A Historical 4th of July: Georgia’s Historic Sites Offer Holiday Celebrations

A Historical 4th of July: Georgia’s Historic Sites Offer Holiday Celebrations

ATLANTA -- One of America’s original 13 colonies offers 13 historic sites and 5 historic parks for families to experience this Fourth of July with sights and sounds from yesteryear. This holiday weekend, Georgia’s historic sites will celebrate the birth of our nations with festivities that include canon and musket firings, blacksmithing, historical games, arts, crafts, food, guided tours and more.

“Heading to a historic site for the Fourth gives families a chance to experience the day from a whole new perspective,” said Sally Winchester, marketing and communications manager for Georgia State Parks & Historic Sites. “You can almost step back in time when you hear the cannons or muskets, when you visit a Victorian home, walk through a battlefield, or listen to the story of the country’s first Gold Rush. We’re thankful to be able to share our nation’s history, our history, through these amazing sites.”

Located throughout the state, Georgia’s Historic Sites are categorized into six themes for the celebration, each from a different time in the state’s history: Native American, Plantations, Civil War, Unique Homes, Coastal Forts & Colonial Georgia, and Gold Rush. Four of the historical site celebrations include:

4th of July Celebration
Dahlonega Gold Museum Historic Site
Dahlonega, Ga.
Activities include a formal flag raising, patriotic speeches, Appalachian music, arts and crafts, food, a patriotic parade, theatrical skits and a fireworks show at dark.

4th of July Celebration
Fort McAllister Historic Park
Richmond Hill, Ga.
Celebrate our nation's birthday with the troops of Fort McAllister. Cannon firings, musket firings, blacksmithing and historical games will run all day.

Independence Day Colonial Fare
Fort Morris Historic Site
Midway, Ga.
Celebrate the 4th with colonial games, contests of skill, colonial music, musket firings, cannon firings and activities for all. Prizes will be awarded to all participants. The day is sponsored by the City of Flemington, Ga.

Ol’ Time 4th at Jarrell Plantation
Jarrell Plantation Historic Site
Juliette, Ga.
A noon reading of the Declaration of Independence is followed by 3-legged race, sack race, egg toss, tug-of-war and old fashioned Independence Day fun. Demonstrations of traditional crafts and skills are ongoing throughout the program.

Recently, Georgia State Parks & Historic Sites launched Get Outdoors Georgia (GO Georgia) a multi-year initiative to help every Georgian rediscover the great outdoors. The program invites Georgians, especially families and children, to take part in family-friendly, nature-based, healthy outdoor recreation in the beautiful, secure surroundings of Georgia’s state parks and historic sites. More information can be found online at www.GetOutdoorsGeorgia.org or by calling 1 (800) 864-7275 .

Full article at: WSBTV

Lulu's at Homeport, Gulf Shores, Al

Ya'll ready for some FUN? Get your rear-end on down to Lulu's in Gulf Shores, Alabama!

Hubby and I dragged the kids down to a week at the beach and the poor children constantly had to sit around and wait while the line of names were slowly called each night for dinner. I have to say, as I mentioned before, that Gulf Shores has not recovered as well as I thought from the hurricanes and many of the restaurants just didn't come back. So the good ones that did had huge lines every night.

Then we heard about Lulu Buffett's restaurant on the intercoastal waterway of Gulf Shores. We had not bothered investigating any of the restaurants over thataway because we wanted beach restaurants only. But when we heard it was owned by Jimmy Buffett's little sister and had live music that once in a while had a "mystery performer", we decided it was worth a shot. We are so happy we did!

When we get there the first thing we notice is the fact that there's two overflow parking lots and they're full. Uh-oh. We park and take a hike. But it's lovely as we hike along a stunning marina filled with nicely pricey boats, the type I'll never own, never mind get invited onto. We arrive at the front and see a billion people milling around (okay, just 1,000) and when I put my name in, am given a 2 hour wait. I'm a lucky one though as shortly thereafter they stop taking names completely and suggest you come back another night. (The trick here, I learned, is to let 15-20 minutes go by and as soon as enough people leave they can open the list again. Some pesky fire code thing.)

