Down On The Coast

My sister and niece from North Carolina were in town this weekend, first time back home in a couple of years. So yesterday I drove them, my mother, and my other two sisters down to the coast so they could see the changes since Katrina. Everyone had seen pictures - I've seen thousands, because our field people have needed to take them for our environmental permitting and remediation efforts. But pictures don't really portray the same feeling you get from going down to Biloxi and then driving west to the Bay St. Louis bridge, That's a distance of about 45 miles. Nearly eight months after the storm hit, it looks almost the same. Around Biloxi, on the east, you see homes and buildings with the first floor washed out, or worse, from the beach back about 4-5 blocks - that's the damage that's obvious from Highway 90 - but then you see further back places where 5 houses are gone and 2 are standing. As you go west towards Gulfport, and then Long Beach, and finally Pass Christian, what you see is complete damage - nothing but slabs, or a set of stairs where a house has been - and this first extends back maybe 1000 feet, but by the time you get to Pass Christian on the west, it extends back as far as you can see from the road, across a flat area that goes back at least a mile. At the back of this area, you start seeing the shells of buildings. What you don't see much of here are debris piles. All the debris is either out in the Gulf or was pushed inland by the storm. Some, obviously, got cleaned up since the storm, but inland you see lots of these. There's hasn't been much beachfront to clean up. I can understand why so many developers are absolutely psyched by this - what once were small houses, big mansions, small hotels, restaurants, little retail shops are now this long area of essentially cleared development lots.

But the thing that struck me the most was the people - the lack of people. Biloxi had a population of about 51,000; Gulfport around 71,000. Long Beach, about 18,000, Pass Christian 8,000. The Gulf Coast are had a total population approaching 400,000. When I would go to the coast, one of the things I hated most was US 49, which goes down from Hattiesburg, because the traffic getting into or out of Gulfport was always backed up, long lines of 30 cars in each lane at each traffic light. Now there's almost nothing. Take away the construction workers at the casinos, and it would almost be a string of ghost towns. As we drove along US 90, along the beach, there were times when we were the only vehicle for a stretch of 6-8 blocks. After a while, it really gets to you. You wonder how these places can ever come back. You drive north, and go through neighborhoods that seem to have houses that weren't damaged, and you realize that still there's nobody living there. The people are gone. I know it won't stay this way. There are still hundreds of people, church groups, charities, FEMA, helping people dig out and begin rebuilding. I think I just hoped there would be more by now. For instance - I didn't see any business open anywhere along US 90 - no service stations, no fast food places, nothing. And there are few street signs, so even people who've lived there for decades get lost. The landmarks are gone. I just don't want this place to become another Gulf Shores.

Written by: Harry
The Kudzu Files

The Restaurant at Campbell's Field - A Review

Do you like airplanes?

Good country food?

If so, you'll definitely be pleased with The Restaurant at Campbell's Field, located in Hayden, Alabama.

Located on a farm that has been in the Campbell family since the mid 1800's, the restaurant, ran by Carolyn Campbell Wigley, faces an airstrip which was created out of a hayfield by her brother, Fred Campbell.
(Being a close friend of the family, Mr. Campbell is not only the father of one of my very best friends, he also gave me my first tour of a commercial airplane when I was a child.)

Photos of different kinds of airplanes, along with their pilots, decorate the walls of the restaurant. The atmosphere is that of a family kitchen providing country-grown goodness. An eclectic selection of diningroom tables and farm tables mixed in with fast-food type booths provide a comfortable place to sit while you browse the small, but tasty menu.

Breakfast includes the usual country fixins: grits, hashbrowns, biscuits, bacon, eggs, etc... Lunch and dinner offerings include a variety of salads, a kid's menu, everything from chicken livers (if you like that kind of thing), catfish, hamburgers, and pot roast to barbecue. Wash that down with some sweet tea (which was excellently brewed, by the way) or some soft drinks and then try one of Carolyn's homemade cakes or pies that dot the counter up front.

When I visited this past week, I sampled the lunch special - pot roast with mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, cole slaw and cornbread. Very good food, and a lot of it, for under $5.00
My husband tried the cornmeal-battered catfish and proclaimed it to be the best he had tasted in a very long time.

And if you are lucky, Mr. Campbell himself will mosey around for a chat.

Go on over and visit Campbell Field and tell them Dana sentcha!


The Restaurant at Campbell's Field
2484 Arkadelphia Rd.
Hayden, AL 35079
205-590-2744

Directions from Birmingham: I-65 North to exit 282 (Warrior-Robbins exit). Turn left onto Warrior-Jasper Road for 1.4 miles. Turn right onto Arkadelphia Road and go 4.3 (that's 4 point 3, not 43!) miles. The restaurant is on your right across from the airstrip.

Hours:

Sunday-Monday 10am-2pm
Tuesday-Saturday 10am-8pm

copyright © 2006 Dana Sieben
www.southerngalgoesnorth.blogspot.com

We Have a Troll

No, no, she’s not a troll – a troll is too ogrely.

