breadcrumbs to home…

(mom’s magnolia tree is in full summer to be regalia / Julie Cook / 2018)

Few things are more indicative of life in the South than the large white billowy blooms
of the Magnolia.

Well, maybe a few other things such as mosquitoes, heat, and humidity might also come to mind…
but if the truth be told, the Magnolia is by far, the best of the bunch.

The large majestic blooms are hailed as the state flower for both Louisiana and Mississippi.

These are not dainty, delicate nor demure flowers by any means…
words which are often associated and used to describe life here down South…

Rather these beauties are large, tenacious, enduring and oh so sweetly fragrant.
Words I prefer to use when I think of those native Southerners.
Words such as tenacious…think fire ant.

I’ve spent the better part of the week up in Atlanta babysitting and I am happy to report
that Mother’s magnolia tree is in full bloom.

While the grass was still damp with the morning dew and the air thick and heavy with the
lingering damp humidity from the day’s prior thundershowers,
I walked out into the backyard while holding my tiny yet curious granddaughter.

I know that this little girl will never meet nor ever know either of my parents…
yet their presence permeates her small world like the lingering smoke circling the
air from a smoldering brick hearth.

I was greeted this misty morning with a deep sense of satisfaction and great comfort
being able to point out to this wee one of mine those long lasting and enduring
breadcrumbs that had been originally and randomly scattered long ago by my own mom…

Breadcrumbs that were, at the time unbeknownst to Mother, being left as trail markers…

And after all these many years, these inconspicuous directional markers remain to this day,
firmly in place.

Be it the tiny tea rose bush Mother never knew would live let alone thrive now decades later…
to a stand of currently runaway and run amuck monkey grass…
to this now stately and massive magnolia tree…
A tree I vividly remember planting with my mom and my grandmother when I was
just a little girl.

A tree whose blooms will, for this new generation, act as a polestar as to how to
recall finding one’s way back to “home.”

And whereas we all have that place we hold in our mind’s eye as to what constitutes the notion
of home, be it a fond treasured memory or rather a memory preferred to be long forgotten,
we each have that place.

Yet what many of us never truly realize is that that place of which we all oddly
so long for despite often already thinking we are there, is not to be found here
among the trees or buildings, fields or roads…

Home, that most sacred place we often seem to ache for despite often being physically
in the place, we think we call home, is not to be found here on this earth…

And so as we are left to navigate our way to this place where we will know
without doubt that we are indeed truly Home, we remain continually seeking those
often overlooked breadcrumbs left to us by the One who has come, gone and will come again…
breadcrumbs of hope and salvation, of which will rightfully lead us to that place
where we finally can claim that we are Home.

(the four stages of a magnolia bloom / Julie Cook / 2018)

For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed,
we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands.
Meanwhile, we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling,
because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked.
For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened,
because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our
heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.
Now the one who has fashioned us for this very purpose is God,
who has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.

Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home
in the body we are away from the Lord.For we live by faith, not by sight.
We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home
with the Lord. So we make it our goal to please him,
whether we are at home in the body or away from it.
For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ,
so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body,
whether good or bad.
2 Corinthians 5:1-10

I have the perfect solution. . . does anyone know where I can get an anteater or two??

“As regards intellectual work it remains a fact, indeed, that great decisions in the realm of thought and momentous discoveries and solutions of problems are only possible to an individual, working in solitude.”
Sigmund Freud

(Sleeping anteater at the Vienna Zoo–isn’t he a cutie? Julie Cook / 2012)

How delightfully appropriate that the subject of today’s posted image, as well as the author of today’s quote, both hail from Vienna. Not originally mind you as Freud was born in Moravia which is currently considered a part of the Czech Republic and our little cute sleeping beauty is originally from the wilds of South America, yet both made their permeant homes in Vienna. I am thinking however that our sweet little sleeping friend did not come to Vienna by choice, but I digress.

