Southern Sampler

We all have lived through the weirdest year in the history of the country; and I, for one, will be glad to see it end. I do have to admit that I have hardly changed any parts of my life, for I am a rural resident with only dogs and chickens for daily companions. We do not worry about masks or six-feet spacing or any of that other nonsense that the rest of the country is obsessed with. We are lucky, and we know it. Since the last-quarter holiday season is upon us, I am waiting to see if we can trick-or-treat, have Thanksgiving feasts, and enjoy our myriad Christmas activities. I am doubtful that this normal life will be returned in time for our celebrations. But what does it matter to my dogs and chickens? As long as they are fed, watered, and petted every day, life is normal. Too bad we can’t all look at life that way. When Nub, Doug, and I were little children, we only got to trickor-treat at one house, our grandparents’ home next door. Mimi and Papa made Halloween special for us and had lots of goodies and hot chocolate when we knocked on the door. When our masked faces would appear in the side windows by the door, Papa would act frightened and run from his living room chair to his bedroom and make a dramatic gesture of closing the door to keep the scary creatures away. It never failed to delight us. for an awesome meal for all of us. With dressing and vegetables and bread and desserts, we had a real Pilgrim’s feast. After the glorious meal, we were sent outside to play; and play we did. Our favorite which any kid knows meant one of us hit a baseball to the other two to catch. Nub was Mickey Mantle, Doug was Al Kaline, and I was Luis Aparicio—and we were awesome. Christmas centered around our little country church, Utility Baptist Church, on the banks of the Little River about three miles west of Jonesville, Louisiana. We had Christmas plays and parties with all of our church friends who were also our school friends. The adults in the church were so good to us kids, for they always taught us the real meaning of Christmas before we got to the fun activities. Mama and Mimi honored an old tradition at Christmas of baking many pies and cakes; I never could understand why they baked so much then, but probably only once a week in the rest of the year. I later learned that the baking of multiple goodies was an old, honored tradition passed down from pioneer days. It was done to ensure that all visitors during the holiday season could be served something sweet with their coffee, showing them that they were special guests. It was the only time of year that we actually got tired of cake and pie. There was one pie that Mama baked that time of year only, and that was a mincemeat pie to be cut of this tradition, but I always loved that special pie. Papa would make a great show of loading up his gun on December 31to go to the woods to kill some minces for our pies. If Papa said there were minces in the woods, it was so. And the ones he brought back always made the best pies. would stay outside until the bag was empty. Of course, on Christmas Eve, we’d always manage to see Santa and his reindeer streaking across the sky so he could get to our house before morning. To us little country children, pure magic was on the loose that night. It is my wish that this holiday season will still have a bit of magic for all people and that we all remember that Thanksgiving has a historical basis of early settlers thanking God that they had survived in the harsh conditions of the New World. As for Christmas, most—of our celebrations in December. It is my hope that this will be a blessed holiday season of Thanksgiving and Christmas for all our wonderful readers of Bluffs and Bayous and that we can look forward to a better year in 2021.

Columnist Alma Womack lives on Smithland Plantation on Black River, south of Jonesville, Louisiana. In addition to her duties as maitresse des maison, she is the keeper of the lawn, the lane and the pecan orchard at Smithland.