Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Growing up Poopie


Me and the dawgs just love to load up in the Camry and explore life around the farm where we live. Soon as that car is paid off I'm gonna buy me a truck and a four wheeler, mark my words. This place where we live is a right big parcel of land surrounded by a lazy river by the name of Forked Deere. Back when I was a kid it flooded most every time the spring rains came around. Mama and Daddy had an old red chevy wagon with a hole in the floor that ferried us back and forth from the farm to town for school and church and work and such.


Church was the First United Methodist at the corner of Main and McGaughey where Mama stole Daddy away from the from the Southern Baptists. Most of the time my brothers stretched out on the pews and took a nap while the well paid preacher was pontificating about some great truth found in God's book. We never handled snakes there or spoke in tongues unless you count singin' in the choir or teaching Sunday school.
Mama always worked, and Daddy had two jobs. By day he was employed by the USDA as a bug man with the Plant Pest control division. His maps at work were covered with colored pins marking the journey of the Japanese beetle toward the cotton crop. Oddly enough, his office was in the basement of the hospital building where I was born. Go figure that one. He would come home and work in the yard and garden after chasin' bugs all day and kill those suckers dead if they dared to attack something he planted.


As a kid I never really appreciated the blessings.
Now I do.
^j^


Harry Connick Jr. Concert in Huntsville, AL


A Valentine's gift from my beau was two tickets to experience Harry Connick Jr. in concert.

I knew Harry was a great musician and I even knew he was a great singer but I had no idea to the extent of his singing talent. The man can belt out the tunes!

Dressed in black tie, he was the ever professional and entertaining showman, even taking time out to chat with the audience with the occasional banter between himself and the show goers.

With Harry Connick, Jr. were his approximate 10 man orchestra; trumpets, trombones, saxophones, drums, and a cello - all played absolutely stunning New Orleans styled bluesy Cajun music. Each musician gave a stellar solo performance.

He gave many an accolade to the supporters and contributors of the Katrina relief effort and even sang a special thank you song to the Huntsville community.

The show was held in the intimate setting of the concert hall of the Von Braun Civic Center, which seats approximately 2,000 audience members and the concert lasted about an hour and a half that went by too quickly. After seeing the man in concert I told my significant other that I would gladly follow Harry Connick Jr. where ever he goes on tour. I would go to Harry's show again and again. He is a great performer and musician.

The concert started off with several solos by the musicians themselves, before Harry even came on stage. The "intro" with solos lasted about 20 minutes and was phenomenal.

We sat in the lower level of the civic center, about half way up, and just a tad left of stage. Harry Connick, Jr. performed all of the songs form his new CD, Oh My NOLA, which included four original recordings titled, "All These People", "We Make A Lot Of Love", "Do Dat Thing", and the cover title, "Oh My Nola".

I have to give some props out to the Von Braun Civic Center as well. We are getting more and more big headliners coming to Huntsville and while the Harry Connick Jr. concert was filled to capacity, the logistics of the event went smoothly. We had no problem parking, walked right in and were seated immediately, when we left the concert and got back to our car there was no waiting around in long lines of traffic trying to get out of the place. Normally, I am not one for big crowds but this was a piece of cake for me to attend. That, and well, Harry Connick Jr. is worth it!

Review by c.a. Marks
http://camarks.blogspot.com/

A MESS O' SOMETHIN


Recently my friend wrote to me from Carolina about picking a mess of mustard greens, which by the way, I am "green" with envy as Wyoming grows few greens. In fact, I am not sure that many people in Wyoming know what mustard greens are. Boy! They do not know what they are missing!!! She and I grew up in the mountains of North Carolina and are extremely proud to brag about this fact. Our Carolina mountain language stands alone among many different dialects in the United States. I am proud to tell people of my birthplace when they cock their eyebrows in amusement and wonder at my accent.

Our expressions include the phrase, "a mess of " something. We grow large gardens which contain, potatoes, onions, peas, greens, green beans, lettuce, tomatoes, corn, okra and even some of the "flatlanders" food such as: butter beans, crowder peas, lima beans and butter beans. Much of the pleasure we enjoy from growing a large garden is being able to share with the neighbors who might or might not be blessed with such a variety of food. Therefore we ask our friends and neighbors if they would like "a mess of something". Now, I do not know exactly who figured out how much is contained in "a mess" but I am sure that it could depend on a variety of things.