I have decided that I desperately need to procure an anteater, maybe even two.
They look easy to keep. I can certainly provide a place for them to sleep. I can water them, brush them as that coat of theirs looks like it could do with a nice brushing. They seem docile enough. Surely that little mouth of theirs isn’t filled with fierce teeth and I bet they wouldn’t scratch the furniture like the two knot heads, aka our cats of which my husband so lovingly refers, who happen to call our house home and who scratch with a relentless zeal—hence why I sit on tattered rags. . .digressing.
I bet I can even provide said anteater with a smorgasbord of delectable foods.
An endless and amble supply!!

In fact my yard is full of their food!

(one of hundreds of ant mounds hiding just on the surface of the South / Julie Cook / 2014)

There have been three recent incidents which have lead me to the desire of the procurement of said anteater–all of which have been of the Alfred Hitchcock variety. . .or more of the Rod Serling Twilight Zone variety. . .or perhaps more like a B grade horror flick. . .or maybe just all three rolled into one.

The latest “episode” transpired earlier this week.
It was late and I was ready to call it a day.
I was just getting into the shower when I looked back noticing Percy (aka one of the knot heads that I dearly love) staring intently at my shirt, the one I had dropped on the closet floor as I was preparing for my shower, intending to take it to the laundry room once I finished washing up.

Now mind you I was currently naked as a jaybird, as that is how I prefer to shower–plus I had removed my glasses as I also prefer to shower with naked eyes. As Percy wouldn’t stop staring at my shirt, I hesitated shutting the shower door, preferring to lean outward just a tad to get a better look at my discarded shirt.
Why was it appearing to twinkle or vibrate or move in place?
Hummmmm.
With the water running, I step out of the shower to inspect this odd phenomenon. Even without my glasses I can immediately figure out as to why my shirt is “moving”
AAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
I run screaming from the closet and bathroom, yes, still naked as a jaybird, shower door wide open as the water is still running. And please, don’t let your mind go there as it is not a pretty sight.
My poor husband, who had fallen asleep in his favorite chair watching the late night news, jumps from his chair as if he had just been catapulted heavenward.

“ANTS ARE IN THE CLOSET!! GET THE POISON!!”
This as I make a mad dash in search of poison.
“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?
My confused, tired and bleary eyed husband asks in great annoyance.
He seems to think company is always about to ring the bell any time day or night whenever I decide, out of grand necessity mind you, that I must make some scantily clad dash here, there and yon.

“ANTS!!! FIRE ANTS ARE IN THE HOUSE!!! GET THE POISON!!!”
Finding a spray bottle of bug killer I make a mad dash past my husband who is finally making his way to see for himself, firsthand, the cause of my commotion.

Sure enough, my shirt is teaming with ants as a nice orderly line is coming and going to the baseboard along the outside wall of the house.

“KILL THEM” I scream as I precariously pick up my shirt and run to the back to door to fling it outside. Yes I’m still naked as a jaybird but its late and its dark out, I could run around naked all night in the yard and no one would see me so it’s okay.

I dash back in and begin wildly spraying the remaining mass and the now confused little trail leading to the baseboard.

“TAKE THAT. . .AND THAT” I shout in triumph of extermination.

By now my husband has made his way to the basement in search of his high powered poison and proceeds to make his way outside in the dark to spray the base of the house outside the closet as there is obviously a mound hiding in the pine straw a bit too close to the house for my liking.

(I’m not trying to push this brand, but it’s all we had)

I finally throw on some clothes ( you realize that I can hear you sighing in heavy relief) as I proceed to spray and wipe up, then mop the closest.
“DAMN ANTS” I can be heard to wail and lament for the remainder of the night.

The two times prior to this invasion were each similar.
It always starts the same.
Percy begins staring.
One time it was at his food bowl–which was oddly, once again, moving—as there was also a nice little line of soldiers coming in from a kitchen baseboard, once again from an outside wall. My husband, most likely to avoid my high pitched screams of hysteria, immediately dashed outside, finding the mound in the pine straw, at the base of the wall to the kitchen and began spraying the spray of eradication.

The other time was in the laundry room. All with a similar scene of pandaemonium, chaos and poison.

