My youngest child, Ansley, behind the counter at the Haynes Grocery and Meats candy case in the 1990s
Throughout my life, the Haynes Grocery candy case was a treat. As a child, whenever I stayed with my dad’s parents in Waycross, Georgia where I was born, they would always walk me down to the grocery to get a piece of candy from the large oak and glass case that sat on the counter. If you look closely at the photo above, you’ll see a wood and glass case that drew every child from all around for a sweet treat. Parents would have to pick up their children to let them get a good look, and sometimes they would pull out the containers for kids to get a better look, as you can see above. Ansley is carefully considering what kind she would like. I can’t remember what she chose, but I do remember my choice was almost always plain M&Ms. And I remember the joy of seeing my own daughter choosing candy from that case. (You could get an ice cold bottled Coca Cola, too, and we would put salted peanuts in ours to make it better).
The store has held wide appeal for generations, and unfortunately, though the building is still there, my cousin Lucy could not continue on with the store once her parents died, so it closed and stayed in a state of disrepair for some time. Her father, my great uncle Laverne, ran the store with his wife Lucille, who died when Lucy was a young child. Laverne was the butcher, and everyone got their meats from the Haynes Grocery and Meats. I’m not sure whether Lucy has sold the store yet, but I know everyone wanted that candy case. I also don’t know who the highest bidder was or where the candy case is today, but it sure made a lot of eyes light up in its day. Once a kid in a candy store, ALWAYS a kid in a candy store.
There are two photos of the Haynes Grocery Store below, dating way back to the early 1920s/1930s era, and the one beneath it was taken in the 1990s. I look at that photo today and remember so vividly the way there and back from my grandparents’ house: out the door of the grocery, go left. Turn left at the corner, and walk down the dirt road on Creswell Street to the last house on the left before the road intersects. And if you looped the block, Great Granny Haynes’ house was on Prescott Street. And that was how fast I could get to candy back in the summers of my youth in a dirt road railroad town in the Deep South, where to this day I still don’t know how they never had central heating and air. I can still see the curtains billowing in the moonlight, hear the fan in the window and the horn of the train as it rattled down the tracks.
And every single time, I still choose the plain M&Ms.
If I had a freeway billboard, it would say If you haven’t had pizza for dinner at Frank’s Filling Station on the backside of nowhere in the rural Georgia Countryside off Highway 362 in Hollonville, you haven’t fully lived, ‘specially if you didn’t split a Little Debbie Double Oatmeal Cream Pie with your sweetie for dessert.
dinner wasn’t planned
we just ended up hungry
looking for some food
I was delivering a Facebook Marketplace sale of the last of my Longaberger collection from the 1990s ~ a lidded piece of Christmas pottery. I sold all but one of my baskets a couple of years ago in the sweeping house cleanout, but the pottery popped up needing a better home, and some man in a small silver sportscar pulled up next to us as we waited at Frank’s Filling Station, the designated meeting spot to do the business. I handed him the dish, and he handed me the cash.
The next obvious question at that time of the day was what was for dinner – a common conversation for two tired full-time working folks. We went down the list of possibilities, but nothing was appealing much to either of our appetites.
Wouldn’t it be fun to see if we can each eat dinner on five bucks? I asked my husband, eyeing the filling station and wondering whether they might have a little cafe inside. The place had just been redone a year ago, and neither of us had been inside since. I’d just picked up an easy ten dollars, and I sure didn’t mind splitting it with the love of my life to feed us both. It would be a fun challenge to see if we could stay within budget.
He took me up on it.
I eyed the boiled peanuts. They have regular and Cajun in there, and I do love the spicy ones. Probably not the best choice that close to bedtime, though. I scanned the cooler of local beef from Caldwell Farms and made a mental note to come back for some another time when I planned to cook at home. We spied the barrel tables next to the window and took a look at the food options – cheeseburgers, fries, pizza, chicken wings, hot dogs, and even a fried bologna sandwich. That’s how you know you’re in the country is when you see a fried bologna sandwich.
We settled on the pizza and two bottled drinks, and sat at a table to eat and watch the people coming and going – and that is a lot of excitement on a weeknight for the place where we live. My back was to the door, but when the last two pizzas walked out in the arms of a young man, my husband whispered that he was glad we got ours when we did. It wasn’t fabulous pizza, but it was decent, and that was good enough for a Tuesday night.