I remember my 1985 garden better than most that I have grown for a number of reasons. My wonderful childhood friend and neighbor, Grace Carter Ray let me use some of her land for a garden for many years and it seems we always shared things. This particular year the Lord blessed my garden and I do believe I could have fed the county from it. Many visitors came and picked "greasy cornfield beans" as I truly had an over-abundance. I not only canned 252 quarts of my own but my friends and neighbors picked as much as bushels of their own. In this case, "a mess" might be considered a bushel or a peck or just whatever amount they picked. If my garden had not been so plentiful, then "a mess" might be just enough for a meal for their family. If the item were squash or tomatoes, "a mess" might be 3 or 4 tomatoes or just enough squash to fry for supper.

I truly love to put things in jars!!! I put almost any vegetable, fruit, fish or meat in jars. I put buttons, dice, thimbles, spools of thread, rocks, gems, match books and many more in jars. Once at a yard sale, I sold a quart jar of marbles for $40. Growing a garden makes me want to put more in jars! One could consider a quart of green beans "a mess" or a pint of bread-n-butter pickles. I am sure that each person who offers "a mess" to friends and neighbors have their own interpretation of "a mess" but all of us who grow and share gardens know that its the sharing that counts. Sharing "a mess o' somethin" gives us a chance to visit "over the garden fence" and catch up on happenings. Why don't you grow a garden and ask a friend or neighbor; "Would anyone like "a mess o' somethin"? Its a great way to share love and make new friends too.

Written by: Freda Holt

Sunday, March 25, 2007

A big Thank you!

I want to thank C. A. Marks, of Cio` e` me.

She very kindly set the Dew up with an RSS feed.

There are certain things that I am less than proficient at and I wasn't even sure where to find one, never mind get the Dew one!

C.A. - I'm not sure if you're using your name or not... :) - thank you very much for taking the time to help grow the Dew audience.

Go check her out - she just got published at Associated Content.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Best Hamburger in America in the South (of course)


Address/Tel:
1615 Memorial Dr, Atlanta Tel: 404-687-9207

Pricing:
Everything is under $7

Hours:
Mon - Sat: 11am - 9pm

----------------------------

Business Sizzles After ATL Spot Gets 'Best Burger' Tag

POSTED: 6:02 am EDT March 12, 2007
UPDATED: 5:54 am EDT March 21, 2007

ATLANTA -- The best hamburger in America is right here in metro Atlanta.

Raymond Sokolov, the food reporter for the Wall Street Journal, crowned the “Ghetto Burger” at Ann’s Snack Bar on Memorial Drive as the best burger in the country.

He describes Ann Price's masterpiece as a “two-patty cheeseburger tricked out with bacon that she tends closely in a fryolator.” The Ghetto Burger also features chilli along with the standard lettuce, tomato, and onion.

After sampling a “Ghetto Burger” dusted with Miss Ann’s “seasoning salt” Sokolov called it “the next level in burgerhood.”

If you want to dive into one head for the Snack Bar at 1615 Memorial Drive.

Citing the burgers at The Vortex in Little Five Points and the EARL in East Atlanta Sokolov called Atlanta the home to the best burgers in America.

If you plan a trip to Ann's, there's a few things you need to know. First, there's only eight stools in the restaurant. That means only eight people get waited on at a time. From there, people line up outside waiting for a stool to empty before heading inside and placing their order.

Price describes business as "Off the hook" since the Wall Street Journal reported on her burger. Translation: get there early and prepare to wait. Many people spend a couple hours in line just waiting to get inside. Price has had to start cutting the line off around 4pm the last week just to accomodate everyone. She's open Monday to Saturday.

The 63-year old Price has been frying up food at her restaurant for nearly 35 years. If you want to sample a Ghetto Burger, consider yourself warned, Price plans on retiring at the end of next year.

Speaking of warnings, should you decide to check out the slideshow or video, chances are you'll be hungry for a Ghetto Burger when you're finished looking.

--------------------------


Story compliments of WSBTV.com - a local Atlanta News Station

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Barbecue Pork Ribs at Wanda's BBQ Garden and Cafe


Cosby, TN

Yeah, baby...That's what I'm talkin' about!