I am dubious about this huge wait with the kids, until I hear the blues playing, realize it's a beautiful late afternoon..... and spy the immense "beach" complete with beach toys that are there for the kids. These guys are smart, they dump a huge pile of sand out of a truck and leave it there for the kids to flatten.

We get the kids buckets, plop them on the sand and wander to the tiki bar beside it to order some great drinks. I was taken aback when my Bloody Mary had an Okra instead of celery, but hey, it's the South.

We spend the next two hours chatting with strangers, enjoying the sunset and listening to kick butt music. Sadly no "mystery performer" tonite. But a huge barge floats by on the waterway, pelicans land right by us and the ambiance was fantastic.

We get seated at a huge round table in front of the band and proceed to point to menu items as we can't talk over the music. I was worried it was too loud until the kids started dancing and singing in their chairs.

Now here's where I had to confess that I'm allergic to seafood. I swell up like a blow fish eating a puff adder. So I have to be very careful in a seafood town. (That's my excuse for many, many Bloody Mary's - celery and tomato juice is safe.) So I check the menu and see an interesting type of item - a Pot Roast Buritto. Hmnnn. I order it and wow is it good! Different, but good. And I might that the prices are relaxingly normal considering where we were. The beach tends to be expensive.

We were invited to hang out and listen to the music as long as we liked, and after a 2 hour, 20 minute wait for dinner... we did just that.

We tried to go back the next night but the list was already at maximum capacity and the band wasn't the same great one as the night before. I have to say, if you're actually hungry when you go, the wait is daunting. I might add here that we went on Tuesday and Wednesday, typically the slowest nights in the restaurant biz.

So I suggest you definitely go check out Lulu's, enjoy the music, the good food and reasonable prices, and wait to see if a surprise guest shows up.............. but go early in the evening, before the usual dinner time.

They used to have some webcams on their site, but there's been some changes, so I can't guarantee they're still working.

JULEP SEASON

JULEP SEASON

But, surely, the tree in Eden was a giant mint plant,

promising knowledge profane and sacred,

opening the doorways of Eternity!

Summer’s air presses heavy on the house,

ice clicks in the teeth,

the mixture’s smell invites you in

to where mint lies on the tongue.

And in the distance,

bourbon-taste and sugar against the palette

sweet as remembered Sunday mornings.

JP

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

Jack Peachum is a sometime poet/ actor/model (Look for him on Avanati Cards: The Pinch!) who lives in The Venable’s House, a haunted old manse in Clarksville, southside Virginia, with many ghosts, wife Julia & a lovely bulldog named Eleanor. (What's Clarksville near? Nothing.) He has published poetry & prose in many print journals, as well as online. He currently has work appearing in Clark Street Review, on-line at About.com poetry (Spring poems) & soon in Cherry Blossom Review.

Daddy and The Ghost Car

Daddy and The Ghost Car
By
Jane- Ann Heitmueller

"You can't judge a book by its cover". My, my what a true statement, especially with respect to my daddy, Fred R. Merrill, Sr. Although Daddy was born, reared, and spent most of his 86 years in New England, he was referred to , by my Uncle Thurman, who conducted his funeral service, as "A True Southern Gentleman". I choose to remember him as both a gentleman and a gentle man! While growing up, Daddy was just Daddy to me and like any child I never questioned or wondered about the man himself. Now that he is gone, having died in 1990, I truly wish that I had taken time to sit down and just listened to my dad and his life stories, for I have since discovered that they were many and varied! Fortunately, my dad was a packrat, (in the Merrill genes), and his various adventures are recorded in faded photos and yellowing, tattered newspaper clippings. Perhaps it was his wish in saving these items that he could talk to us when he was no longer present. Nonetheless, I feel blessed to learn these stories now and shall happily pass them along to upcoming generations of our family.

