Sweetea

Chocolate Quicksand

Shades of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory!

Here's a slice of the bizarre. A 21-year old male employee of a Wisconsin company that supplies chocolate ingredients became trapped for two hours in waist deep chocolate after he waded into a tank to perform a maintanence task.

His co-workers tried to free him but gave up and eventually called police and then firefighters.

They couldn't figure out how to get him out either.

Finally, someone had the bright idea to thin out the chocolate quicksand and the man was pulled loose. He was taken to the hospital with minor injuries.

I wonder if he's lost his appetite for chocolate?

Wake Up

So...what did y'all do this summer? Did you get outside and actually enjoy the natural world?

In many parts of the country, the weather was just so hot that it wasn't conducive to anything but sitting in front of the air conditioner with a cold glass of sweet tea. Today, at least in this part of the world, there are subtle signs that summer is coming to an end.

Yes, I know...everything is still green. There's not a single leaf that has begun to turn and the goldenrods along the back fence, my "girls" as I call them, are still sending up their slender aromatic stalks, not a hint of sweet smelling yellow blossoms in sight. But gone is any trace of that new tender green that so captivates the senses after winter departs. At dusk, the thrumming of the cicadas is louder than ever. Perhaps they sense their time is short.

Late this afternoon, like many August days in the South, the clouds piled higher and higher. Thunder boomed in the distance and a rain shower slowly moved in, drenching the Earth and dispersing the sweet green fragrance of newly mown grass into the moist air. Now it's dusk and the sky is still overcast, scattering the low light evenly over the green swath of the backyard, obscuring any contrast. The expanse of the green lawn melts into the green woods' edge. The tall pines sway in the evening breeze, the air cooler now, and a few straggler fireflies blink in the dark understory, their miniature lights conjuring up thoughts of carefree childhood Southern summers long gone. 

Any day now, the goldenrods will pop into bloom, the first few leaves on the sweetgums will change to red. Crows will start to gather in flocks, a "murder" of crows, they're called. Sumac leaves will fade to orange and autumn will slowly overtake us.

Wake up. Be aware of this one moment.

This one moment that bleeds into the next...and the next...and the next.

The moments of our lives.

So...what did y'all do this summer? Did you get outside and actually enjoy the natural world?

In many parts of the country, the weather was just so hot that it wasn't conducive to anything but sitting in front of the air conditioner with a cold glass of sweet tea. Today, at least in this part of the world, there are subtle signs that summer is coming to an end.

Yes, I know...everything is still green. There's not a single leaf that has begun to turn and the goldenrods along the back fence, my "girls" as I call them, are still sending up their slender aromatic stalks, not a hint of sweet smelling yellow blossoms in sight. But gone is any trace of that new tender green that so captivates the senses after winter departs. At dusk, the thrumming of the cicadas is louder than ever. Perhaps they sense their time is short.

Late this afternoon, like many August days in the South, the clouds piled higher and higher. Thunder boomed in the distance and a rain shower slowly moved in, drenching the Earth and dispersing the sweet green fragrance of newly mown grass into the moist air. Now it's dusk and the sky is still overcast, scattering the low light evenly over the green swath of the backyard, obscuring any contrast. The expanse of the green lawn melts into the green woods' edge. The tall pines sway in the evening breeze, the air cooler now, and a few straggler fireflies blink in the dark understory, their miniature lights conjuring up thoughts of carefree childhood Southern summers long gone. 

Any day now, the goldenrods will pop into bloom, the first few leaves on the sweetgums will change to red. Crows will start to gather in flocks, a "murder" of crows, they're called. Sumac leaves will fade to orange and autumn will slowly overtake us.

Wake up. Be aware of this one moment.

This one moment that bleeds into the next...and the next...and the next.

The moments of our lives.

Antlion

Like most Southerners who were fortunate enough to have known endless childhood days spent roaming overgrown fields and riding bikes down to the creek on hot summer afternoons, the thought of antlions makes me smile. Their perfectly formed inverted conical pits, sheltered like a miniature city in the fine dry dirt of daddy's toolshed floor, just begged me to examine them. I learned from my Mama that I could take a broomstraw and twirl it gently in the antlion's pit just so, all the while reciting in childish singsong that rather macabre line known to Southern children everywhere, "Antliion, antlion, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children will burn!"

Many years later, I have the opportunity and the privilege to begin a publishing house, albeit a small one, Antlion Press. We are currently accepting non-fiction story submissions for a new collection about life in the Southern United States. Stories must reflect the best of what the South is all about, a place where good people still know how to extend kindness and courtesy to strangers, a place where the Southern landscape remains alive in the  mind's eye, where little things...things of the heart, still matter.