My mother and uncle grew up during the Great Depression in Savannah, GA. They didn't have it too bad since my grandfather worked for the Southern Railroad and they ran a boarding house out of the old house on Jones Street up from Clary's. My grandfather kept a garden out on Hutchinson Island where he also trapped and raised rabbits. Still, it left my grandmother with an unfortunate case of OCD geared toward saving scraps of tin foil. I was always a little afraid as a child that upon opening the pantry door I would be crushed to death by the largest tin foil ball known to mankind.

Ribs had a shady reputation as poor folks food. It was one of the few cuts of meat you could afford to buy during the Depression. But still, even after my uncle became a kazillionaire designing mines in the African Congo and being an aircraft magnate in South America, he remained stubbornly in love with the humble rib. I remember the long letters he wrote my mother always telling of how they cooked ribs in such far away places as Ankara and Morocco. The man never saw a rib he didn't like. He had to have them everywhere he traveled.

So...Tuesday, Betsy and I met over at Wanda's B.B.Q. Garden and Cafe to sample these legendary ribs and some of Wanda's other offerings.

I'd seen the BBQ garden across from the Cosby Elementary school on Cosby Highway next to the House of Douglas Bakery, but had never gotten around to trying it out. So when Betsy told me about these ribs...well, what can I say. It's in my gene pool.


The cafe is basically an old soda fountain/bakery set-up with booths and tables. Some funky art and lots of potted plants. It's a nice place to go during the cold winter months. It reminds me of some of my old haunts in the Virginia Highlands area of Atlanta. Back before VH became so precious.
But the really wonderful space at the BBQ Garden is the patio. Wanda built a large screened in dining area with a stage for the Bluegrass performers that frequent the garden during the high season months.

It's very "down home". Plastic tablecloths and food served on disposable plates. The day was warm so we ate out there. But you know me. I'm more interested in what's on the plates than the plates themselves.


We took Betsy's daughter Dori along with us and she ordered the ribs. Everyone had to put up with me sampling their food. Anyone who eats out with me knows this is not unusual. I was born with a silver stealth fork in everyone else's plate.

I had the pulled pork plate with garlic green beans and sweet corn. I must say that those green beans are quite possibly the best green beans I've ever had. They were crisp french beans drenched in butter and garlic.

Very yummy and will sneakily make you think you are staying on your
diet. The pulled pork was served on a tomato basil roll. It was really wonderful and I didn't even ask for some mustard to convert it to Lowcountry style. ('cause you know where I stand on that side of the great war of the bbq sauces!)

Betsy had the pulled chicken also on a tomato basil roll. Her sides were french fries and the baked beans. Betsy loves Wanda's baked beans.

We also ordered the amazing onion rings pictured. Yes...they were every bit as good as they look.

I'd say the stand outs from the excursion were the BBQ Pork Ribs, which are amazing. The garlic green beans and those amazing onion rings.

All of the food was delicious, but those were my three favorites. I'm told that her corn fritters are to die for. I have no reason to doubt this since it sounds like she makes them just like I make mine. The menu is best described as down home eclectic. Every once in a while your eye will be drawn from the expected BBQ joint fair to something like "jasmine rice"(the only sort of rice I eat at home), or those garlic green beans or that tomato basil roll. The prices are very reasonable with the most expensive item, the barbecue sampler, being $12.95. The median range is in the 6 to 8 dollar range. The place looks extremely kid friendly with lots of finger food available and paper towels.

If you are traveling down I-40 between Asheville and Knoxville, it's a nice side trek to get off on the Foothills Parkway then turn right onto Cosby Highway. The BBQ Garden is on the left just a few miles up the road.

I stayed for a while after our meal to talk to Wanda. I really like her. She's a bit of a character and I'm all about characters. She came to this area from Baltimore back in the 70's when Gatlinburg was still sort of a sleepy mountain town with a growing tourist trade. I'm not surprised she has food in her blood, being from Baltimore which is one of my favorite food obsessed cities. She's been working around restaurants all of her life. She doesn't follow any specific philosophy of barbecue, preferring to "do her own thing" so to speak. And it does seem to be working for her.

I was fascinated by her description of living here then, in a sort of hippie tent camp for three years, outside in all weathers when the winters were still very cold here. They used to have to go to town and pay a few bucks at the old bath house to take showers.