Now you must know that I pride myself in the keeping a very clean, immaculate home. I scrub, mop, dust, vacuum like nobody’s business. I keep a neat and tidy yard doing my best to eradicate the damn mounds which liter the yard like weeds gone mad.

(you can’t see them in this picture but had this been a video, the earth would be violently moving)

I spend hundreds of dollars on poison, sprays, powders—anything and everything in order to kill these most painful and even dangerous pests.

(don’t inhale, it will kill you)

If you’ve ever flown into the Atlanta airport. . .as the next time you make your way to baggage, look up—there for all the world to see, is what some whacked out “decorator” thought would be cute—a sculptured trail of giant fire ants climbing the walls onto the ceiling. I find this to be a grave embarrassment for our fine state.
I hate the damn things, and here, for all of humanity to see, the airing of our dirty laundry.
Yes, we here in the South have a terrible problem with fire ants, and we can’t seem to do anything to fix it.

I won’t go into the odd dance performed by many a blindsided southerner who mindlessly ventures outside, rather oblivious as to where and where not to step. Any passing neighbor will quickly recognize the fire ant dance. One step, inadvertently on a camouflaged mound hiding in the thick cool summer grass and within a millisecond, ones foot, leg and lower torso is engulfed in searing pain sending the poor unsuspecting victim hopping, swatting and jumping around the yard madly striping out of any and all clothing.
It’s the only way.
Perhaps dousing oneself in gasoline is the only other option but I don’t recommend that.

All humor aside fire ants have been known to kill young calves, deer, dogs and cats not to mention cause grave concern for those who are allergic to bees. Their bites pack a painful punch and imagine timesing that by 1,000,000,000!

So I have decided on what appears to be the most sound and rational solution, not to mention the most environmentally friendly, riding my need of poisons all in the name of the eternal quest of the total eradication of these damned fire ants!

(no, my yard does not have a drug problem, rather a poison problem)

Now if I could just talk the Vienna Zoo into letting me borrow their sweet little “pets”. . .

(a sleeping mom anteater with her young draped over mom’s head / Vienna Zoo / Julie Cook / 2012)

This means war!!!!

“Where the battle rages, there the loyalty of the soldier is proved.”
― Martin Luther

Do you have any idea as to what this picture is all about?
You think it’s just some sort of stem don’t you?
You are partially correct, it is a stem–sans all its leaves.
And you should know that this is not just any sort of stem!
This is one of almost 50 plants just like it.
Rows upon rows of “topped off” plants.
Topped off you ask?
Yes, as in eaten off.
As in all of my green, wax, bush, french beans have been pillaged.
Pillaged you ask?
As in decimated.
As in eaten to the nubs.

Do you remember this little fellow? I took this shot back in the fall.
“Oh how pretty”
“Oh how majestic”
I had mused as I watched the bucks and does come and go in our yard.
Little did I know of the impending treachery. . .

Well it now seems as if this little buck has called all his friends.
The antlers are long gone and this is the time of year that food is at its peak.
Food?
Yes, my food.
As in my garden.
UGH!!!!

I try to keep this garden of ours as organic as possible. The strongest stuff I use on pests is the poison I sprinkle on those d@m%ed fire ant mounds which ring the garden like the infamous ring of fire—quite fitting indeed.
Oh how I hate those evil little biting devils. . .

But after my rows of beans, my pepper plants now minus their tops, an entire cucumber plant MIA, crushed stalks of young corn and even branchy vines from my tomatoes all mysteriously disappearing—daily . . .
I’m mad.
Really mad.
Fighting mad.

Do you remember George C. Scott’s role as General George S. Paton?
Remember that opening fiery profanity laced monologue?
That man didn’t play.
Just ask the Germans.
And thank God for the Allies he didn’t mince words. . .
Well, by George S. Patton, it is now time for the big guns!!
As in, this means war!!!

Recently an old-timer (that’s what my husband calls the elderly men who have spent their lives working in the fields) came into my husband’s store recently and shared with him a tried and true little secret weapon that he swore by to ward off deer from ones garden. . .Irish Spring.

