International CowPea Festival

South of the Gnat Line is excited to attend this year's International Cowpea Festival!! Can't wait to share the experience!

Upcoming Backroads Events!

If you want to experience the Real South, you'll want to make plans to attend one or all of these small town festivals and events.  Spring is almost here, the weather has been calling us out to play, and the greater Augusta, Georgia region has a vast amount of geography to explore (known locally as the CSRA).

The local organizers will greatly appreciate your attendance and support as proceeds from these events largely support the hosting communities.

Be sure to follow South of the Gnat Line on Facebook, Twitter and find more backroads discoveries with SGL's little spot on the Augusta Chronicle blogs as well.

Experience Real Life in the Real South!

Meteors Are Falling From the Sky

February 13, 2010 - Dixie, Granny Rox & Mildred during the last snow

here at the Dirt Road Farm!

They may as well be.

Fewer things strike fear and stupidity into the hearts and neurotransmitters of Southerners than that dreaded winter forecast that screams out the "S-word."

Do I  need to spell it out for you?

S-N-O-W.

There. I said it.

It's a weather expletive in my giant book of all words bad.

All Southern children love it because the very moment the word develops into a minuscule whisper, the schools will send the kids home early and just up and close for the remainder of the week.

And as if we need one more thing for the balance of our countrymen to poke fun of us over, this time seems to be no exception.

By 4 o'clock this afternoon, all the local schools in the 6 county area had announced school closures for the next 3 days. (Parents, I shall commence praying….)

My Facebook and Twitter feeds are shrieking the "S-word" - one after another.

Dare I imagine the milk and bread isles at our little IGA?

Photo By L. A. Jenkins
This photo was taken at the Wal-Mart in Grovetown, Georgia at 7 p.m.
I. Kid. You. Not.

And if it really does snow followed by the usual community shut-down, we could easily experience a population explosion by October! (can you spell 'scandalous' ?)

Stranger things: it was 65 degrees on the front porch this morning while I drank my coffee, rocked in my rocking chair and blinked my eyes open while the sun warmed my face.

So in the next 24 hour window of time, I'm fully expected to believe that up to 4 inches of snow will arrive here at the Dirt Road Farm to greet me first thing in the morning… 

That ain't even funny.

At. all.

Y'all know I don't do mornings.

And now I just broke my "ain't rule"…what's this coming to?

Sounds like I need to be more cautious when citing the Dirt Road Snow Globe for matters of geography.

While I shudder at the thought of snowfall, it's not that I am anti-snow fun.  I watch the Winter X-Games and plan to watch the Winter Olympics.  I'm a fan of Carrot Top, er wait,  Shaun White!  If I want to see and experience snow, I am fully capable of traveling to the snow regions UP in the NORTH - the Northern territory that is.

But this is the ever-loving Deep South, People.  We simply don't. do. snow!

And besides, snow was not in Gone With the Wind.

Therefore, snow is a myth.

A diva named Scarlett said so.

HKJ

South of the Gnat Line

Copyright  © 2014

All Rights Reserved.

Thanksgiving Thanks

It's hard to believe that I just flipped the calendar June-ago and now it's Thanksgiving day. How did that happen?

No matter what - so much to be thankful for!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Whiskey, patiently waiting for me to leave the kitchen!

Whiskey!

....hoping he's not spotted!

My personal assistant volunteering to be taste-tester!

Wishing safe travels and many blessings this Thanksgiving holiday and always!

hkj

October Cotton Fields

There is nothing quite like walking knee deep through a magnificent cotton field.....this year's crop is almost shoulder high in some places (shoulder high for me anyway).  This is a field full of tee shirts and then some.

Photo: Harriette Keen Jacobs. South of the Gnat Line.  Copyright © 2013

Words can not adequately explain the majesty of the silence while standing in the midst of acres and acres of cotton awaiting its harvest. These fields that surround me here along the Dirt Road have decades and perhaps a century or more's history of cotton that has been grown - much picked and harvested by hand in the years behind us.  To recognize and reflect upon the human hands that have hand-turned the soil here is a must; it is also a must that we never forget.

Walking through October's Cotton Fields. South of the Gnat Line. Copyright © 2013

HKJ

South of the Gnat Line

Copyright  © 2013

All Rights Reserved.

Get Your Wild Game on in Sharon, Georgia!

Have a hunger craving for something on the wild side? Make plans to venture over to Sharon, Georgia for the "Wild Game Supper" - it's an all-you-can-eat you won't soon forget!

Quietly tucked away in eastern Taliaferro County is Sharon, Georgia (pronounced "SHAY-run": population 140!). Incorporated in 1884, Sharon is a beautiful rural community that is gently sprinkled with turn-of-the-century farmhouses, churches and a handful of surviving buildings from its earliest years. The site of Georgia’s first Catholic Church and cemetery (“Locust Grove”- circa 1790) is also located just south of the city limits.  Sharon, Georgia sits as a geographic crossroad to all points north, east, south and west. And on Saturday, March 23rd, the roads from all those directions will be filled with folks making their way into Sharon for their 56th annual Wild Game Supper.

What is the Wild Game Supper you ask? Hosted every March by the Sharon-Raytown Garden Club, it is an all-you-can-eat plethora of, well, wild game: Venison (deer) in more ways than you could ever imagine (Ham, Sausage, Smoked, Country Fried & more); Wild Hog, Fried Chicken, Squirrel, Possum & Racoon (served with sweet potatoes, of course!), Fried Rattlesnake, Bear, Elk Rabbit, Pork, Water Bear, Fried Chicken, Turkey, Goat, game birds and MORE! Then there are all the homemade sides: Green Beans, Mac’n Cheese, Potato Soufflé, Dressing & Gravy, Deviled Eggs, Potato Salad, Homemade Biscuits, Cracklin’ Cornbread, Drinks and, YES, more! The window sills are lined with [my favorite] all kinds of cakes and pies. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced! 

