Faith, Folklore, and Friends

The word paradise is from the Greek  paradeisos , which means a park or a garden. Our Father God promises the faithful that we can live in paradise someday, but it is possible to get a small glimpse of it right now. All images by Wanda Stricklin Robertson.  Kindly contact me before using them. Cheekwood Botanical Gardens 1200 Forrest Park Drive Nashville, Tennessee cheekwood.org

google image We have abundant frogs in Alabama. On summer evenings, I love sitting on the deck, listening to them sing.  The tree frogs have a constant chorus, with other frogs and toads calling out occasionally, probably seeking a sweetheart.   Ribbit, ribbit….or maybe they are saying “Wade in deep, Wade in deep.”  Above is an image of one of the gigs my brother used in search of delectable frog legs. It has survived more than half a century; the long pole attached to it did not. My brother and his friends were champion frog giggers. They would go every night if the weather allowed, and usually came home somewhere between nine and midnight with a sack full. They would butcher the frogs, taking only the legs.  Mama would fry the legs up for them, although it was past her bedtime and she had served a normal supper and cleaned up after it hours ago.  My brother and his friends would devour the frog legs as quickly as she could get them from the frying pan to the ...

  To amuse ourselves on sunny Sunday afternoons, we would walk in the woods. It was cheap, fun, and we actually learned some things.  It also spent a lot of energy that would have otherwise been used for fussing and fighting. We always had free-range chickens, and some would go into the woods and make a nest when they got in a setting mood. We always looked for nests, and now that I am mature, I suspect that is why Mama wanted to go for a walk in the first place. If we found one, we would keep an eye on it and as soon as the little chicks hatched, they would be moved to a safer place. The woods were full of various wildflowers and herbs.  Mayapple is one of the first to appear in the spring, and Mama would point to it and tell us how that during the depression, she and her siblings would dig the roots and carry them to town in a burlap sack. The druggist there would give them a few cents for the roots and their work. There was always sassafras and sometimes some elderberr...

It was all my Grandma's fault for up and dying right after she had paid to have the winter's coal delivered.   Everyone in the neighborhood heated their homes with wood, even the people we thought were rich.  It was what we had done since the first cabins were erected, and we didn't see any sense in changing as late as 1965. Wood was free and plentiful in those Tennessee hills, and almost everyone had a chainsaw by then. Grandma and Grandpa were getting on up in years, and it became difficult to lift the heavy firewood to put in the heater to heat their home. Someone they knew had a good pickup and a source of cheap coal, and with a little encouragement, they bought a used coal heater and had a winter's supply of coal delivered. Oh, it was so good!  They could get enough coal in a bucket to last for most days. Just a few pieces of the burning coal could  put out enough heat for them to stay comfortable.  No more piling enough firewood by the front door...