This is a once-in-a-lifetime weekend.
I’m one of those Flag People.
I don’t know when I crossed over the line of talking about “those people” to actually becoming one.
I fly seasonal flags. There I said it.
South
24
Jun 10
Pole Beans. Not your average canned vegetable.
The morning's haul.
My children have been gone all week. It’s been odd. (Will leave that onion to peel in another post.)
With all this free time on my hands, after prying myself out of bed in the morning, I get in the garden and poke around.
Here are the goodies I found yesterday.
I took all those green beans — pole beans, snap beans, whatever you call them — stringed ‘em, snapped ‘em and put them in the crock pot with a bit of water, salt, bacon and the extra special ingredient, a good sprinkling of sugar.
Cooked them till they were good and mushy as all southern veggies are supposed to be.
This was done at the suggestion of Michelle as she healed my torn-up backside the day before. During a most wonderful massage at the hands of Michelle, we talked of our gardens. She mentioned fixing up a bunch of beans in the crock pot (she didn’t add sugar, that was my addition). Her husband and mother LOVED them, but when she tried them…Eeww! Michelle didn’t like them — at all.
“They didn’t taste like canned green beans, did they?”
“No ma’am, they sure didn’t.”
I got it. There is something so very comforting about canned greens beans. Opening a can of green beans, sniffing that wonderful scent, transports me to school lunches on plastic green trays (with four compartments) at Audubon Elementary.
Makes me happy.
But so does the taste of pole beans stewing in their own juice, salt and bit of bacon all afternoon.
Yum. When those beans have come out of your very own garden ~ that’s just plain good eating.
And rather surprising for me. In fact, the whole gardening, cooking thing is quite miraculous where I’m concerned. Not that I’m complaining being the recipient of a minor miracle, especially one that tastes so good.
23
Jun 10
Jekyll Island. Sometimes you just know you are right.
I spent last weekend on Jekyll Island. Now I have been to St. Simons lots, but only driven around Jekyll one time about six years ago. Jekyll Island has a storied history. We were staying at the Jekyll Island Club Hotel.
The Jekyll Island Club Hotel has its roots in the 1880’s, when the world’s richest and made it their winter home, forming the Jekyll Island Club.
J. P. Morgan, William Rockefeller, Joseph Pulitzer and Marshall Field. The membership possessed one-sixth of the wealth of the entire world. They built the club, and then a colony of little “cottages,” many of them in the 7 to 8,000 square foot range.
We were there for the Georgia Press Association Annual Meeting, more specifically the dinner and awards ~ for I love placards, amulets and the like.
That’s my barometer for choosing half marathons. Do they hand out finisher’s medals?
I was there to pick up a nice finisher’s medal and we decided to stay a few nights.
One bit of conversation my husband and I had all weekend was proposed development for the island. Right now 65 percent of the island is a nature preserve, development only allowed on 35 percent.
Lots of controversy over the development, but for now due to economics - looks like plans have stalled. Even if a point is moot — why miss out on a lively discussion (all weekend) with your mate? Hubby, like good entrepreneur, thinks land should be allowed to find the highest value for the owner.
I agree completely ~ with lots of exceptions.
Jekyll Island quickly became one of the exceptions after tooling around on bicycle with friend and seeing the stunning landscape.
The next day, Hubby and I tooled around for hours on bikes. Felt rather like a honeymoon in sense that there were lots of pictures of me standing in front of things and shots of him edging up to some ruin. No children and never anyone around to take a picture of us together ~ except lots of water fowl, deer and bunnies.
I could not get over the trees. The old, old live oaks, their limbs straining from the weight of Spanish moss.
Unbelievable.
Half way through riding the trails of seaside wilderness, my husband just said, “You are right.”
Sometimes a land’s highest value is not a strip mall with grocery and t-shirt shop. Or luxury high-rises.
“You’re right.” Unbelievable.
Not really. He’s a pretty smart fellow.
