By: Barbara Mandry Howling winds, horizontal hail, heavy rain, and a husband with genuine fear in his eyes startled me at the front door of our tiny upstairs apartment. We were both already irritated because the power had just literally left us in the dark right before the dramatic conclusion of a suspenseful television program. It was about 9:45 p.m. …
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 …
They watched while I played underneath my grandmother’s honeysuckle, sliding the stamens out of the bud and licking the sticky nectar onto my tongue. They smiled as I dropper-fed the tiny bunnies that my daddy found orphaned in our field. They observed every night as I lay on my back, watching my mother’s mouth form words while her voice rose …