In 1932 when he was 28 years old and living in New York City, Dad was employed by Socony Oil Company . In March of that year he was chosen to drive the Socony Ford Snowmobile on an exhibition tour for winterproof testing. The Snowmobile was unique because of the fact that it was driven the farthest north in Ontario, Canada of any previous automobile. Beginning in New York Dad drove 1,250 miles to test oil and gas performance under the severe sub-polar conditions of the Hudson Bay Territory. The "Polar Auto", as it became known, traveled the last hundred miles over uncompleted railroad tracks. Still three miles from its final destination of Moose Factory, a town seven hundred miles north of Toronto and sixteen degrees south of the Arctic Circle, it was necessary to build roads to the river. After descending a fifty foot embankment and being ferried on an antiquated boat the car finally reached the island where Moose Factory was located. The population of Moose Factory that year was four hundred and only eight of the residents were Caucasian. Dad and his unique "contraption" were on display Saturday, March 5, 1932 at Chevrolet Sales and Service Station for the entire population to scrutinize.

The following May Daddy hit the road once again as a special engineer for Socony. He drove the first V-8 Ford to be sold to a customer 5,000 miles, over a six week period, to test the gasoline and oil performance of the new car; which was the Socony policy of keeping abreast of the fuel factors involved in all new automobile developments. The car, known as Socony Test Car No. 11 was equipped with an elaborate instrument board and specially designed instruments: an accurate speedometer-odometer, Zenith gasoline mileage tester for measuring gas consumption, a viscosity indicator for determining the grade of oil best suited for minimum consumption, temperature indicator and thermostat. The instruments would supply Socony, at the conclusion of the trip, with all of the necessary data, enabling them to recommend to owners of the Ford the fuel and lubricants best suited for this new model. Socony's marketing of the V-8 Ford was particularly unique at that time, for it was the first car ever painted with a luminous paint and thus became known as "The Ghost Car" as it streaked through the dark night.

3 Questions...and Answers: Interview…with Dew on the Kudzu editor, "Idgie"

3 Questions...and Answers: Interview…with Dew on the Kudzu editor, "Idgie"

Check this out.... I'm famous! :)

Amy was kind enough to take the time to interview me regarding the Dew and how it got it's start.

Amy's site is a blog/zine about writers, featuring interviews, news and more.

Thank you Amy, for sharing the Dew with others!

Photos of the Week - Christopher Woods

Christopher has published a prose collection, UNDER A RIVERBED SKY, and a collection of stage monologues for actors, HEART SPEAK.

Other photographs of Christophers have appeared or are forthcoming in CLAPBOARD HOUSE, SEIN UND WERDEN, PERIGEE, VERDAD,THE SYLVAN ECHO, SUNKEN LINES, NUMINOUS SPIRITUAL POETRY, CELL 2 SOUL, NEWPORT REVIEW, BIRMINGHAM ARTS JOURNAL, RAVING DOVE, KEN*AGAIN, CEZANNE'S CARROT and OREGON LITERARY REVIEW.

He is in the process of setting up at gallery site, but in the meantime if you would like to contact Christopher and learn more about his work, please email him at:
dreamwood77019@hotmail.com

Kelly-Goss: Barefooting

Kelly-Goss: Barefooting

By Robert Kelly-Goss
Albemarle Life Editor
Wednesday, May 28, 2008

(Robert has a weekly column in the Daily Advance.com. Follow the above link to read more of his stories)

Barefoot.

It's warm out. There's a breeze blowing. You're wearing shorts. You should be barefoot.

No? Some people find the lack of shoes distasteful and perhaps socially unacceptable. Not me.

Barefoot. Sans shoes. You know, you feel the warmth of the ground beneath your feet; you absorb the cool, green carpet of a lawn or relax as you sift warm sand between your toes.

Barefoot is a state of mind for me. It's the time of year when I can breathe free.

When I was growing up my heroes were two of the great barefooters of all time, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. I can't count how many times I saw films based upon Mark Twain's books, or the fights in the school library over who got to check out the next available copies.