Maybe we have a fairy.

Hmmm. No. She’ not a fairy either; fairies are in the air like Tinkerbell, aren’t they?

Maybe we have a gnome. Except, well, she doesn’t have a beard or hat.

Well, suffice to say that we knew there was something living under the chicken house but we were uncertain just what mythological type creature it may have been.

…Until late yesterday evening.

I had a large pot of all too well left over homemade chicken noodle soup; our chickens love leftovers and I felt that they would graciously overlook the irony of being served, well, chicken noodle soup…..

While the chickens were feasting just before taking roost for the night, the boys and I were taking in a little “Chick T.V.” A feasting flock of poultry is quite the entertainment package.

Seriously.

Our three cooped roosters (awaiting their own chicken noodle soup futures) were making the oddest cackles when my oldest son said, “Mom, there’s the wild chicken sticking her head out – I told you I think she’s stuck under the chicken house.”

I walked over to the rooster coop that sits right next to the chicken house and every few seconds or so, this hen (a chicken that was hatched last year by one of our own, but would never remain with the flock and only roost in the woods – thus named “the wild chicken”) was sticking her head and neck out of a small gap from under the chicken house trying to eat sprinkles of scratch that the roosters had slung out of their coop. Her behavior reminded me of some of the games at the fair where you’re trying to bonk the little critter sticking his head out of the hole too fast.

We knew that during the day, she would go under the chicken house, but at night – rather than roost with the flock, the wild chicken would roost in the woods. The best we could figure was that something must have gotten after her one night and out of panic, she wedged herself up under the shallowest part of the chicken house - now unable to exit.

The gap that she was trying to eat through provided no expansion because of the 4x4’s supporting the foundation of the barn on that particular side. Oddly enough (but fortunately for us), the same construction did not mirror the foundation on the other side……….uh, because, well, a Momma and her sons built the barn themselves, maybe?

Well, it’s still standing and functions, doesn’t it?

My younger son ran and retrieved a shovel so we could dig out a spot on the opposite side and then we baited the opening with some scratch. My oldest son had a long beaver stick and along with a large spotlight, used it to “shoo” the hen from the rooster coop side, hoping to send her to our baited exit.

Sure enough, she did so.

During all this drama and rescue activity, the main flock had finished their evening meal of leftovers and moved inside to their roost with the occasional alarmed clucking over our attempts to rescue the flock’s outcast ~ the rogue hen. I could just imagine their conversations on the roost among themselves:

Ethyl (our Barred Rock hen): “I don’t know why they are making such a fuss over that stupid girl – she was never one of us. And besides, does she lay any eggs for the Jacobs like the rest of us?…”

Maddie (our Buff Orpington hen): “Now Ethyl, we need to be compassionate for the less fortunate. After all, she was one of Ms. White’s children – may she rest in peace….”

Dixie (one of our Speckled Sussex hens): “She has never been happy or cheerful or wanted to do anything with us. Why wouldn’t she want to hang out with all of us – we’re so much fun to be with….”

Pearl (Ms. White’s surviving sister – a White Giant hen): “Oh, the shame of it all. One of my only sister’s offspring….how will I ever face the ladies at Hen Circle?...”

Lilly (one of our Black Giant hens): “I agree, Pearl. I would just die if one of my sister’s girls rebelled like that. But you know she’s never been quite the same since her momma just keeled over in the chicken house that day……”

Elvis (Head Rooster – a single-combed, Brown Leghorn): “Ladies, can we remember who we are? We are above idle gossip; now let’s settle down for the night….”

While the flock continued sorting out the details of the evening's rescue events among themselves, we stood at the back of the chicken house and waited for the wild chicken to finally come all the way out from underneath the barn. When she did, it was obvious that she had been, well, stuck in that area underneath the barn for some time. She was rather hunch-backed – but not as slim and undernourished as I was expecting. She eagerly ate the scratch feed and drank from the outside waterer walking and scratching about. And while she remained a bit skiddish, we were relieved that she was able and willing to come out……..the thought of having to crawl up under there to retrieve her gave me the willies. I knew all too well that that would be the exact moment when one of the local rat snakes, in his wily humor, would decide to come slithering through……..

Mission accomplished – one wild chicken on the loose again – the rogue rebel of our farm’s flock.
-----------------------------------------
Harriette Keen Jacobs
Copyright © 2006
All Rights Reserved.
South of the Gnat Line
http://www.homesteadblogger.com/southofthegnatline

Tuesday's Child

As far back as I can remember, Mama and her girlfriends have met once a week to play cards and eat a big old piece of something wickedly sweet that the hostess had prepared. Tuesday is their designated day for bridge and gab. Back in the day when I was a kid, and much later on, they would gather at somebody's house after the children and spouses were fed to catch up on yaya and sugar. If you ask me, the card game was just an excuse to get out of the house and into the estrogen zone.