Did we stay under budget? Nope. We went over by $1.80 before adding the Oatmeal Cream Pie. We’d already blown the bank, so we splurged on a $2.00 deluxe dessert we could split, and we were grateful for the sustenance.
So if you’ve never had dinner at Frank’s Filling Station in Hollonville, Georgia, add it to your list of things to do if you’re ever an hour south of the Atlanta airport. They also have Hollonville, Georgia t-shirts in there, and those are as rare as hen’s teeth and would make great conversation starters for traveling. Keep a lookout for us ~ we might just be at a barrel table by the window.
Way back in the 1970s, my mother taught me how to make alfalfa sprouts. It was fun for a kid to do. You get the starter seeds and rinse them, then soak them overnight. Each day for a week, you rinse and drain. After a week, you have enough sprouts to last you a week on sandwiches and salads, and it’s more economical than buying them in the store. Much more fun than when we hung a flat white bean on a wet paper towel in a Ziploc bag on the classroom window and watched it sprout and then took it home and threw it away. These sprouts we actually ate.
In my slice time this evening, after a day of visiting another camper dealership and then stopping for dinner and a shared banana split to celebrate our anniversary on the way home, I opened the sprout kit that I’d ordered and began the process of making the sprouts.
They’ll be amazing on a tomato sandwich with salt, pepper, and mayonnaise – – I’m already eyeing one of my green tomatoes on the back porch, wondering if just perhaps it will be the one to ripen in time to meet the growing sprouts in a springtime taste explosion of a sandwich on sourdough bread.
My mother would be so proud! I can feel her smiling down, knowing I’m thinking of those days in our avocado-colored kitchen of the 1970s at the corner sink, shaking out the sprout seeds together, all amazed and dazzled at their growth.
This December, I’m slowly making my way through Calm Christmas and a Happy New Year by Beth Kempton (2019), and in Chapter 1, Kempton presents The Five Stories of Christmas that focus on faith, magic, connection, abundance, and heritage. Today, my thoughts center on abundance.
Kempson inspires readers to reflect on this:
What elements of the more commercial side of Christmas do you recall from your childhood? Which aspects did you find exciting (such as a television ad, the idea of stockings bursting with gifts, writing a letter to Santa, etc?) How do you feel about Christmas shopping?
The first element of the commercial side of Christmas that I remember from childhood is the Sears Christmas Catalog Wish Book. I spent hours turning the pages of the toy section of the catalog as if those were the only toys in the world, all waiting on shelves at the North Pole to be delivered by a magical reindeer-pulled sleigh.
That wish book should not have been any different for me, really. My grandmother worked in downtown Waycross, Georgia in the Sears Catalog Department, so my entire childhood was filled with items from Sears – from housewares to clothing and everything in between. I had Winnie the Pooh on every shirt I owned, along with the matching shorts and pants, and I’m pretty sure that Sears short sets were the precursor to Garanimals. Whatever we may have needed, we mostly got it from Sears with the secret inherited family discount that all came down through Grandma Eunice.
Those catalogs weren’t just toy finders, either. They were the small-town Georgia equivalent of the New York City phonebooks used as booster seats for kids at Christmas dinner. It was the one time of the year we actually ate at the formal dining room table, and the catalog boost did the trick.
Shopping was an altogether different matter. My mother loved shopping at Lenox Square in Rich’s in Atlanta, Georgia the day afterThanksgiving. We spent all day there with my aunt, and it started at 6:00 a.m. to get the bargains, starting in Rich’s – before it became Macy’s. In fact, the men would drop off the ladies and the children and go back home to watch football and relax, but they would make a swoop back to the basement door of Rich’s by the candy counter so that the ladies could pack all the treasures in the car without having to lug so many bags. By the time the men returned, the women had fulfilled their part of the day with us cousins. We’d been through the Secret Santa gift shop with our own personal elf to help us shop with the money and list our mothers had made, and we’d also seen the pink pig. We got to go home and play board games when the men came back. It was the dads’ turn to be on kid duty. The women? They kept shopping – without kids in tow.