To get more information and complete submission guidelines, please go to the Antlion Press website.

Watermelon Sleuth

If you've been keeping up with the latest in health news, you may have seen a few articles reporting that watermelon is more nutritious when served at room temperature. Like most Southerners, I have to have my watermelon ice cold, so I was knocked off my feet when I heard about this. After all, that's one of the joys of these sweltering summer days here in Georgia...a juicy, deep red, icy cold slice of my favorite fruit. The thought of anyone eating watermelon at room temperature is almost sacreligious.

I did a little sleuthing by taking a look at the study behind these headlines. Turns out that watermelons continue to produce more lycopene and beta-carotene even after they are picked, as long as they are stored at room temperature. Lycopene, as you may know, is a powerful anti-oxidant that gives watermelon (and tomatoes) that beautiful red color and also plays a role in preventing heart disease as well as some cancers. Beta-carotene is converted by the body into Vitamin A.

The study, completed by U.S. Department of Agrigulture scientists out in Oklahoma, showed that whole watermelons, when stored at 70 degrees, had more lycopene and beta-carotene than melons that had been freshly picked or ones had been stored at cooler temperatures.

When compared to freshly picked melons, whole watermelons which had been stored at 70 degrees  (the temperature of an air-conditioned building) for 14 days, gained up to 40 percent more lycopene and a whopping 50 percent more beta-carotene.

Watermelon is a great summer food. True to its name, this favorite summer fruit is 92% water and two cups (a 1-inch half moon slice) contain only 80 calories. Watermelon is also loaded with potassium and is very low in sodium. Of course, watermelon contains no cholesterol or fat.

So don't despair. You can still eat your watermelon ice cold. Just store whole watermelons up to 2 weeks at room temperature, rather than your refrigerator, before eating. Chill just prior to serving, so you don't lose out on any of those great nutrients watermelon has to offer. Look for watermelons that are free of damage (cuts, bruises, cracks or dents). The yellow, flat place on one side of the melon is perfectly normal, as this was the part of the melon that had contact with the ground as the melon was ripening on the vine. Rinse the melon well before cutting, as your knife could drag dirt and germs into the fruit.

Happy eating!

For more tips and tasty watermelon recipes, including Watermelon Fire and Ice Salsa, go on over to North Carolina's Department of Agriculture

Mama's Day

What is it about the South and mothers? I mean mamas of course. When I was a child, no one called their mothers anything but Mama. Why my own Mama would probably have run to get the thermometer to take my temperature if I had ever dared to call her Mother!

Mother is just too formal a word for most Southerners, at least the ones I know. Now occasionally I did hear the word "Mother" used, but that was usually by some Northerner who was down South for a visit and who didn't know any better. Only rarely do I remember a Southerner of my acquaintance using the word "Mother" and when they did, I would get the unsettling feeling that they weren't exactly on good terms with her.

Can you imagine how Rick Bragg's book would have been received if he had referred to his mama as "Mother"? Or if Bailey White's best-selling book was titled "Mother Makes Up Her Mind".

"Mama" is a term of deep affection, love and respect. We Southerners have had Mamas in our families for generations. And I don't see any good reason to change now.   

A Moveable Feast

Now it may seem a little bit early to be going on about something that's not scheduled to be happening till November, but knowing how time flies, I want to make sure that you get this on your calendars. The Georgia Literary Festival, a celebration that's been called a "moveable feast" to celebrate the Peach State's diverse literary heritage, will be held in Macon, Georgia November  3-4, 2006.

The festival will honor two Macon natives, Sidney Lanier (1842-1881) and John Oliver Killens (1916-1987). Lanier is perhaps best known for his evocative poem, The Marshes of Glynn, and Killens, the founding chairman of the Harlem Writers' Guild, is known as the "spiritual father of the Black Arts movement of the 1960's." Several contemporary writers with ties to Macon will be featured and there will be a variety of activites for children, students and adults, including readings, book signings, writing workshops, story telling and more. For more information, contact Katey Brown, Curator, Sidney Lanier Cottage House Museum, at 478-743-3851 or kbrown@historicmacon.org

 The Georgia Literary Festival is sponsored by the Georgia Center for the Book and the Georgia Humanities Council. 

Personal

The other day I was in the produce department of one of those large chain grocery stores, looking for carrots and some broccoli. Even though it's early, I keep an eye out for watermelons to get to a halfway reasonable price. I was a bit taken aback when I saw a display table filled with small watermelons, about the size of oversized canteloupes. These small melons were being advertised as Personal Watermelons.

