American by birth, Texan by the grace of God!

They say to start from the beginnin’ but that really is neither here nor there in the thick of it. Dry with dry- wet with wet. Is this a post or a bakin’ lesson I mummer. The thoughts always have been jumbled in my head. A collection of snapshots amuck: recipes, stories, tales, traditions, and moments yet to be sorted and cooked.

The dim mornin’ light peers through the old and worn, white shutters on a crisp warm fall mornin’. I sit clutchin' my Texas necklace, sweet tea in my belly- a sauce piquante on the oven. Could I still claim my Southern Roots? I wasn’t clutchin’ a strand of pearls. Was that even still a thing? *Sigh* I know it to be true. Did I even need to mentally wonder…? But, I am a Texan after all; a little right of tradition. 


The same narrative playin’ over and over in the media as of late had given me cause to pause, to reflect, to embrace. I’ve built an online existence around it, consumed of it. Easier to hide behind the vail of a keyboard or a carefully produced picture than not; the homemade apple pies, bowls of grits for breakfast, worn and frayed boots bedside. Each a carefully crafted snippet of my Southern Life It dare not betray. 

I grab the sweet tea, nearside. The familiar taste... now, at a loss for words I sit. Sit, and slowly sip the tea. Chris Stapleton fills my ears. Was I really as proud as I boasted? Born from my Southern Roots, the roots I dare not uproot. Poetic, profound I must admit. Was my Southern story yet to be define? I suppose it was long ago written; born of the Louisiana bayous, and the Arkansas cotton fields. Of the Louisiana oil rigs and the Mississippi ice pick trucks. Of the Virginia battle fields and the Texas sun, born of the South. 

I'd once written, "The thick accents, smilin' faces, friendly demeanor's, helpful hands and enchantin' food. The overall Southern hospitality, it's what I've come to expect livin' here. No one ever hesitates to help a person in need. And that's why I'll never leave."

Tradition! Heritage! Texan! I'd come to realize much in the last few months the above mentioned more than just a footnote. Each fillin' the blank pages, waitin' for me to turn the page and continue on: to continue writtin' the story.

I grab a pen and a worn notebook.

"South of the Border, West of the Sun

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