I truly love
where I live. This past weekend was an
extra good reminder of that. Although I
had some goals, I didn’t have a schedule I had to stick to. I simply got to enjoy home.
Go Take a Hike
The weekend
kicked before I even got home from work on Friday. On my way back from teaching a class in Macon,
I met Robert and our friends David and Russ for a hike in the Oconee National
Forest in south Jasper County. Robert
has spent a lot of time the past few months clearing trails. Horseback riders have found his handiwork
pretty quickly. We hope hikers and even
mountain bikers will also use these trails more.
Robert and I
had hiked on the Beck Bluff-Love Mountain Loop on Easter weekend. (Love Mountain was already named, but Robert
named Beck Bluff in my honor. My maiden
name is Beck. Wasn’t that the sweetest
thing for him to do?) That hike was
right after several days of extensive rainfall.
When we got to the bottom of Love Mountain, we had to backtrack because the
floodplain was flooded.
 |
| That's the normal channel of the Ocmulgee River in the background. |
 |
| Temporary end of the trail |
 |
| This trail marker is usually about head high. |
This stormwater
originated in Gwinnett County, which is at the northern end of the Ocmulgee
River watershed, more than 50 miles to the north. It would have been interesting to see a
similar storm event 50 years ago; the water probably wouldn’t have risen as
high because back then there was a lot less impervious area upstream.
We hiked the
Beck Bluff-Love Mountain Loop again last Friday with David and Russ. This time we got to complete the entire loop
because the floodwaters had receded.
It was fascinating
to see the sediment left behind. It’s
kind of hard to tell from these photos, but the sediment left on the vegetation
is above head height.
Robert put
this sediment in great perspective. A
reasonable estimate is that one millimeter of sediment is deposited during flooding
each year. In 1,000 years, one meter of
sediment is deposited. In 10,000 years,
which is a blip on the geological timescale, 10 meters of sediment are
deposited. Therefore, it’s easy to see conceive
how the landscape and topography change naturally over time. Human activities, e.g., farming and
construction that greatly accelerate the rate of erosion, can have an even more
pronounced effect on the environment.
Taco...Friday?
That evening after the hike, Robert and I decided to go to the new Mexican restaurant on the Monticello square, La Eskina. He had already been there for lunch and liked it. I was eager to try it, too. One downside: they don’t have their pouring license yet. Robert and I found an easy and pleasant workaround to that; we had a beer at home before we went to the restaurant. It was really fun simply to chill at home with a brew, hanging out with the hounds and listening to some good tunes.
La Eskina was great. It tasted a lot fresher and more authentic than many Americanized Mexican restaurants I’ve been to, probably because everything isn’t drenched in cheese. I got the tacos with carnitas, which also had onions and cilantro - very flavorful. You get the usual chips and salsa (both good), and there are two additional salsas on the table. I really liked the salsa verde, and the other (chipotle?) was good on my tacos. We also got the delicious guacamole. It’s house-made and chunky.
The most surprisingly outstanding item, however, was the flan. When Robert ordered it, he asked the waitress if it was good. We expected her to say yes, but she said it was off the chain. She was right. It was probably the best flan I’ve ever had. I told Robert it was like my Grannie’s egg custard on steroids. He said it might be better than his grandmother’s custard. (Her custard was liquid, and they poured it over pound cake.) He looked heavenward and said, “Sorry, Grandma.”
Atlanta Connections and Funeral Food
Saturday was
the funeral of J.R. Cobb, who had died a few days before. I
didn't know him well enough to go to his funeral, but I've been a fan from
afar. Whenever he played guitar at our church, it was such a treat.
Actually, I'm a huge Atlanta Rhythm Section fan, and he played guitar and sang
for them. I never wanted to be a pest about my fandom.
At
least I got to fulfill that most Southern of roles, providing a dish for the
family and friends who had a meal after the funeral. My original plan was to make some kind of healthy vegetable dish,
but I couldn't get to the grocery store in time. So, I made something from the
ingredients I had on hand, a French coconut pie.
I probably should have listened to "Spooky," a great ARS song that J.R. wrote, while I made the pie. Instead, I listened to one of my ARS favorites, "Doraville." It just makes me feel good. I also like it because Doraville is close to where I grew up in DeKalb County, my first home.