What you say?
As in Irish Spring, green, highly fragrant, soap??!!
Yep.
Supposedly the deer don’t like the smell.
We bought boxes of the soap and have cut slivers, much like Hansel and Grettle leaving little crumbs, surrounding the entire perimeter of the garden, plus up and down each and every row.
All the while I whistled the little sailor ditty from those iconic Irish Spring commercials.

Next, I went for the old standard pie pans.
Shock and awe.

Clinking, clanging and banging in the breeze. We tied 15 pans all around the garden. They’re hung in tress, from the tomato cages, and even from the bean poles.

And then there was the non poisonous pest granules which are spread on the ground, not the plants. It has an irritating effect on the nostrils of varmints large and small.
Hummmmm.
Yeah, and I’ve got some swamp land for sale. . .the jury is still out on the granules.

But— there is a secret weapon.
I don’t know his name yet.
But he is two faced.
He’s doubly mean
And he’s doubly bad.
Plus he smells.
Smells you ask?
Yes.
Stinks to high heaven.
As in he’s been doused with perfume.

I figured a good dousing of perfume might signal that a human just may be lurking in and around the beans.
Fingers crossed.
My only other recourse. . . send my husband out all night with a spot light.
Somehow I don’t think he’d be too keen on that thought. . .
I’ll keep you posted. . .

Just get me to the church on time. . .

Goin’ to the chapel and we’re gonna get married.
Goin’ to the chapel and we’re gonna get married.
Gee, I really love you and we’re, gonna get married.
Goin’ to the chapel of love.
the Crystals

(The fountain in Forsyth Park, Savannah, Georgia / Julie Cook / 2012)

Picture this. . .
This lovely fountain, in just 5 short days, all gussied up with a happy couple standing in front of it.
An assembled group of 100 friends and family, dodging Georgia’s infamous noseeums.
Oh, you’ve never heard of a nosseum? They’re in the dictionary. They’re on the internet. They are vicious, wicked and invisible.
They are a notorious southern hot weather pain in the a$%!!!!

A lovely southern Saturday morning–already hot with heavy humidity (what’s the South without humidity? It’s what keeps us from wrinkling)
Sprinkled with a constant threat of thunderstorms.
And there I’ll be, with my hand out, waiting for someone to slap a mint julep in it.

It’s finally time I take this show on the road.
After a three year long engagement. . .
After a year long, hit it hard, organizing marathon of a road trip wedding. . .
After months of running my a%$ off on an elliptical— and lest we not forget my discovery of my behind, post exterior, derrière, bum, being not exactly symmetrical. . . and may we all recall my husband’s brilliant solution of duct tape—let’s not go there shall we.
All the while as visions of robbing fort Knox, to help pay for this little fete, are dancing in my head.. .
Yep, it’s definitely time to get this show on the road–as in literally, we need to get on the road, we need to get on the road as in NOW!!!!!!!

Posts this week may be sporadic.
Posts may be non existent.
Posts may make no sense. . .
–or–
Being the the consummate educator that I am, I may not even miss a beat—at this point, it’s anyone’s guess and depends on the number of juleps people throw my way…medicinal purposes you know, as in nerve tonics. . .
But the show is definitely hitting the road very shortly. . .

But first there are trips to the airport, still figuring out if Dad is up to joining this traveling show, a gazillon things need to be packed in my car, including the Prime minister. . .
You’re taking Winston Churchill? you ask. . .
Wouldn’t you take Winston Churchill?
It’s a long story, but at this point, I think if Winston could stave off the Nazis from invading the great island nation of my ancestors, he can certainly give aid, offer comfort plus render a clear and level head to me and “the cause” this week!!
Unless he gets into the juleps. . .

I’ll be blazing the trail down the lonely undeveloped, sans any rest areas, I-16, cutting a diagonal line clear across this state, heading for the city of this great state’s inception. You know we’re named for King George and I’m headed to the land of General Oglethorpe, as my peeps will be following along throughout the course of the week.
Kind of like fire ants, traveling along in an erratic line, on a mission, to God knows where.