Tom and Huck were barefoot and so was I. I could lose my shoes in a heartbeat, the only restrictions were those pesky "no shoes, no shirt, no service signs." Of course I discovered flip-flops, but it's not the same.

Being a native of Arkansas, going without shoes presents its own problems; Arkansans being known as barefoot hillbillies and all that. I recall a woman who worked for my grandfather chastising me each summer for slipping off my shoes, or not wearing socks.

"You're no redneck," she'd say in her Arkansas drawl, wagging a finger in my face.

I'd smile, wiggle my toes and head out to the steaming hot pavement. I took pride in walking the blazing hot asphalt surfaces, the soles of my feet sizzling, but never letting on that I minded.

I suppose I had always understood that going barefoot was symbolic of the sort of freedom that seems to come with summer and childhood and the likes of Tom Sawyer. I suppose it was a freedom from "proper society." That was the kind of thing my mother presented me with.

I couldn't stand the conventions of my mother's world and barefoot was, well, a bit too much for my proper mother.

When I met my wife, spring was blossoming and she was barefoot. It was one of those little things about her that stood out.

I can like a woman who goes barefoot, I thought to myself.

Barefooting appears to be a genetic trait as well. My kids can barely keep up with their shoes and frankly that's OK. They can handle the ground beneath their feet.

I took them on a two mile walk with our dog the other day. We were all barefoot, which is a good thing because I really don't like carrying all those shoes when their feet get too hot.

Now that it's warm we do well to keep a pair of sandles in the car for each of them, just in case. Other than that, their feet are brown and at the end of the day they are stained and dirty and wonderfully well used appendages.

Barefooting on a warm, Southern day should be obligatory. Heck, wearing socks when shoes are required should be banned.

There's just something about letting the dogs out after a long winter that is satisfying. Yep, I'm even writing this column barefoot.

Cow Tippin' - A Southern Thang

Now, another little Southern past-time. Actually I believe it’s more of a mid-western thing, but if there’s cows and drunk people, there’s cow tipping. I grew up in the Deep South and we certainly had idjit boys trying this so perhaps we should change this from a regional habit to a "wherever there's a cow" habit.

I’ve been reading up on it here and there - I always have to research these in-depth discussion topics I come up with - and people seem to think (Obviously not people that wear cowboy boots and John Deere caps at the same time) that cow tipping is a myth. A snipe. That it’s a bunch of yahoos making it up.

I am here to debunk that load of hogwash. Cow tipping is very real - it’s just often not done that well, or successfully.

** Note to PETA - as an animal lover I personally in no way condone cow tipping so don’t try to ride up all over me!**

If you don’t know, cow tipping involves four main ingredients: beer, cows, boredom and having your brain turned off. I went to high school in a tiny little town in the Deep South - we had a fine combination of all four. I could name names, but even in school all the guys owned guns so....

The premise here is that you sneak into a cow field, dodge cow patties (unless you’re drunk, then you don’t care about cow patties) and attempt to sneak up on a cow and....

now this does take more than one person, but no one goes cow tipping alone, that’s boring - plus there'd be no one around to call your Mama and tell the story about your last moments on earth.....

you try to PUSH THE COW OVER.

N0w, people are arguing that there is no such thing since cows don’t sleep standing up, they’re hard to push over, etc. etc.

I didn’t say that it was always successful, I say it exists.

I don’t know if cows actually sleep standing up, but they do stand there a lot with their eyelids almost closed and their little cud chewing motions going on. They are hard to push over, but I’ve seen a few attempts.

I will note here that in a failure situation, them there dern cows tend to get a mite riled up. If you're a bit too tipsy to make the fence in a speedy fashion...well....let's just say that other friend is gonna have to sober up enough to make that call to Mama.

If you have any fascinating cow tipping stories, please forward to the Editor. I'd love to hear them.

A Final Goodbye

Greetings from the World of a Geriatric Caregiver
No. 4 in a series
June 12, 2008

A Final Goodbye

What a precious gift I have been afforded on this brilliant, warm southern summer morn... quiet and reflective moments of solitude in which to pay a final tribute to one of God's unique creations...my mother. Peaceful and grateful, rather than sad, describes my feelings as I attempt to mentally make the physical plans for her eventual graveside farewell.

