Every June, it begins, and every August it passes away again. My summertime yearning for home. Back home in THE SOUTH, This is the busiest time of year.
Every blackberry and raspberry bush has been stripped to bare by birds, hungry kids who don't want to bother going home for a snack, and ladies who will make the best jams and jellies in the world. My mom would be chasing me out of the kitchen and telling me "that batch is yours, since you can't keep your fingers out of it!" and I would smile and say "Good, maybe I'll put my fingers in the rhubarb and strawberry jam too!" Then Mama gives me the look that tells me I had better not. But she always makes extra for me anyway.
I would be whipping out "Shoo-Fly Pie" and Pecan pie as fast as I could get them in and out of the oven, while Mama curses the created heat, and swears she's going to move the oven out on to the back porch. (Of course she never does)
After a busy morning of jam making, baking and canning every last tomato on earth, it seems, I'm finally on my way to the river with my best friend. We pack in with our kids and run-down the checklist of everything we'll need: towels, fishing rods and nets, a pot, butter, garlic, parsley, a HUGE igloo of Iced Tea, homemade sun-tea to be precise, and river shoes (otherwise known was old, ratty tennis shoes)
We search the rocky riverbanks for crayfish, which we call "craw-daddies" or "crawdads" and keep an ear out for the ticking of snake doctors, or dragonflies. Most people don't know this, but when a dragonfly starts ticking over the water, there's a snake in the water, usually a water moccasin, hence the name 'snake doctor'. (now you know)
After a more-or-less successful haul of crayfish, we set up a small fire by the side of the river. Of course, we've forgotten the required marshmallows, so it's necessary that someone go to the tackle store to see if they have some. They always do. We cook crayfish, which only the adults eat, while the kids roast marshmallows until dusk. We put out the fire and pack it all in, weary from the day and full of junk food. Maybe a couple of fish to take home, too.
Once home, we are required to eat dinner, even though no one is really very hungry. We all drink copious amounts of Iced Tea and wait until the fried chicken and biscuits are cold before we really want to eat them. Fried okra is eaten like a handful of popcorn, a little at a time. After dinner, the kids run through the yard like wild things, catching fireflies/lightening bugs and laughing maniacally until it is proclaimed bed-time. The universal "AAAW!" rises up from the crowd, but they go in and get pajamas, brush their teeth and sleep with their little jars of fireflies for night lights.
While the kids are asleep, the grown-ups break out guitars, a banjo maybe, and 'pick a little'. They play songs we all know, usually Johnny Cash's early stuff, or Hymns. The ladies who don't sing or play, will make some form of snack while the musicians get in tune, and everyone will enjoy a tall glass of iced tea and moonshine, from Franklin County or Lafayette, and have what we call 'redneck sangria'. Music and drink fill the night air all around the house.
This will usually go on until 1 or 2am, when the players are tired and sobered up a bit. Everyone is required to take a plate of food home, and a pitcher of sun-tea. The night is still warm, but cool enough to feel nice.
As the dew falls, it smells like clover everywhere, just before you nod-off to sleep, out on the screened back porch, on the hammock you hung up there when you were ten.
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