I was born in the deep south, specifically Atlanta, Georgia.  Big changes have precipitated much of the barren land to now become shopping centers.  But back before…

Aunt Gertie was my great aunt.  She lived to be 94 years old, quite a feat in those days.  She had a 1940s style washing machine in her house, but preferred to wash her dresses out in the sink.  She still cut her own grass well into her 80s, until she got caught by her son.  Her flowers were always the prettiest.  And she could outcook and outcan anyone in the county.  Even at her age, it was remarkable the volume of canned fresh vegetables she put up each year.  

When I was a kid, my sister and I would visit frequently.  She and her husband, Uncle Arthur farmed about 40 acres if memory serves me correctly.  On one visit, we encountered a cow.  After my sister’s unsuccessful milking lesson, I decided not to try.  She had milk all over the cow, Uncle Arthur and herself.  Truth be known, I was afraid of the cow as it was so intimidating looking.

And there was a tulip tree on the property.  A tulip tree is a tree that blooms tulips in the branches where they meet the main tree trunk or at the intersection of two branches at the base.  It looks odd for two reasons.  One is that no blooms appear at the end of the branches like most trees.  The other is that it blooms before any leaves are out.  So it gives the appearance of a dead tree with tulips just sitting in it.  Aunt Gertie and I would always inspect the yard when she was able.  She would always wear her bonnet outside to protect her fair skin from burning.

But my favorite item in her whole yard was the fig bush.  You cannot beat the taste of fresh figs.  To this date, I do not care for fig preserves.  I will enjoy fig newtons.  But the fig bush is wonderful.  And it sometimes appears to die in winter.  But sure enough every spring it may start blooming again.  It is hearty because it is southern.