Mom entered our household four months ago, due to her decreasing fraility of both mind and body. She could no longer live alone safely and had, for months, rejected vehemently any mention of moving to a facility. At the point she came to live out her last days here she was incapable of making that decision, thus it was made on her behalf and in her best interest. And so we began the process of not having Mom come to live with us, but rather...to die with us.

Just as any new parent learns, the arrival of another life in your mundane, routine existence can be quite an adjustment for everyone in the household. Fortunately, in our case, these changes..often mimicking a rollercoaster, psyche ward or kindergarten, both daily and nightly, have made our own family more cohesive...rather than broken... a fact for which I am eternally grateful. Numerous times during these days I have mentally viewed my own future on this planet and been amazed at how rapidly a lifetime flees.

I have come to the realization that Mom's presence in our home has been a special blessing in my life. While caring for her every need I have been granted the opportunity to recall the numerous deeds of parental care she lovingly bestowed upon me as a child, and thus, feel fortunate to guide and assist her through this final and difficult time in her own life. Perhaps, in this manner , I am presently fulfilling my grief process and preparing to accept the times of quietness, calmness, loneliness and loss I shall experience when her physical self has moved along on her own individual, unique and predestined journey to the home of her heavenly Father.

As Mother rests peacefully this morning I am planning her last tribute...just words, music, thoughts that those gathering will hear for those very few short moments at her gravesite, as they deal with their own private thoughts of life and death. Only my heart and soul knows the entirety of the feelings , deeds and actions we have experienced together along this path way. Yes, these days have afforded me an opportunity to say good bye to Mom throughout our precious hours together. The final ceremony has already been completed in both my mind and heart.

Jane-Ann Heitmueller
---------------------------------

God's Gift

She spoke so easily of death,
as though a friend approaching.
No fear or sadness in her tone.
No sense of doom enroaching.
An outstretched hand
offered in love,
such blissful radiation.
A wonderment of peace, joy, rest.
God's gift...
mans' transformation!
***
Jane-Ann Heitmueller

The Old Mill Restaurant, Pigeon Forge, TN

Ya'll want some good eatin?

The Old Mill Restaurant and Store
164 Old Mill Avenue, Pigeon Forge, TN 37863
(865) 429- 3463 (Old Mill Square)

Well don't eat for 3 days first so you'll have room for all you get served! Each meal includes: Southern Style Specialties - All entrees includes a cup of their own delicious corn chowder, homemade fritters, mashed potatoes and green beans. (During "on season" their fritters are sold by the bag for $2.00 and literally run out the door.)

We have gone to Pigeon Forge 3 times in the last year and a half and we ALWAYS make a stop at the Old Mill for lunch. We have never tried dinner as your "lunch size" portions are so big and the since the dinners come family style on huge platters and bowls and I'm sure I'll have to send someone out for bigger pants before I'll be able to leave the table!

You walk into a little town when you arrive at the restaurant. It's entire property encompasses two restaurants, a bakery, several craft shops and and and old general store.

You head up a two story ramp overlooking an awesome waterwheel complete with ducks and waterfall. Once you're in the restaurant, it's an overwhelming (but in a good way) vision of hand hewn gigantic wood tables, banisters, benches and general woodworking.

Then the meal comes. Their homemade corn chowder is divine. I once just ordered a giant bowl of it, ate it with the fritters and was stuffed. Main meals include fried catfish, chicken and dumplins, homemade chicken pot pie, fried chicken, pot roast, and many more Southern meals. I have my next three lunches already planned out.

To wear off some of the food so that you can fit into your car again, you can wander around all of the shops and also go to the general store and purchase many of the ingredients and recipes that are used in the restaurant.

Lunch runs about $10 a person, so if you're on a budget and have a few more things planned that day (Pigeon Forge activities are pricey) you may want to save it for another day.

