The 2011 Southeastern Mad Dash, Pt. 2

Well, after such an exciting first day, one can only pray that it will settle down a little. And, gentle readers, it did. To the best of my knowledge, no other relations were jailed during that leg of the trip.

That in no way implies that everything done was legal. Just that nobody got caught. And really, that's all you can hope for.

As I mentioned before, we were staying with my Great Aunt and Uncle, whose bucolic surroundings (I like to fancy) are the American equivalent of all those gorgeous countryside landscapes Jane Austen used to write about. They live in sort of the backwoods Darbyshire, as it were.

But please don't be misled. They have worked hard to foster these pastoral scenes. Trust me when I say the rest of the town falls a little flat.

We visited at a good time--it was actually spring. For those in SoCal who don't know this, Spring is the season that is sort of like what your weather is All The Freaking Time. For the rest of the world, it's a rare and brief treat.

Mountains out of mole-flowers:

Besides Merchant-Ivory landscapes, what does the visiting the relatives entail?

Food. All the time food. Endless meals. There are two things you are talking about in these circumstances: food or grass/yard. We will discuss what we just ate. We will discuss what we will be eating at the very next meal, even as we finish the current meal. We will discuss what other relatives will be serving us. We will shut our mouths while one relatives reveals they purposely cooked the same dish as another, so we would get the "good" version. We will pause and discuss what kind of grass grows best in point XYZ. 

Then we will talk about food some more.

Food is notoriously hard to photograph, and I've no talent in that department anyways. You are just going to have to trust me that the below were the best goddamn pancakes I've had since. . . well, since the last time my Great Uncle cooked me pancakes. 

Crispy edges and all. Standard serving of five. And they wonder why I didn't eat for the rest of the day.

In between eating and talking about grass, you make the rounds to other people's houses. I got to surprise a cousin I hadn't seen in over 20 years.

You probably can't tell, but he's hauling trees. To clear out space to grow muscadine, which are apparently one of the new cash crops in the Carolinas. It would seem that wine produced from muscadine has somewhere around 300% more resveratrol than European grape wines. When my cos' got done tractoring, he stopped and we sat down for a visit. In which he tried to feed us. (And he knows better too, so he settled for wonderful strawberries). And we talked about grass. But there was a perk--this part of the family drinks, so I got to enjoy some hooch with my irony before we returned to the dry relatives. 

In a strange twist of fate, a large swath of the area near us was part of the country that was hit by freak tornadoes. Very, very unusual for that part of the country. One touched down only a few miles from us. Part of a high school we use to compete against got demolished. 

I move the West Coast and they have more rain over the holidays than they've had in years. It never rains here. They frigging sing about it. Then a tsunami hits Japan. Then the day I arrive back on the East Coast tornadoes rip up the countryside.

If I were a betting man, I'd say the Almighty's aim is improving. I'd probably also advise against standing close to me in the near future. He's bound to nail the bullseye sooner or later. 

More visits and more food (I mean, really Aunt R., TWO entrees for one lunch? Chicken and dumplings AND a roast pork loin?) and then it was out to the acreage where I lived for the duration of my time in that part of the country. 

These are bittersweet trips. They've sold the forest a few times over, so the trees get stripped and replanted. There's nothing left of the old homestead but a couple pieces of decking.

I tried my best to get my bearing and find some old trails we used to frequent. Tromping through the woods, I had my Frostian moment, and I too chose the path less travelled. It was still wrong, but fate was kind and by accident I stumbled into one of the grottos we used to race our bikes up and down. Then, just like in days gone by, I heard my mother calling to me through the woods. We were late to dinner down the road at my other Great Uncles. I hollered (because there's no other word for it) "I'm coming!"

Then I scrambled over a forest floor covered in felled trees. I don't know if you ever seen the remains of deforestation, but there's a post apocalyptic air about it. Huge cords of unusable wood stand 12 to 18 feet high and 3 times as wide. The ground is carpeted in debris, and it feels as if you are walking on the bones of the trees, grey skeletal remains. Unsure footing, as well, with dry rot and a sensation of walking on rebar. 

Back at the Great Uncle D. we had more food and more family. He fried up a mess of fresh catfish (I will only eat Uncle D's catfish from his his farm on the property) and showed me his "outdoor kitchen."

I'm pretty sure my old man would sell me into white slavery for a kitchen like that. It amuses me to no end that so many of my relatives have become what I like to call "gentleman farmers" in their later years. Yes, there's a double meaning there. Let's just say that by hook or by crook, people seem almost destined to mimic the actions of their forefathers. I never really considered this part of my family to be country, but on this trip, I reconsidered that notion. Let's have a closer look at that kitchen.

I'm not saying anything. I don't know nothing about nothing. But I do know it's only illegal if you sell it. And I have suspicions about those muscadine vines my other cousin is growing.

My only interaction with the techno world during this excursion was my mad dash to the public library to take care of some work documents that were due on Tuesday. 

Wednesday saw us loading up the Space Van and making the ten hour drive to the Gulf Coast. I arrived there and promptly fell backward off the front steps trying to haul my luggage up. And so began my adventures on the Emerald Coast. But that is a tale for another day.