By the way, on Saturday night I fried some
catfish and had cheese grits on the side. J.R. and his wife Bert were the ones
who taught me that cheese grits are so good with catfish. J.R. was part of
Southern Crossroads, a bluegrass/gospel group at our church for several years. One time, my church friends Hugh and Carol (Hugh was also in Southern
Crossroads) had a fish fry at their house on a Friday evening. Thanks to J.R.
and Bert, that's the first time I had cheese grits with catfish. I've been serving
them together ever since.
RIP, J.R. Thank you
for sharing your talents with us.
Monticello Market on the Square
One of the best things Monticello has going is the Market on the Square, a farmer's market that runs every Saturday from May through September. I'm gone for cycling events on many Saturdays, and so I make a point to go to the farmer's market whenever I'm in town. My first visit of the season was last Saturday, one of the few free ones I'll have for a while. I brought along my greyhounds Allie and Fleetwood, the perfect opportunity for an outing with them. We dropped off the pie at church and headed to the square.
Fresh produce will be more abundant in a few weeks. In the meantime, there's still lots of good stuff at the market. A couple from Forsyth were selling several delicious looking condiments. I was intrigued by the tomato jam. They let me taste it, and I knew that I had found my farmer's market purchase of the day. I detected a hint of cloves - very tasty - which the woman confirmed. She recommended the tomato jam as a topping for cheese such as brie. I took her suggestion the next night when the 'rents-in-law came to dinner. It was excellent over both brie and blue cheese, served with crackers.
After purchasing the tomato jam, I walked the hounds to The Vanilla
Bean, where I had second breakfast. I enjoyed a cup of
Earl Grey tea and a slice of chocolate pie. Whenever I have chocolate pie, I think of the John Anderson song "Swingin’." Her brother brother was on the sofa, eatin' chocolate pie.
Anytime I'm sitting outside at The Vanilla Bean having second breakfast on a Saturday morning, I try to be extra friendly to anyone who appears to be from out of town. As I sat there last Saturday, a man in a suit walked up. I didn't think he was a local, but he looked kind of familiar. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and he went inside.
A short time later, I finished my tea and pie and tied the greyhounds up while I took my dishes back inside. I saw the man in the suit again. I asked, "Are you here for J.R.'s funeral?" knowing that a lot of out-of-town guests were expected. He said no, he was passing through after a graduation that morning. Then I realized who I was talking to - Ol' Poot Head.
Let's just say that Ol' Poot Head and I disagree on many things, particularly politics. Even so, we had a very nice conversation. He knows that I'm an avid cyclist and told me how he often goes out himself on Saturday mornings on his mountain bike. Then, he described a recent cycling mishap where he got a bad gash in his leg from his pedal. He even had to get stitches. Ouch! Despite our differences, I still don't want Ol' Poot Head to be hurt. My stomach lurched in sympathy as he told me about his injury.
Back outside, I gathered up the greyhounds to go home and get ready for the day's bicycle ride. As I was headed back to my car, my friend Glen asked me if I had been to the tent where
they were selling BBQ sauces. He also said I
should get some of their BBQ. Hmmm…that sounded
pretty good.
Originally, I had
planned to ride south to Allison Lake in the Piedmont Wildlife Refuge. That’s about a two-hour, out-and-back
ride. The BBQ tent would be gone by
then. Right then I decided to modify my
cycling plans.
BBQ: Rocket Fuel!
I took the hounds home, changed into my cycling kit, and rode my bicycle back to the square. BBQ on the front end of my ride wasn't the optimal order of operations, and I wasn't super hungry after second breakfast, but I really felt the urge to try this BBQ. Also, I figured a BBQ sandwich wouldn't fill me up too much, and I wouldn't have to take any additional bike food on my ride.
The BBQ chef was Eric, assisted by his wife Toni. We had a nice chat while Eric prepared my BBQ plate. They moved to Monticello just a few months ago from Atlanta. He's spent his entire career in the food industry, working in every capacity from short-order cook to high-end chef. Now, he and Toni are enjoying small-town life in Monticello. Welcome, neighbors!