I’m pretty sure that’s where I developed my lingering distaste for shopping. I don’t like traffic, I abhor frenzied crowds, and I don’t like the “thrill” of the hunt. As an adult, I never have been one to have much more than what I need (except in food and shoes), so the excess of clearance and sale items in the name of saving money never made much sense to me about things we hadn’t needed in the first place. Were we really saving money if the need wasn’t there?
These experiences had a place, though, in shaping the shopper I am today. These days, I ask family members for the digital equivalent of the Sears Christmas Catalog Wish Book in the form of links. My daughter in law is amazing about it, too. She has the lists ready, one per grandchild, and it allows me to shop Black Friday and Cyber Monday sales as we purchase gifts for our grandchildren. We use this principle: Something you want, Something you need, Something to Wear, and Something to read. That’s how we buy for each grandchild (number 7 will be here 2 days after Christmas, if not before).
It’s what we call simple abundance: having the things we need, but leaving plenty enough wishing room.
On a scale of 1-10, I’d rate celebration of abundance by way of Christmas shopping and gifting as a 5 in importance. The ratings of each section will be used to create my Christmas constellation on Friday.
On Monday, I mailed a box of books home to myself because I’d broken my own rules of acquiring anything on this trip that would exceed my carry-on and personal bag capacities for flying back home to Georgia on Friday. No sooner had I mailed the box of 17 books to myself back home, I saw the sign for the Yankee Bookstore in downtown Woodstock and hollered over the sidewalk to let my husband know where he could find me. He was standing by the car, fiddling in his pockets to find change to extend the parking meter from our time in The Vermont Flannel Company so we could take a peaceful walk along the streets to see the sights.
Vermont Flannel Blankets – soft flannel on one side, heavenly fleece on the other, weighted perfectly – I’ll be checking for Black Friday sales.
But bookstores come first, especially the iconic ones in states that have their own brochure mapping out a bookstore tour. The Yankee Bookstore is on Vermont’s bookstore tour, and there it was – – with its bright awning and its lights. Calling my name, summoning me to enter the ranks of readers inside its warmth. I developed a serious case of squirrel when I got in and found so many amazements – – the postcards, for starters.
Postcards I picked up in The Yankee Bookstore
All memory of excessive luggage flew straight out the window as I got lost in the possibilities for next books. I thought of my Kindle in my backpack, its waning charge whispering to me, reminding me that it can carry 17 books and so many more. And as much as I love it for travel, it’s not the same as the turned-page book experience.
I kept wandering, snapped a few pictures of titles while practicing stewardship in keeping things simple, and took a Yankee Book Company flyer with a goal of ordering a hard copy from them to be sent to my home. I want to support indie bookstores, and in the name of reading and freedom to read what we choose, I will.
A shelf of books in The Yankee Bookstore
Two conversations in the bookstore later, we’d learned that the place to eat was The Woodstock Inn. Richardson’s Tavern was booked solid, but there was one more restaurant, and so we hurried over to check it out.
Something my husband and I have come to enjoy in traveling is the shared meal. At home, we don’t order all the courses, ever. We go straight for the main course. Here as we travel, though, we have come to learn that we can experience the culture of local food if we share an appetizer, share a salad, share a soup, share a main course, and share dessert. If we order a local beer, we share that, too. By doing this, believe it or not, we save money and don’t feel as full. We find that we don’t waste food, either. It’s not only enough food, but it’s a richer experience.
My husband waits by the fire
By some miracle, we snagged a 5:30 table at The Red Rooster and then waited by the room-sized fireplace for them to text us that our table was ready.
Oh, this place! The simple decoration and spaciousness, with its cream-colored tablecloths and warm, glowing candles warmed me from the inside from all that Vermont cold outside.
Dinner was nothing short of delicious, but the food had striking presentation as well. My favorite was the combination of Parker’s Rolls and the cheese sampler that featured local cheeses made right down the road in several directions.
