Seeker by Cecile Dixon
Southern Legitimacy Statement: Mother, Grand-mother, Great Grand-mother, nurse, writer, chief cook and bottle washer, they are all me and they are all Southern. As the years of my self imposed Northern exile roll I by, I have come to know that Southern is who I am, no matter the location.
An Eyepatch and a Grainy Orange Keypad by Kevin Winchester
Southern Legitimacy Statement...well, I poked a dead mule with a stick once. I know where "yonder" is. The first time I traveled north of the Mason-Dixon line I got in an argument with the assistant to the assistant manager because their restaurant did not offer grits on the breakfast menu. Speaking of grits, I like mine with red-eye gravy. I believe Dukes mayonnaise and Cheerwine are part of the vegetable food group. I know how to clean a squirrel. I may or may not have Wilkes County, NC moonshine in a Mason in my cabinet. Did I mention that I know where "yonder" is? Eight generations of my relatives are buried in the red clay of North Carolina, and I reckon I will be too. Right over yonder...
A Birdbrain Journal by Carmen Kunze
Southern Legitimacy Statement: I'm a native Floridian, born in Hialeah, seasoned lightly in Belle Glade and served up in West Palm Beach. I consider myself a Cuban Cracker.
Ballerina of the Neighborhood by Jeanne Lupton
Southern Legitimacy Statement
How I miss the Virginia countryside, the dusy red dirt, the soft summer rain, the green of the Shenandoah Valley, the damp heat of the swampland where I grew up. I'm so proud Virginia went Obama's way in the election. The Old Dominion ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be. How I love her, even now from the other coast, and I always will.
No Questions No Lies by Eric Boyd
SLS: Me, I grew up in Charlotte, and shortly after having my dog eaten by the people in the apartment building across the creek, was moved up to Pittsburgh by my family. Milled around for a while, then had a sabbatical from 2010-2011 which resulted in my winning the PEN American Center's Prison Writing contest. Weird how things work out. Funny in a sad way.
The Familiar by Sylvia Dodgen
Southern Legitimacy Statement: I was born and bred in the Alabama Wiregrass to a father, who said, “Yes, Ma’am” to every female no matter how old or young, and a mother, who painted her lips and nails red and wore heels, hose and a garter everyday of the week except Saturdays, when she rode horses with my father then she wore jodhpurs and boots. Her hair was the hardest thing she had to deal with on a daily basis. If for some reason she couldn’t make it to the beauty shop, she took meals in her bedroom, announcing that her hair looked like a “stump full of granddaddies.” She believed in benign neglect. I ran around barefoot in cutoff dungarees without a shirt. The dungaree suspenders pulled over my shoulders and hooked to metal buttons on a bib, covering my chest. I was sandy, freckled and tick-ridden.
Occasionally, daddy would bring in quail and partridge from a Saturday morning shoot. I would pick them clean on Saturday night, while my parents were dining and dancing. We’d have fried quail and grits for dinner at noon on Monday. We ate fried fish roe and grits for breakfast on Sundays and brains and eggs many weekdays. I grew up on scuppernong wine made by my granddaddy. I was a child of the 1950's and life in the Wiregrass was peaceful, pleasant and in some ways peculiar (I just didn’t know it then).
The Vehicle My Father Slept In by Jason Sobelman
SLS : I have seen a couple episodes of Lizard Lick Towing. No?
Well, I traveled across two states to hear a Southern Preacher, because that is as close as he would get to the abyss that is my current residency . God bless you Pastor David Terrell.
Shelby Stephenson: Four Poems
Southern Legitimacy Statement:
Here are 4 pieces from Shub's Cooking. (One of my nicknames is Shub.)
These (poems) are "real" recipes, or based in things I grew up eating, mostly cooked by my mother. And I learned something, after I got toward the end of running out of food to write about: my mother did not use a recipe for anything other than something she did not grow up cooking.
In other words: if we did not kill it, the food, we did not eat. Or: if the chickens didn't lay we didn't eat eggs. Pigs, small game and so on--same.
The recipes I found in her box with the tin eagle tacked on the front--that little box is filled with recipes for desserts.
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