It’s a “back roads bucket list” must.

Here’s all the details:

56th Annual WILD GAME SUPPER

Saturday, March 23rd, 2013

Raytown Road

Sharon, Georgia 30631

Dinner Served 5 p.m. – 8 p.m.

(the line begins forming between 4 & 4:30 p.m.!)

Adults: $12.00

Kids 6-10: $5.00

Ages 6 & under are FREE!

For More Information Call:

Pittman Packing Co. 706-456-2496

Enjoy this slide-show of Sharon, Georgia

Want to go?  Here's a map that will get you there!
View Sharon, Georgia 30664 in a larger map

Gravy: A Confession

I was born at the tail end of a long, long line of Southern women who were strong and savvy way before savvy was even a word.  Very little swayed their resolve including feeding their family with a kitchen well stocked or with whatever was on hand at supper time.

As a child standing at their heels, my grandmothers amazed me with their cooking skills.  Either woman could easily look into a sparse pantry and whip out a meal of a meat and three with dessert for her family plus company!  Many traditional Southern menus always include the staple companion sauce to the meat and certain sides:  GRAVY.  My mother and both of my grandmothers could make gravy in their sleep.  It always had the same sumptuous smoothness and tasted like heaven drizzled all over everything on my plate.

SO HERE’S MY CONFESSION:

I can NOT make gravy.

There; I said it.

Brand me with a scarlet letter “G”.

I voluntarily hang my head in shame.  I simply did not get the gravy gene.

Just say the word “gravy” and I begin to perspire.  I guess you could call it gravy anxiety.

It’s quite the awful predicament.  I am, in fact, gravy-handicapped.

I have often wondered if perhaps my gravy disability is due in large part to my being a Southpaw.  Based on my peek up into the canopy of the family tree, it appears that I am the only left-handed female for quite some time – if ever.  And, being an ambidextrous Southpaw also lends to a certain amount of confusion when approaching new or “awkward” tasks.  One thing you can take to the bank: making gravy is awkward for me. (Or am I just too right-brained?)  For those of you who hold the gravy gift, most will agree: a person can not have a sense of confusion, much less anxiety, when making gravy.

On those rare occasions when I have rolled up my sleeves, stood at the stove (talking out loud to myself) and cooked what appeared to be a gravy-like substance, my family would smile their most gracious smiles and politely say, “Please pass the gravy.”  Then they pass it down the table and reach for the butter.  My family eats their rice with butter.  

The disgrace was becoming unbearable.

After countless failed gravy making efforts, I came to this conclusion:  I’ll cheat.

Now despite the fact that I have never actually witnessed anyone buying them, why would the grocery stores stock gravy mixes if there wasn’t a need for them?  I wondered in my painful silence, “Is it possible that I am not alone in my shame? Are there other gravy-challenged Southern gals suffering like me?”

Humiliation in the Public Square

While we live out in the rural countryside, we do have a local IGA grocery store that is just down the road and is our ‘go to’ for any quick or last minute grocery needs.  While perusing the isles one day, the gravy mixes caught my eye.  I studied the variety for a few minutes and finally settled on one to try the next time I felt the need to attempt gravy [again].  However, as one might have predicted, when I arrived at the check-out, guess what one item would not ring up when scanned.

The gravy mix.

Of course it was.

It’s deeply embedded within the unwritten rules of life that a Southern gal must face her cooking demons in the public square.  Not only would the gravy mix not ring up, there was a record line of locals behind me waiting to check out.

Cashier:  “Um, there’s no price for this?  What is this anyway?”  (She may have been, at best, 17 and my mind was racing trying desperately to grab a magnificent “Bless your heart” scandalous remark – but nothing would come to me.)

Me:  “Um, uh, well, I don’t remember, but that’s okay, I really don’t need it.”

Cashier:  [LOUDLY] “OH! It’s a gravy mix; you buy gravy mix?  Who buys gravy mix? Who doesn’t know how to make gravy?”

(Blink, blink.)

The silence behind me was deafening.

The line was getting longer and I am convinced that all the best cooks in the tri-county area were there right behind me.  (All that came to mind was, “Dear Planet Earth, please open up and swallow me…”)

Cashier (now on the intercom):  “Ms. IGA, I need the price for this X,Y,Z gravy mix!”

Now everyone in the ever growing check-out line is lOOking at me – not so much because I was holding them up but more so because I was buying gravy mix and holding them up.  It was at this moment that I began to perspire heavily.

ME:  (With tightly gritted teeth) “I really don’t need the gravy mix.  Please. Just. Keep. It.”

And with that, I swiped my card to pay for my handful of items and out the door I fled.  

By the time I got to my car, right on my heels was the lady who had been waiting in line behind me.  She said, “Baby, here’s this gravy mix.  It was only thutty-five cents and I don’t won’t yo family to suffa ‘cause you can’t make no gravy.”

My mouth dropped (somebody just shoot me now).

So there it was – now all out in the open and ugly: my lack of gravy skills exposed to the entire [IGA and tri-county] world.  I hadn’t felt such shame since bringing home the wrong dead cat.

As I have reflected over the re-launch of South of the Gnat Line and all my organizing of the foods I actually can and do cook to share with readers, it occurred to me:  How on earth can I possibly share my family’s recipes and love of Southern foods without having first confessed my culinary short-comings?

So for those of you who are blessed with the gift of gravy proficiency, I ask this of you:  the next time you are standing at your stove whipping up gravy for your family’s meal, please think of me and send up a little prayer to the gravy gods so at the very least, my grandchildren might miraculously inherit the gravy gene that skipped me.

HKJ
Copyright © 2013
All Rights Reserved.