And for heavens sake, don't go there and to the Dixie Stampede on the same day, as that show feeds you enough food for a small army also. You'll never recover.

**Note - the restaurant is ALWAYS crowded so don't wait to show up when your starving - it's an average 45 minute wait.**

The Old Mill Restaurant, Acworth, GA

Before Reconstruction

After Reconstruction

_____________________________

I have discovered that there appears to be an "Old Mill" restaurant in every town - if I go to enough towns I can make a brand new spot on the Dew.... "Old Mill Reviews". :)

Old Mill Restaurant
4271 Southside Drive
Historic Downtown Acworth, GA
678-388-1630

I watched this old mill sit stagnant for years. Every time I visited this small, empty town I saw the mill and wandered what happened to it and why it was not torn down. One whole side was burnt.

Then a wonderful thing started happening to that town. One day I drove thru it on the way to somewhere else and noticed there were shops opening and small restaurants popping up in the refreshed main street. It was starting to look like it used to. Then I noticed there was something going on at the mill! It was also going to be restaurant.

Now I have stood on that street when the trains go by and the entire street rattles and rumbles. No way could a restaurant hold up against that when the tracks are literally a foot away. I pretty much assumed they could only serve drinks in sippy cups!

Last week I was in the area again and visited with friends. Dinner time came around and they asked what I wanted. I said I wanted to see how the mill turned out. So off we went.

First off, they did a beautiful job restoring it. It's a wonderful building to look at, inside and out. They left it "mill like" and rough, which truly gives it charm.

They have valet only parking, which I do not like and I highly suggest you park on Main Street and walk over the tracks. The parking lot is tiny and watching those "kids" race cars backwards between other cars nearly gave me a heart attack!

We were seated with little to no wait and there's not a bad seat in the restaurant. Now there is the main room, which was much more attractive than the outer room where we were - but we also got the piano so that was nice.

They have your typical Southern style foods, kicked up a notch to reflect a higher quality restaurant. The basics were ribs, Mountain Trout, Catfish, Chicken fried Steak, etc. with the occasional pasta, steak and lobster dish thrown in. I could not have any Fried Green Tomatoes because of the Salmonella outbreak going on right now, the chef refused to serve them, even though at that time Georgia was clear. Shrimp and Cheese Grits were available though - yum!

One thing that particularly pleased me was that the kid's meals were kid-priced. $4.95 for the meal, drink and ice cream. It was a small menu for them, three or four items, but fried Shrimp was on it which was a big hit.

The service was good, we didn't feel rushed and the food was described clearly when we had questions.

I will also add that most surprisingly, a 100 car train went by while I was eating and though we heard it and felt a mild vibration, those thick mill walls kept the noise nicely muffled and not a thing on the table shook. Amazing!

Overall, I say it was a nice place and I'm happy to see that town coming alive again. Next time I'm in the area I'm going to try some of the other new restaurants I saw.

The mill has a video on their site showing the construction. If you're in the area, it's worth the visit.

Day is Done

Just as the waves of the sea gather from all corners of the earth
and eventually merge into an ebb and flow of calmness,
peacefulness and tranquility, even so do the creatures of
Noah join in unison with their glorious orchestral serenade at day's end.

The calming, melodic refrains of bullfrogs; a regiment of soldiers
confidently guarding their post, intermingle with the soothing blends
of Katydids and Cicadas creating a serenity of peaceful rest.

Brilliant flashes of lightning bugs shed unexpected surprises against
a dusky evening cloak, which gently descends as a loving father,
tenderly encircling his tiny, nodding child with protection against the
darkness of approaching nightfall.

The shrill chatter of Wrens. The woeful melodious tones of the Mourning
Dove. The numerous symphonic offerings of the Mocking Bird. All
sharing adventures of their day, before settling in for evening's rest.

