to photos of grim people on shabby porches surrounded by acres and acres of …
