a mildly green thumb

i've done it!  i've harvested TWO banana peppers!  i prepared them with diced tomatoes, coarse ground mustard, a little red wine vinegar and some sweet Vidalia onion as a relish for a very delicious chicken, spinach and feta sausage dog that was accompanied by a warm potato salad.  We enjoyed this meal a few days ago for lunch.  i love it when i get to cook any meal, especially lunch, for Jeff.  He likes it when i have food on the table, or stove as it were, when he has been cutting the grass.  He claims it makes him feel like a farmer.  Cute.  

He has a way to go before he's a farmer.  But the yard certainly does look good.

In addition to the banana peppers there are a few jalapenos waiting to be plucked.  They are beautiful!  Next year i'm going to try out the tomatoes and maybe even some squash.  Watch out Harmony Crossing Farmer's Market.  A fool i may be, but Cristen was right.  i CAN grow a pepper!

Farewell Professional Gardening Career

i suppose i'll need to purchase and read several gardening magazines, because my hand certainly lacks a green thumb.  i don't understand it.  i like to entertain, i love antiques and yard sale discoveries, i'm a pretty good cook, and i am mildly creative.  Doesn't being a great gardener just fall right in to place with those qualities?  

Apparently not.

For my first ever home-grown crop i planted banana peppers, jalapeno peppers and yellow bell peppers.  I had heard, Lord knows where, that pepper plants prove to be stronger than others and successful in nearly every environment.  Well that can't be right, but you get the idea-- "A fool can grow a pepper."

This fool has produced three pretty, but fairly weak looking pepper plants.  i keep talking to them, watering them...and yes cheating with the Miracle Grow...  The plants keep growing, seemingly smiling, though meekly, back at me.  And last week a banana pepper appeared!  A glorious, baby banana!

i cannot begin to describe my excitement.  Everyone i came across knew about my pepper.  i began dreaming about how we would use the fruit when it was ready to harvest. If the plant produced nothing else, i would be satisfied with my one perfect pepper.

The next day i bought the 2010 Oxford American, Southern Food Edition, and found this statement in an article written by Warwick Sabin: 

"It used to be that keeping a few free-range chickens, tending some grain-fed hogs, and raising a small vegetable garden was how people simply survived.  Now these are often vanity projects for young hipsters and retired hedge-fund executives who have discovered the forgotten pleasures of 'heirloom' tomatoes and artisanal sausage.  Incredibly, we've reached a point in our society where things that humans have done for thousands of years-- grow a vegetable, smoke or cure a piece of meat--now provide the grounds for smug satisfaction."

A valid, heart wrenching point.  "However," i thought, "this is just the first step.  Soon i will be growing vegetables with the best of them.  If not for survival, at less shocking checkout at Publix."  My smugness was still allowable.

i skipped out the next morning to sing to the little pepper, "Oh what a beautiful morning. Oh what a beautiful day. i've got a beau....."  It was lying in the soil.  By the looks of the crime, a sneaky snail ripped the fruit off the plant, had a tiny snack bite, then left it there to rot in shame.  

Failure.  

This fool can't grow a pepper.

But i'll keep watering and keep singing and keep hoping that something else will grow.

And i'm happy to take suggestions....  

Wycleff Jean said this morning on NPR's Morning Edition that Miles Davis is a staple on his ipod.  He says Davis provides a boost to his own creativity.  i have just added a Miles Davis station to my personal Pandora package, hoping to boost my own creativity.  Well, that and i wanted to listen to good tunes.

  On another note.  Yesterday a gentleman, a member at my club, asked to make a reservation for Mothers' Day Brunch.  His name was Cheney.  i asked, flirting, as i do with the older men, "Oh, is there any relation to the vice president, i mean the former vice president?"  

"Only in our politics," he replied.  "And you were right in saying Vice President."

i simply smiled, and took the reservation. 

Polite.  Painful.  Perfect.    

Easy like Sunday Morning

Sundays in the Springtime have long been some of my favorite days.  In my childhood and teenage years, they sometimes began lounging around St. Simons Island with the Johnsons and ended with coffee or dinner at Grandma's with the Herndons.  

In college (specifically Young Harris) there would be sporadic church, Southern Sunday Style lunch either at some Blairsville Baptist buffet establishment or at the dining hall with the Methodists, then what we termed "Sunday Adventure Day" would ensue.  We would pick out a destination in my North Georgia trails and waterfalls guidebook and spend the day exploring creeks, hidden towns and ice chest graveyards.  During our final semester at YHC, my Sunday evenings were spent to the wee hours with Sallie, my best friend and fellow procrastinator, developing our photography assignments that were due the next afternoon.    

Athens Sundays were always a treat with all the endless options for brunch and mimosas on a patio.  An entire afternoon spent with friends outside The Globe is surely not a wasted one.

What is special about a Sunday is not just the lounging, not just the piddling, but the company that is kept.  My favorite Sundays have always been spent piddling, lounging and laughing with people i love.  All this is to preface what a wonderful Sunday was had yesterday.

Late yesterday morning began with pecan banana pancakes (mine topped with yogurt, Jeff's with chocolate chips and syrup), turkey bacon, coffee and mimosas in the backyard.  The dogs frolicked, the ducks swam and we relaxed at a perfectly set patio table.  After brunch i cleaned the kitchen and Jeff began clean-up on the poor, neglected boat... which i will continue this afternoon.  