She mentions that her kids would sometimes ask why they couldn't go
camping.

She'd say, in that husky Mercedes McCambridge voice, "Hell, NO. I did that for three damn years!"

Go see Wanda. Eat her food. You'll like her. You'll like her food.
------
Restaurant review by:Rosanne Griffeth

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Pinching Tail and Sucking Head

Crawfish season is in full tilt boogie now. The 2006 season was disappointing but this year shows great promise of a big, flavorful harvest. The crawfish season typically begins in January or February, depending on weather conditions, peaks in mid-March to mid-May, and finishes in June or July.

Some southern locales such as Lafayette, Louisiana, report the biggest consumption of crawfish is for Good Friday, the last meatless Friday before Easter Sunday for the Catholic population.

Crawfish are freshwater crustaceans who do not bite in cold weather. Hurricane Katrina pushed so much saltwater inland that the 2006 crawfish harvest suffered. The crawfish were smaller, had less tail meat and were not so tasty.

The favorite way of eating crawfish is to boil them in spicy seasoned water along with new potatoes and corn on the cob, then empty the pot on a newspaper covered picnic table, outdoors with lots of cold soda or beer. The seasonings from the boiling water concentrate in the head of the crawfish, which contains the body fat, and it is considered an important element in crawfish consumption.

Eating crawfish is a five step process. First the head is pulled off by twisting the tail one way then the other to break it off. Next you peel the crawfish by crushing and peeling two or three segments of the shell from the tail to get to the meat. Then, with your teeth, you grab the meat and pull it out. The next step is to pick up the head and suck the fat out. Finally, if the claws are big enough, pull the largest segment and eat the meat using your teeth to pull it out.

The most famous of the crawfish festivals in south Louisiana is the Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival. Breaux Bridge is a small town outside of Lafayette. This year the festival is May 4-6. The website is www.bbcrawfest.com

Laissez les bon temps rouler!

The storySouth 2007 Million Writers Award for Fiction


The purpose of the Million Writers Award is to honor and promote the best fiction published in online literary journals and magazines during 2006. This year the award is sponsored bythe Edit Red Writing Community (formerly known as Spoiled Ink).

To make a nomination, go to the Million Writers Award main page.

The Reason

The reason for the Million Writers Award is that most of the major literary prizes for short fiction (such as the Best American Short Stories series and the O. Henry Awards) have ignored web-published fiction. This award aims to show that world-class fiction is being published online and to promote this fiction to the larger reading and literary community.


How It Works

The Million Writers Award takes its name from the idea that we in the online writing community have the power to promote the great stories we are creating. If only a few hundred writers took the time to tell fifteen of their friends about a great online short story--and if these friends then passed the word about this fiction to their friends (and so on and so on)--this one story would soon have a larger readership than all of the stories in Best American Short Stories.

To help promote online stories, the Million Writers Award accepts nominations from readers, writers, and editors (and volunteer judges who assist with the award). There is no entry fee. The only entry requirement is that anyone making a nomination agrees to help promote the winners of the award by sending an e-mail about the winners to at least fifteen of their friends, with the added message that they hope the friend will pass on the information to more people. It is also hoped that nominators will help promote the winners through other means, such as linking to the stories, posting the information on message boards, and so on.

Prizes

This year there will be both a main cash prize for the overall winner and for the ten finalists (the authors of the top ten stories of the year). The overall prize will be $300 in cash, which will be transfered to the winner's PayPal account. Each of the ten finalists will receive a membership to the Edit Red (formerly known as Spoiled Ink)., an online writing community. Each membership is valued at $50. All prizes are provided by Edit Red, which is the sponsor of this year's award.

Best Online Publication Award

In addition to the award for best fiction, the online magazine or journal that ends up with the most stories selected as "Notable Stories of the Year" will be honored with an award as the year's best publication for online fiction.

Why Should I Do This?