The Local Cheese Sampler at The Red Rooster in the Woodstock Inn
After waking up at 506 On the River Inn, I stepped outside at 4:38 a.m. to see whether snow had fallen as predicted, and I saw a frosting of it on the picnic table below. My weather app tells me there is an 85% chance of it today. By the time I got up and showered at 7:00, it was down to a snizzle (which I think is a mix of snow and drizzle). It’s somewhere in between, and even though I’d love to see snow while we’re here, I’m more concerned about the roads. I don’t want to end up like in a real Hallmark movie getting snowed in. It’s fine to watch it happen to others, and I’d love sharing more time away with my husband, but the truth is that I’d miss my dogs too much back home. They’re getting groomings today, so they’ll be over their madness and happy to see us by the time we arrive to pick them up Friday afternoon.
Breakfast: I won’t share my maple syrup pancakes. That’s just not an option. I’m down for the dinner sharing, and maybe even lunch. But breakfast with pure Vermont maple syrup cooked to its required temperature just out the back door from here? No way.
The breakfast area of 506 On the River Inn in Woodstock, Vermont
I couldn’t even wait. I was rude and selfish and had a sampler plate before my husband arrived at the breakfast table. This is where I must confess: travel is like Christmas to me. I can’t wait, and sometimes the excitement kicks into high gear and I forget my manners and rip into the moment without abandon. I met Gloria, the 80ish year old cook, who stepped out of the kitchen and proudly told me all about the apple cinnamon pancakes she’d made fresh, just off the griddle, and she also told me about the maple cream. I’d never seen maple cream, so I tried pancakes with both (1 with maple cream, two with butter and syrup). And now I want the t-shirt that says I’ve Eaten Gloria’s Fresh-Off-the-Griddle Apple Cinnamon Pancakes with Pure Vermont Maple Syrup and Butter in Woodstock, Vermont! I want everyone in the world to know there is an experience like this to be lived.
Pancakes with butter and maple syrup
Pancake with Maple Cream
Friends, they’re off the chain. I owed my husband a huge apology by the time he got to the table and I’d practically finished. However, I did offer him a nugget of guidance: the maple cream is for the people like me with an insatiable sweet tooth. The syrup is for folks like him who like things not quite as sweet. So in that way, it’s better I went first to scope this all out. I see it as a huge favor, for which he owes me no thanks. I’m happy to help.
And now, after breakfast , we step out into the day, heading from Woodstock, Vermont one hour south to West Chesterfield, New Hampshire for the next leg of the trip.
Snow on the weather app, snow plows everywhere, salt trucks brining streets and hotel staff scattering salt on the sidewalks. But no snow to be seen. I couldn’t understand the science of it, either. It ranged between 32 and 34 degrees for a few hours, but all we ever saw was rain. How?
We warmed ourselves by the fire, happy to be in the warmth of this place.
Yoda, the 16-year-old resident cat at The Chesterfield Inn who sleeps curled up by the fire in his favorite chair all day.
And just like Yoda, we were tired, weary from the road and ready to curl up and fall fast asleep. Travel is fun, but travel is exhausting, too. We are ready for some down time, and we hope to find it in the wingback chairs and post bed beneath this beam, the only existing beam from the original barn that was turned into the Inn. I have a friend who stayed here and recommended this quaint, quiet room with its large windows overlooking the trees and the curve of the highway right by the state line between Vermont and New Hampshire along the Connecticut River.
Room 17 of The Chesterfield Inn in West Chesterfield, New Hampshire
Wednesday morning: Later today, we travel from West Chesterfield to Plymouth Harbor, where we will wear the last of our semi-clean clothes to Thanksgiving Dinner and eat where the Pilgrims and Native Americans started this whole thing.
Background: We are traveling on weekends these days to see my father and help with some household tasks, so we are spending some time in hotels and motels on the road. Sometimes I just like to eavesdrop and take notes about how life happens for other people – which is what I did on Saturday morning as we sipped coffee in the lobby. There’s nothing quite like a little slice of cultural conversation, overheard, to get the mind racing about what life is like in other corners of the world.
“they finally found him in Statesboro in CCU
after he went into Metter and they transported
him to Statesboro then to Augusta who sent him
back and he was lost, nobody knew where
he was at but he was at a dadgum good hospital
in Augusta and either he checked hisself out
or somebody came and picked him up and
took him back to Statesboro…..
I cried all
night because I messed up my baby’s hair
and it looked like a lawnmower done ran
over it and all the kids teased him in school
but the vet showed me how to hold the
clippers and I did it just like that…..