Now I don't know about you, but for me half the fun of eating a watermelon is sharing it with friends and family. When I was a child, Mama used to line the kitchen table with layers of newspapers and then daddy would bring out a big Crimson Sweet, chilled through and through, and place it in the center of the table. He would take out a big kitchen knife, and with the appropriate warnings to us children to stand back, would partially slice the melon, then finish splitting it apart with his big rough hands. He would cut all of us a big wedge and we would bite into that cold icy red sweetness, spitting the slick black seeds on the newspaper, and when mama wasn't looking, at each other. Mema, my grandmother, would save the rind to make jars of fragrant watermelon rind pickles, storing up some of that summer lusciousness in rows of clear glass Mason jars on the pantry shelves.

Oh I know the arguments about these small size watermelons being so convenient and all. Easy to store in the icebox and just right for one person to consume without wasting any. But I just can't bring myself to buy one. To me, watermelons aren't personal. They're a family thing.

Redbird

Daddy's birthday is May 4th. Only he isn't here to celebrate it this year. I remember his last birthday really well, as it was the last one that he was able to be at home for...his 84th. I'm also somewhat shocked when I look at the date of my most recent post here on Sweetea...last summer to be exact, the summer daddy left us.

Somehow it's taken me almost a year to process his absence and to say goodbye. Almost a year before I've felt like writing anything on Sweetea again. But as with all things, time has softened the hard edges of grief and has left softer, sweeter memories in those places. I've begun to write again, to laugh, to see the humor in everyday life.

We gave Daddy a grand Southern send off, the funeral parlor filled with hundreds of pictures of family and friends from over the years, flowers galore and then a standing room only service at the tiny Methodist church where he had been a member since he was a boy of thirteen. His old coffee cup and his reading glasses sit on my writing desk these days, totally inadequate reminders of the kind and fearless man he was.

Spring flowers are in full bloom, masses of dogwoods dance at the edge of the woods, the sweetgums and oaks burst with tender new green. And outside my window, a male cardinal, redbirds to us Southerners, taps on the pane with his beak, as if to get my attention. Redbirds were one of daddy's favorites. In his last years, he used to sit in his chair for hours watching them at the feeder. They brought him joy then, they bring me joy now. And so life goes on, with her endless cycles of birth and death and renewal. Spring is here and I pick up my pen again.

Crepe Myrtle

Well, the crepe myrtles are in full, glorious bloom here south of Atlanta. Outside the South, folks usually spell it as "crape" myrtle. But down here in Georgia, the ruffled fancy pink blooms remind us of crepe paper, so that's the way the name is spelled here.

Now I say "pink blooms" as if there were only one color of crepe myrtle and that's because to me, pink is the only "true" color for this magnificent flower. I guess it's because I grew up with this old-fashioned, light pink variety that I'm partial to that kind.

Now I do admit that the deep raspberry color is pretty, but why in the world anyone would want to waste precious yard space with white crepe myrtles is beyond me! And I even saw one website where some enterprising souls have actually patented a dwarf crepe myrtle...but don't get me started on this new fangled notion of dwarfing our traditional Southern landscape shrubs and trees, much less on this idea of patenting plants! Dwarf crepe myrtle, dwarf nandinas...maybe people like them because nowadays, folks don't have the yard space that they once did. However, that doesn't stop them from building huge houses on a lot no bigger than a postage stamp.

Give me an old fashioned, lacy pink crepe myrtle any day...along with a big farmhouse and a huge yard to go with it.

Green Paws

Well, last night it happened again...my night blooming cereus had not one, but three lucious and overwhelmingly fragrant blooms. If you are a regular Sweetea visitor, you know that a few weeks ago the Queen of the Night visited my house with a glorious gift of a huge blossom.

So imagine my surprise when she began to bud a week or so later. At first, there were seven of the buds, then three began to grow faster than the others and the remaining ones shriveled away, never getting bigger than the end of a pencil.

What is so amazing to me is how these three blooms were perfectly syncronized. They all grew at the same rate, flowered at exactly the same hour and wilted together as if on cue. I could still smell their fragrance in the room the next morning, even after the blossoms were spent.

Today, the blooms are still hanging onto the plant, drooped and dangling, but lovely in their own way. Soon they will drop away and my plant will return to its decidedly unglorious green and gangly state. But I know that just underneath those green paws, there is beauty just waiting to play into existence. When beauty will come again, I do not know, but that's the wonderful thing about the Queen of the Night.