The general gripe among writers is that no one pays attention to quality writings, while bad or mediocre writings get lots of attention because they are published in prestigious magazines or written by authors who are good at gaining media attention. This award is about countering this trend by promoting the best online writers. If enough writers, readers, and editors agree to help promote the winners of this award, then all online writers will benefit from a greater acceptance of online publications.
**The Deadline is April 15th and you can be sure that this Editor will be nominating several of my writers!**

Wednesday, March 7, 2007

What You Leave Behind

By Freda Kuykendall
March 04, 2007

I am sure that a large percentage of people have moved at least once in their life. However, I wonder how many have left the SOUTH and moved to Wyoming? I was all ready to go stay with my daughter and wonderful grandchildren, one which I had not had the priviledge of holding, so I packed. I received a call from my son-in law at three in the morning that my daughter was in the Rapid City, SD hospital possibly dying from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. So I packed faster and left on Monday morning to drive from Palmetto, Florida (where I was not happy after a few months) to Newcastle, Wyoming, the cowboy state.

I never thought about what I was leaving behind. My mind was only on getting to my daughter and family. I feel most of us think about leaving behind a lifestyle, a homeplace, a heritage, the mountains, the beach, the streams, the sand, the salt air, the scenic views and much more. Not me! I fully expect to return to all the beauty for a visit one day as I know it will not leave. The scenes may change but my memories will always be so that if I do return, I can still see things through the same eyes. I grew up in the remote area of Madison County, NC and loved it.

However, Asheville NC does have everything to offer and is not remote. Now, you might think that when I say "everything", that I mean nightclubs, parties, food, excellent wines, freshly brewed beer, people, cars, golf, people, stores, people, beauty, people, ugly, people, fresh air, people, pollution, people, condos, townhouses, roads, sirens, hospitals, wonderful doctors, doctors, police, and more people. Well, I don't!!

I moved in with my daughter and truly enjoyed my family but I was missing doing the cleaning, cooking, organizing and sometimes just the peace and quiet of being alone. But that was not what I was missing either. I missed my son and two grandsons in NC, my best friend Judy whom I enjoy working on stained glass with, antiquing, traveling, chatting and much more. But that was not all that I was missing. I missed the old homeplace and my sister who always makes me laugh, even through the worst of times. All this "missing" however, I could requiet somewhat by talking to them on the phone, catching up to all going on back in their world. But again, all that was not what I was missing.

When I moved out from my daughter and into a house of my own, I began cooking again, cleaning, home-making in general and then it hit me..... all the things that I had left behind.

Before leaving NC, I had a huge yard sale, selling many treasures of the present and past but I could not afford to take everything all the way across the country. Lots of dishes, antiques, some "just junk" to most, I sold or gave away. Still, though I missed certain mixing bowls, utensils, and furniture, I knew I could in some way, eventually replace all that.

It is all the little things which I miss most! I miss the smell of the farm when fields are freshly plowed for planting, the cleanliness after a fresh summer rain, wet pine cones, the "sound" of the first snow falling on naked trees, the breath from the nostrils of a horse on a cool morning, milking the cows, walking two steps behind my dad through the hills to fish for mountain trout, helping my mama fix Sunday dinner for the preacher, singing ole timey gospel tunes with Daddy on the front porch swing, watching him spit tobacco on a wasp, or dig dandelions from our yard, seeing tiny little chickens peeking from under fussing mother hens, picking fresh berries knowing Mama was dressed in Daddy's overalls (she never wore pants in the old days so she looked funny), hoeing crops and gardens, picking up arrowheads, picking chincapins on Chincapin Knob, or hazelnuts along streams, stringing beans and pealing peaches with Mama and Daddy, cracking fresh black walnuts for homemade fudge, canning or freezing anything grown, watching Daddy peel an apple without breaking the peeling, having Daddy hand me the best spot of a freshly peeled peach, camping in the Ellen Cove or the great Smoky Mountains, watching the sunrise or set over deep purple ridges, the call of the lonesome dove, the shrill of the redtail as he sails overhead, and the tiny hummingbirds returning in the Spring, and feeding praying mantis crickets on a string. Even though these memories linger, I still miss something else.