Next we hopped in the Jeep and eased over to Rock Hawk to do a little leisurely hiking.  We climbed the lustrous new observatory tower to view said hawk (who hasn't been as well preserved as his eagle cousin), explored an old cemetery where a soul hasn't been buried since the 1800s, met a 3-legged dog and her foster sister, and Jeff expressed, again, his disdain for random children. (i, however, admired these easy going kids clad only in their Spider Man briefs and cowboy boots.  What a way of living!)      

On our walk back to the car we received a surprise telephone call from our favorite uncle named Tony and our favorite aunt named Michelle who were on their way back home from beautiful Wilkes Co. Georgia and were hoping to stop by and visit their favorite niece and nephew. 

"Is it okay that i invited them?" asked my respectful husband.  

"Of course," i replied, thinking that is was a friend on the phone, NOT an aunt and uncle.  "We just need to speed up a little so that i can straighten up a little.... Nick and Katie, probably won't mind a little mess."

"That wasn't Nick, that was Tony.  They're 49 minutes away."

Horror ensued, we still had about 25 minutes left to walk and another 10 to get home.  "Shit! We have to get to the car right now!"

Friends, this is one of those times that the perfect southern woman may "curse in moderation."  As you have all been told, Masters week just recently left us.  As you have not been told, i was not able to handle the 90 work hours, the loving of the husband and dogs, the fitness routine AND the household maintenance.  Some things on the list were neglected.  The cleaning being number 1.  Now, i'm not saying we were living in filth.  i'm just saying some clothes were piled on seating surfaces, some shelves were not dusted, some papers had not been thrown away, and some things in general were just not straightened!  

Jeff insisted that we need not rush, Tony and Michelle loved us and would understand and not judge our mishaps.  

i insisted that he pick up the pace, that i was striving to be the Perfect Southern Woman, and that i would die before i let anyone see dirty panties on my floor or magazines strewn across the living room.

So he did just that, all the while laughing at my foolishness.  We cut the walk time down about 10 minutes, rushed home and straightened our humble abode.  And yes, i'm guilty of throwing some things in places they do not belong, but i would like to know who isn't.  

They arrived just as i was dusting my last shelf,  and we enjoyed a leisurely afternoon in the backyard with apples and pepper jack cheese and a fabulous Tex-Mex supper in Greensboro.  Plus, Michelle let me drive her shiny new red Volvo convertible to the restaurant!   

i can't imagine how yesterday could have been any more perfect.  There was brunch, there was adventure, there was cleaning, there was family and there was leisure.  Bravo to Springtime Sundays in the South!   

This week i, the perfect southern woman in training, am mourning the death of one of my favorite southern women: Dixie Carter.  Perhaps it is more Julia Sugarbaker who is my favorite southern woman than it is Dixie Carter.  But being a young American female trained by television to recognize fictional characters and not actual living personalities, i consider that the two are one, despite research informing me otherwise about their politics.   

Below is just one glorious example of Ms. Sugarbaker; the very model of a passionate, strong, poised, God-fearing, lycra-wearing Southerner; mater-of-factly giving an ignoramus a boot in the fanny.  This woman merits all praise.

Masters Week on Lake Oconee is upcoming on my to-do list.  This girl does not know what to do with 7 straight 12 hour work days....  Being a salaried employee may not be all it is cracked up to be.  Of course i must admit, i'm not quite sure what all it HAS been cracked up to be.  

Honestly, i'm betting the intensity of the workload won't be all that bad.  In fact, Mrs. Eugenia Vanderver is welcoming all the lake business to visit Cuscowilla Golf Resort, more specifically- The Golf House Grill. (ahem.) The 80 hour work week, plus week 1 of phase 2 of our workout, plus i'm already having trouble remembering to water my plants and all that entails.  Oh... and finishing our taxes.  Those are the things that are troubling me.

The problem isn't getting it all done, really.  The problem is getting it done with all the graces of the perfect southern woman.  i must present a friendly demeanor 100% of the time.  Not only at work or in social settings - i can handle that.  But also at home with my poor, loving husband and our mangy, loving dogs.  My goal this coming week is to happily breathe, smile, pat employees on the back, clean the kitchen, water my pepper plants, work hard and love my husband.  i should probably carry a flask.  Not to worry, it's monogrammed!  

Last week i felt discouraged.  Where oh where is all my fluff that comes with being a Lady of the South? (and i'm not talking about around the waistline...)  i mean, i guess i have been under the impression that all the grace and charm and knowhow just came naturally with age.  Sort of like how women say motherhood just happens.  i hope that's true (though it probably isn't) because, if that day ever comes i'm going to need extra help.  i, too, know nothin bout birthin or rearin no babies.  

i can't garden.  Baking certainly isn't a strong suit.  The only thing i have ever sewn is a John Deere pillow for some ex-boyfriend, and i don't think it was ever finished.  i haven't been to church, except the few times i have been with my parents, in approximately two years.  And i can barely play the piano.

Now, don't get me wrong.  i certainly DO NOT believe that being the perfect southern woman means filling my days with sock darning, bottle warming, and having supper on the table by 5:00.  Despite my husband's insisting that the woman i long be have a weekly "ironing day," this is not the quest to become the perfect housewife. 

The Perfect Southern Woman is strong and hard working.  She is involved in her community and passionate about her causes.  She is the best looking and the best cooking woman most men have ever met.  She curses in moderation, laughs at dirty jokes, finishes thank-you notes in a timely fashion, prays daily and, damn it, she keeps plants living and her yard kept so that she can enjoy cocktails on her porch.  She is all this, and much more.  And i vow to become her.  La. Tee. Da.