Gaga taught my Mama to play bridge back in the forties when she was a young lady in high school. Every southern woman worth a damn knows about cards and how to hold 'em. I was always fascinated by the "dummy" in the game. Two or more tables would be covered with fancy tablecloths and topped with cute little scorepads plus a seasonal decoration. Often there were fresh flowers, a gift that sprang from my Daddy's passion for growing things. In October there were pumpkins and hay. Come November, old Tom Turkey was there in the middle of the bridge tables while the dummy served up dessert. Any of us kids wandering the house were expected to show up and make nice to the bridge ladies. Most of them worked outside the home, and the few that didn't paid their dues by puttin' up with idiotic husbands for the money that allowed them to take it easy by doing only one job. Bridge was about sisterhood that crossed the boundaries of age, work and family. It was girl power personified!

I don't remember exactly when, but the group decided that it was not a good idea to get out and drive at night. The girls began to gather during the day on Tuesday for lunch and a movie or simply to enjoy the company of old friends. Mama has pictures of them through the years on their many trips and adventures. I remember her saving up coins for a couple of years to travel to England with a group of 'em. She brought me back a piece of painted bone china, one of my favorite things in the whole wide world. Every spring and fall one or two of the bravest ones pick up the others and head for Pickwick. When somebody dies, they're the first ones up with a casserole or a visit to the funeral home. They all know what the adult kids turned out to be and who's married and divorced or estranged to who. Their offspring remain connected by the lovely friendship that our Mamas carefully cultivated over the years.

Y'all ready for dessert?

Mamaw and the Bologna

My sisters and I were born and raised in Southeastern Michigan - an East Tennessee enclave in the Midwest - but we spent every vacation, break, and holiday down south in Tazewell, Tennessee, where my fathers parents still lived on their sprawling farm. When my sisters were young teenagers, my parents took them to Mamaw and Papaw's house and while the menfolk were out whittling and checking on the livestock, my Mamaw Brooks asked my sisters what they wanted for lunch. They innocently asked for bologna (baloney) and my short, rotund mamaw clapped her hands and cackled, "Oh lordy, what on earth is bologna?"

My sisters apparently blinked back in utter shock. My mom then spent the next 15 minutes trying to explain that the girls had taken to eating bologna in Michigan, but my mamaw was unmoved. She just refused to believe such a thing existed. So they all hopped into the ol' Buick and headed down to the store (probably one of those hole in the wall stores, not the Piggly Wiggly, I don't think Tazewell had a Piggly Wiggly until after I was born in the 70s) where my mother introduced Mamaw Brooks to bologna. She remained confused as to the contents of bologna, but every visit after that one contained a roll of bologna for my sisters when they traveled South.

Keep in mind this is the same wonderful woman who, in the process of making meatloaf one year lost the bandage off her finger and it ended up in my middle sister's portion. My Mamaw didn't even miss a beat; "Oh, there it is!" She exclaimed. It's also been reported to me that she went through several pressure cookers (and several coats of ceiling paint) from blowing them up in the process of preparing green beans. Bologna was merely the tip of the iceberg.

My Mamaw passed away when I was about 6, so I didn't get to spend as much time with her as everyone else. But her stories keep me close to her, and I love experiencing the stories through my parents and sisters. Amid all our familial issues, this is one thing that seems to weave us all together.

Written by: Amy
http://politixnprose.blogspot.com/

Spring has Sprung!

And the Dew is ready with a slighty re-vamped look. Trying to make it a little easier to find things instead of scrolling so long your wrist falls off and your mouse runs away.

Another reason is that the Dew is getting busier! I'm getting so many kind and encouraging words about my writers from new readers. People love getting all these Southern tidbits that you share. I've had many an email stating that people check daily to see if there's new items of interest and stories to read.

So I will again ask... if you are a current writer, keep up the good work, you are enjoyed by many. If you aren't a current writer with us, but have an interest in sharing a good story, a scrumptious recipe, or a great place to visit... please give me a shout.

Don't forget the book reviews too - Southern-Themed books... if you've read a good one recently, let us know about it! I'm working on one myself right now.

Stories of Spring memories, thoughts, occassions now wanted!

On a Humerous Note..........

Georgia-Shaped Chip on Ebay



The bids on Ebay for a blue tortilla chip shaped like the state of Georgia reached $41 by Friday afternoon. The bidding was scheduled to remain open until April 7.

In posted comments on the auction site, the seller said the chip came from a Moe’s Southwestern Grill in Alpharetta and was cooked on March 30. It is currently stored in a humidity-controlled container.

"As I was eating my Moo Moo Mr. Cow burrito, I looked down at my plate and noticed this incredible little tortilla chip in the shape of the state in which I call home," the seller wrote. The seller even added topographical features to the picture of the chip to back up the contention the chip is shaped like the Peach State. The interstate lines are not being sold with the tortilla chip.

All proceeds from the sale will go to the Children of Fallen Soldiers Relief Fund, which helps support children who have lost a parent in the Afghanistan or Iraq wars.