I assumed that if we had an INGLES grocery store in the backward mountains of NC, that people all over the country had similar grocery stores. After all, the world is a now small place because of "time" travel. Its takes little time to ship oranges from Israel (which I purchased in Walmart in Mitchell, SD) or apples from China. I wonder how much time it takes to ship flour produced in the United States to any of the 50 states? Well, let me tell you!!! If you decide to move you had better consider packing White Lily Flour, First Colony Coffee Beans, organic sugar, fresh produce which actually has a taste, frozen blackeye peas, butter beans, butter peas, okra, collards, turnip and mustard greens, watermelons, canalope, fresh Georgia sweet potatoes, boiled peanuts, pecans, peaches, sweet tea, NC apples, or any brand besides the Walmart brand of foods. I did not realize that I had almost stepped into the "twilight zone". If you ask for sweet tea in a restaurant, waitresses look at you kinda funny, or if it is butter beans, squash, greesey beans, october beans, crowder peas, or fried okra, well........"That's a southern THANG". It is strange however, that cigarettes (North Carolina produced) beer or alcohol of almost any brand, shape, size, color can be purchased in Wyoming, even cigarettes from India, yet I have to drive 70 miles to the nearest Walmart to choose from TWO brands of whatever. The other grocery stores offer no selections whatsoever so one must "settle". Also, living in one of the largest gas/oil-producing states you would think gas would be cheaper. NOT!!!! One other tiny thing I truly miss is beautifully landscaped yards.

Now Wyoming is a beautiful state though very different from NC. I live in the western foothills of the Black Hills which are wonderful, yet not at all like our dense forests back home with trickling streams full of crawdads, red lizards, and water "skimmers". I like Wyoming, and the "small town" lifestyle here, though people are not as close as we were in our small town back home. People are hard working, and for the most part very high-paid, coal miners, oil field workers, railroad workers, hunters, ranchers with money, ranchers without money, quiet and mostly peaceful. About the only siren we hear is the noon whistle to let all the workers know it is lunch time. I certainly don't miss the sirens and all the crime! We do not have to lock a car door downtown, nor a house door unless we choose too. About the only crimes I hear of are DUI arrests and wrecks because drinking here is a way of life for many. These are all minor compared to my having to do without White Lily Flour. I even wrote the company asking for help. Do you know? They did not even acknowledge my letter. I have since changed to Montana wheat which is truly excellent but still miss the flour I had used for 35 years, since the local mill closed and Mama and Daddy stopped growing wheat for grinding. Though I do plan to live in the west, I do miss much about the southern way of life. Feel free to come visit anytime as it really is a beautiful, senic wonderland worth seeing. Who knows? We may even be growing butter beans when I get through!!

Next time I move, I will think about what I am leaving behind and remember ALL the good things!!!

Sunday, March 4, 2007

WHAT HAPPENS IN THE OUTHOUSE SHOULD STAY IN THE OUTHOUSE


Confessions of a Once Junior Girl Scout
By Harriette K. Jacobs

Raise your right hand with three fingers and repeat after me:

“On my honor I will try:
To do my duty to God and my country,
To help other people at all times
And to obey the Girl Scout Laws.”
Copyright © 1963
Girl Scouts of the United States of America

You-Hoo?! Any of you retired Girl Scouts out there anywhere?

You do remember your Girl Scout oath, right?

How about Girl Scout Law #4? “A Girl Scout is a friend to all and a sister to every other Girl Scout.”

Can’t say that I’ll ever forget it.

I became a Junior Girl Scout when I was ten years old. I was so excited to finally join and become a Scout. To wear that green uniform dress to school made you look officially Girl Scouty and all – you know “special”. I couldn’t wait to begin selling cookies and earning badges to have displayed on my sash, too. Except that I would never have as many as Miranda and Ruth S. None of us would. They were super Scouts or something. They had so many badges that they had to have their mother sew the badges on the back side of their sash – the rest of the Troop had big badge envy when Miranda and her sister showed up. But we still loved them; they had the sweetest mother and, well, she was all Girl Scouty, too.

We had a great little troop and did lots of fun things together. We all went on little field trips, made all kinds of great crafts – in fact, I still have my little Christmas Girl broom that I made: it’s a small child’s straw broom that we added materials to in order to make it into a girl dressed up for Christmas. Every year – my mother would put her out next to the fireplace. Not long after my husband and I had our boys – she relinquished it over to me and now we put her out every year at Christmas.

I was a Junior Girl Scout until I was 12 and then I went through the ceremony to become a Cadet (I can just hear all the “ooh’s and ahh’s”, y’all, now stop it). Unfortunately, no one from our troop wanted to move up to Cadets except me - so Girl Scouts ended remaining only as fond memories along with a horrible puffy eyed saluting photograph of me with a very bad home perm next to the American flag and the new “Cadet crest” proudly sewn upon my green beret.