I called Betty Joyce, Maxine, and you do not
understand sometimes I have to talk to her
and I told her I can’t deal with her actin like
a two year old like she done this morning….
now Barri in Laundry don’t want that job
so I better not hear her complainin one more
time cause it’s done been offered but she
says she don’t want lobby…
there’s three types of tacos up there and I
got off the phone with Ashley and asked Mama
if she wants to share a plate of three tacos
but Mama said them tacos won’t be very big
and she got hers with beef and I got mine with
pickles in those torTILLa shells, and we shared
them but she ate two and I ate one and she was
upset so Denise called and asked her if she wanted
Margaret Simon of New Iberia, Louisiana is our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 2 of the June Open Write. You can read her full prompt here. Margaret inspires us to write Duplex poems in the style of Jericho Brown, using this process:
A duplex poem is 14 lines, 7 couplets, 9-11 syllables per line.
The second line from each stanza repeats as a first line for the next stanza.
The first line is echoed back in the last line.
My poem is inspired by a daughter’s new puppy, a dappled Dachshund named Jackson (after Jackson Pollock, for his spots). I used the Duplex form and thought of one of his famous paintings entitled Convergence and how his abstract art reminds me of things – – like these catastrophic chicken tacos that have no business being served in a shell that is only going to break and create food art under the first bite. Photo of Jackson below.
Catastrophic Chicken Tacos
catastrophic chicken tacos happen
always at lunch on taco Tuesdays
always at lunch on taco Tuesdays
shells break, insides spill onto the plate
shells break, insides spill on to the plate
revealing shredded lettuce, tomatoes, chicken
revealing shredded lettuce, tomatoes, chicken
all my cheese splatters broken taco art
all my cheese splatters broken taco art
like a Jackson Pollock painting: Convergence
like a Jackson Pollock painting: Convergence
a speckled canvas of confetti’ed food
a speckled canvas of confetti’ed food
catastrophic chicken tacos happen
Welcome to the family, dappled Jackson Pollock dachshund! May you paint the world with smiles and laughter and joy and leave your paw prints on every heart you meet!
Today, Jennifer Jowett of Michigan is our host at http://www.ethicalela.com for our fourth day of #VerseLove 2024. She offers a spectacular Alphabeticals prompt, using letters of the alphabet to create a poem. You can read her full prompt and the poems of others here.
My mind went straight to the farm as I looked at the letters on the keyboard. There’s a whole world of things to see if you let your eyes see what is held in each letter. Donkeys belonging to someone in our area keep getting loose, and my sister in law and I helped some other neighbors for two hours on Tuesday trying to trailer them, finally herding them into another neighbor’s fenced pasture. When they turned up in her yard again Wednesday, we decided to just make friends with them – they’re not halter trained, and we think they are lonely and seeking the companionship of humans.
They know they’ve found folks who are friendly. They’d rather live here on the Funny Farm, where things are amusingly quirky.
RELAXing on the Funny Farm
R hangs out in the barn, his back against the wall relaxing cowboy
E stalls two horses or goats or donkeys or mules safe from elements
L stands firm, holds reins hitching post for keeping us right where we belong
A swing for sweethearts porch side sunset views, sweet tea two-strawed Mason jar
Johnson Funny Farm bee haven, April 2023 – baby bees at top right corner and entering bottom left tube
Forget Lonesome Dove. This one’s all about the lonesome bees – and putting food on Earth’s tables. One of my 2023 goals is spending more time outdoors, taking more notes in nature observations, and learning more about the ecosystem and the creatures that do jobs I’ve taken for granted. A couple of summers ago, we bought a bee house to provide safe spots for solitary bees like mason bees and leaf cutter bees to nest. These pollinators help plants like fruits and vegetables thrive. We have enjoyed watching the little bees come and go – they’re so cute – and so helpful! In rural areas like ours where agriculture is the name of the game, bees matter! Help with pollination – NOT PESTICIDES! We are doing one small part to make a difference – and watching it happen thrills our souls!
Lonesome Bee Haven
lonesome bee haven
apiculture hideaway
pollinator post
baby bees buzzing
busy building businesses~
hungry world feeders
Common Threads 