After Eric finished assembling my sandwich, I took my lunch to a shady bench on the square.
The BBQ was delicious. In fact, I texted Robert to tell him that I had found our BBQ for this year's BBQ Bass Bicycle Ride, which will be next month. While Eric was preparing my sandwich, he told me that his BBQ is a little different. He was right. The best way I can describe it is that it has a depth that I don't taste in most BBQ sauces - kind of an undertone that kicks in a few seconds after the initial flavor.
Ride On
At last it was time to ride. The Allison Lake route still would have been nice, but with lunch out of the way, I decided on a slightly longer route into Putnam County. The predicted rain looked like it would hold off until after I had finished my ride. (It did.)
I particularly enjoyed the southeastern portion of my route. In Hillsboro I turned off of Highway 11 onto Fullerton-Phillips Road. I ride this road frequently, but it was particularly beautiful on Saturday afternoon. It's a quiet road with lots of wooded areas.
Fullerton-Phillips crosses Highway 212 and becomes Old Hillsboro Road. Then, about half a mile later, it becomes Hillsboro Road at the Putnam County line. From here to the end at Highway 16 is the best part: smooth pavement, very little traffic, and the beauty of farms and the Oconee National Forest.
I love riding these roads anytime, but there's just something about this time of year, my favorite.
Bittersweet
As I think
back on what made last weekend so enjoyable, two things stand out: 1) the land
itself that I love so much and 2) good food.
Those are some of the best parts of the South. There are some not-so-great parts of the South,
too. Let’s face it; there are some
downright ugly parts: racism, bigotry, misogyny, and provincialism. But you know what? These are human problems, and they are everywhere. They just stand out more in the South because
of its complex, still-living history.
Living in Jasper County, I always feel like a
salmon swimming upstream – a blue dot in a red sea. It can be so tiring to stay true to myself
and what I believe is right when most of the people around me have such a
different worldview. In January 2017 I received wonderful affirmation that I'm not alone after all; I took part in the Women’s March in Atlanta. I was
surrounded by literally thousands of other people who value the same things I
do: equality, inclusivity, empowerment, and beauty and strength in diversity. I hadn’t realized how much energy it takes
for me to be such an outlier in my home community; the march was an unexpected, wonderfully restorative respite from the constant exertion of life in rural Georgia.
I met up at
the march with my sister Donna, my two nieces, and a friend of Donna’s. Her friend was a young man who was a college
student. I told him about loving where I
live yet it often being such a struggle.
His response has really stayed with me.
He told me that it’s important for me to be where I am. It’s so easy for us to retreat to enclaves
where everyone else thinks just like we do.
If we’re truly going to come together as people and find common ground,
we have to live and interact with each other.
Just my being in Jasper County and expressing different ideas is
important. Of course, I always want to
listen to others as well. This is the
South that I’m working toward.
Recently, I
discovered an online community that espouses just these ideals: The Bitter
Southerner. I had no idea such a group
exists. Already it has been a great blessing
and food for my mind and soul. The Bitter Southerner has a podcast, online newsletter, and Facebook page. Here are a few excerpts from the BS website to describe what it's about:
And recent election results suggest that the Southern mind hasn't evolved much, that we're not much different from what we were in 1936, when Faulkner was struggling yet again with the moral weirdness of the South. Almost 80 years later, it's still too damned easy for folks to draw the conclusion that we Southerners are hopelessly bound to tradition, too resistant to change.
But there is another South, the one that we know: a South that is full of people who do things that honor genuinely honorable traditions. Drinking. Cooking. Reading. Writing. Singing. Playing. Making things. It's also full of people who face our region's contradictions and are determined to throw our dishonorable traditions out the window. The Bitter Southerner is here for Southern people who do cool things, smart things, things that change the whole world, or just a few minds at a time.
The world knows too little about these people, which is, alas, another reason to be bitter. But it prompted us to create The Bitter Southerner.
Every place
has its pros and cons. Ideally, each
person should find a place that has more pros than cons for him or her. (For me, that place is Jasper County,
Georgia.) Then, we each have the
responsibility to make those cons better, wherever we call home sweet home.