What was my mother thinking?

[My sons better be thankful they were born boys….]

Back on topic.

Aside from the home perm, the most outstanding of these memories would be during our second year when our troop was working on our camping badge. We were all so excited since we would have to actually “go camping” somewhere to accomplish the requirements. Since we belonged to the Pine Valley Girl Scout Council, this meant we would be camping at Camp Pine Valley down in Meansville, Georgia.

Road trip.

Woo Hoo!

I can not remember the exact number of girls in our troop, but I know that there was at least ten. So all ten+ of us along with a couple of our mom’s (mine included**insert red flag here) and our Troop leader headed off for the wild blue yonder of Camp Pine Valley for a (very) long and deserted weekend of, you guessed it, roughing it in the Georgia wilderness.

I lost count of chigger and mosquito bites around 78 after the first night and quickly learned on the second night that I would not suffocate if I indeed used the mosquito net over my cot.

Now keep in mind, y’all, this was the early 1970’s; modern plumbing would not make the campground scene for another 20 years give or take.
Meaning?
Meaning we had to use traditional outhouses. Traditional meaning a REAL pit in the ground covered by a tall wooden box with a toilet seat inside. Real meaning – the ground moved when you flashed your flashlight down the hole………

Hey. We were all ten and eleven – what can I say?

I really can’t remember whose idea it was…..but suffice to say that when it was all said and done, there were a number of us who were in trouble. Um, myself included. [blushing]

We had one girl that just didn’t quite fit in with the rest of us. She was rather precious and healthy. Very healthy I might add. And, well, she lived right across the street from our school and her mother drove her to school everyday and picked her up in their car every afternoon driving right across the street straight into their driveway. She always wore pale pink dresses with pale pink velvet ribbons in her perfectly curled blonde hair and her nails were always painted pale pink, too. I don’t think she ever had a home perm – I believe her curls were bought and paid for at the beauty shop. And she never wore pants or shorts only dresses. She always had perfect little homemade lunches, too, in a pale pink lunch box.

Just agree with me and say, “Yuck” already.

You can just imagine our surprise when Precious announced that she would be going on the camping expedition with the troop.

Our jaws were agape.

After all, we were heading for major wilderness.

With dirt and bugs.

And wilderness.

But went she did.

Somewhere mixed in with our discovery of the moving earth at the bottom of the outhouse pit – out sprung mention of the name of “Precious”.

That’s when and where the very bad idea took birth.

In the outhouse.

Night time was upon us this third night in the dirty, buggy wilderness and we had had one s’more too many. It was time for all giggling girls to settle down – and all our momma’s had some serious after hours “something or other” to do. Just sleep I imagine.

The plan had been in place all afternoon. When Precious needed to go to the bathroom after dark (and she always did), she would ask someone to walk to the outhouse with her since it was a pretty good walk through the woods….

…away from where we were camped….

…in the dark.

When that time arrived, Precious did indeed ask for company. After she entered the pit of doom and moving earth – the escorting scout advised her to check the pit below "real, real good" with her flashlight first………..

Y’all, please. You would have thought Big Foot stuck his head up through the toilet seat! You’ve never heard such a blood curdling scream in all your life.

The other escorting Scout ran back to our tent as fast as she could leaving the now paralyzed Precious frozen and screaming in the outhouse from H*ll.

How or why the little building did not explode – I know not why.

By the time our Troop leader and the chaperoning mom’s arrived at the pit of doom, Precious was hysterical, shaking and crying inconsolably not to mention gagging and dry heaving at best.

I couldn’t breathe because I was laughing so hard even though I knew I was in for it big time.

Despite the now legendary prank of the weekend and the very long ride home, everyone in our troop earned the ever coveted camping badge. I picked up where I left off counting my chigger and mosquito bites during the silent ride back to Atlanta. I drifted off to sleep around a hundred and twenty three…..

As you can imagine, the girls in my troop couldn’t wait to get back to school to recap the events of the wicked weekend in the wilderness. Not only do I believe we scarred Precious for life against camping and any future outdoor plumbing; clearly, she would never apply for inclusion in any episode of Fear Factor.

In the end, Precious would get the last laugh – especially at me. But that, my friends, is another story for another day……

Y’all Behave!

Harriette K. Jacobs
South of the Gnat Line
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All Rights Reserved.