Flickering, minute stars exposed only by the full drape of blackness.
Illumination of a distant, vigilant orb, suspended in a velvet pool of infinity;
keeping watch until the horizon is once again glorified on a new stage
whose curtain rises slowly and veiled, then clearly and brilliantly,
revealing in all its majesty… the birth of a new day!
***
JA Heitmueller

Frog Giggers

Written by: Rosanne Griffeth


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

"Shut up."

"No, you shut up," I said.

I always had to carry the light and the bag. I would have liked to say I didn't know why, but my brother was so much taller and better with the gig. So I dragged the bag along and pointed the light at the pond's edges while he stood over me like the Shaka Zulu of frog giggers.

We visited Aunt Johnnie's farm in Tennessee every August, arriving just in time to help with the harvest which was no coincidence.

Mom and Dad dropped us off at the Greyhound Bus station in Atlanta. We waved like idiots from the back of the bus as it pulled away, while our parents grinned in anticipation of the only three weeks of sanity they had each year. Aunt Johnnie let us sleep in the first morning of our vacation, but there was ritual for the second.

Mountain mornings were cool, even in the dog days, compared to the sticky heat of home. Aunt Johnnie knocked on the door at four a.m., waking us. Tad slept on the top bunk, his legs overhanging the end and I pulled on them to get him out of bed.

"Ahhhh--er--go away."

"Get up, Tad. Time to get up."

I pulled one of his big feet over so it dangled off the side of the bed.

"Come on. Time to go murder frogs."

He sat up on the side of the bunk and yawned before jumping down. We dressed in the cold room before slinking out of the farmhouse, him with the gig and me with the sack and flashlight.

We stumbled in the darkness down the gravel road to the frog pond. The morning sounds in Tennessee were loud and strange to our city ears. Cicadas trilled notes on top of the rhythm of the crickets, and the barn owls hooted now and again. Foxes yipped in play somewhere in the distance and as we grew closer to the pond, the deep bass-toned frogsong called and answered.

"Sounds like there's some big ones," I said.

"Shut up. You'll scare them away."

We stood on the side of the pond, our approach causing big plops in the water from the shy frogs. We had to stand there, still and quiet until they forgot us.

I clicked the light on and pointed the beam at the verges, passing the light carefully until I caught the shine of tiny eyes. We judged the size of the frogs by how far apart those beady little points of light were.

Tad held the long pole overhead and aimed it, holding it aloft for a moment before striking. The three-point barb drove true to the spot just behind those glinting sparks and Tad blew air out and grunted as the pole sank into the mud. He pulled the pole back, lofting it overhead, then angling it back. I reached to pull the muddy, wriggling prize from the gig.

"That's a good one!" I held the bullfrog by the backbone and waved it around. Tad hoisted the gig pole on his shoulder and punched me in the arm.

"Shut up."

I put the mottled, muddy green prize in the bag where it struggled.

"You shut up," I said, rubbing the sore spot on my shoulder, smearing mud on my shirt.

We repeated this after waiting five or ten minutes between each gig. Each time we got one--frogs would sail back into the pond. As the rooster crowed, the sky began to give way to pink and purple streaks so we hefted our take of ten big bullfrogs and hiked back to the cabin.

We sat on the bench by the kitchen door and skinned the legs, putting them in a big bowl of water Aunt Johnnie left there. She poked her head out and took the bowl when we were done, taking them into the big kitchen to fry up in bacon fat for breakfast. We always had eggs, frog legs, big rashers of bacon and salt rising bread on that second day.

Tad and I cleaned off and got dressed, racing each other down the loft stairs to hang over Aunt Johnnie's shoulder as put the breaded appendages in the fry pan.

They continued to dance in the oil like they had in life.

"That's what your legs is gonna do when you die, Tad."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Shut up."

"No, you shut up."

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

**Please go visit Rosanne's site - she has some wonderful upcoming publishing news and I know you'll want to read more of her work! http://smokeymountainbreakdown.blogspot.com**

Smokelong Quarterly's Fifth Anniversary Issue features her Memento Mori
with an interview.

http://smokelong.com/flash/8194.asp

Keyhole Magazine's third issue is out and features four of her stories.

http://www.keyholepublications.com/