So with all of this nervous rambling and chatter aside, may it now be known and most official– it’s less than a week to D day and I’ve got to get a move on!!—as in NOW!

Stay tuned.
Say prayers–not so much for me as I’ve got this, but for Brenton and Abby— as they finally see the culmination of lots of time, blood, sweat and tears coming to fruition—all on a beautiful Saturday in June, during a tender ceremony, and may God’s grace shine forever upon their union . . . and may we all remember. . .

The woods are waking up!

Look at the trees, look at the birds, look at the clouds, look at the stars… and if you have eyes you will be able to see that the whole existence is joyful. Everything is simply happy. Trees are happy for no reason; they are not going to become prime ministers or presidents and they are not going to become rich and they will never have any bank balance. Look at the flowers – for no reason. It is simply unbelievable how happy flowers are.
Osho

Do you hear it?
Can you smell it?
The wind, that March wind of the roaring lion–
The wind which sweeps over the landscape sending all things scattering to and fro.
The air, breathe deeply for it is no longer cold– that type of cold which stings ones nose and throat- Happily there is warmth to the breath of this March lion.
Can’t you smell that sweet warm wind?

Do you hear them?
There is a symphony serenading the swamps and creeks.
The multitude of tree frogs have summoned their members of this annual choir.
The ground has warmed just enough, reminding those who have been dormant this winter, to rise and shine, it’s time to find that perfect mate.

Other worldly mushroom shaped buds line up on the tips of limbs and twigs, waiting to explode.
Such tiny buds not only signal the renewal of nature, but of our hearts and souls as well–for these are the buds of the wild dogwood.
The South knows that Spring has officially arrived by the blooming of these mystical trees.
The blooming of the dogwood is Nature raising her banners, alerting us all to the celebration of Easter.

Warming weather signals the internal mystery for the annual sloughing off of antlers, which in turn provides nutrients to smaller animals. This warming also sends the ground beneath the feet of all teaming with activity. Beware of roaming the newly cool green grass with feet bare for the South’s most hardy nemesis, the dreaded fire ant is on the move.

Good morning sleepy heads for behold, the Advent of Spring is here!

God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars.
~Author unknown, commonly attributed to Martin Luther

An American Beauty-berry?

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
George Eliot

(Photograph: the purple variety of the American Beautyberry–Callicarpa Americana / Troup County, Georgia / Julie Cook / 2013)

I know what you’re thinking…Julie, why do you have a picture of some purple berries when you obviously mean to be chatting about Fall? And what in the heck is an American beauty…berry of all things?

Ahhhh, not to fear, I have not lost my mind. These delightful little berries are indeed very much all about Fall. I know you were looking, no doubt, for beautiful images of leaves…those of the Autumnal foliage color variety gregariously showboating flames of oranges, red, and golden yellows….We must remember, however, that it’s still September and this is Georgia…we won’t have those sorts of displays for at least 3 more weeks to perhaps even a month longer. I’ve got to make do until then with what we do have available way down here in Dixie.

Look what I found while traipsing out in the woods last weekend. “How terribly pretty are those berries” I thought to my self…how beautiful the brilliant lavenderish purple played off the light yellow green leaves. Not ever claiming to be a botanist, I knew I’ve seen these bushes and berries out in the woods before but assumed that it must be a sort of sumac and no doubt deadly. I was wrong. I know that is quite a revelation for me to admit, my having been wrong, but just don’t let my husband know……remember he’s convinced the wild pears in the woods are poisonous, this news would rock his world….

Once home I conducted a little research looking up information on a southern bush with bright purple berries which appear in the Fall. The very first entry was indeed my plant. It is the American Beautyberry–and is not only relegated to the woods but people actually add these showy little beauties to their yards for landscaping.

They are native to the southern regions of our country and have been used for all sorts of purposes by Native Americans…and no, they are not poisonous—however I’m not about to dash out and consume any part of them as I tend to always be a little leery of bright pretties that grow in the wild. Seems they have been used medicinally for centuries and are also used to repel mosquitoes, flies and more importantly in my world…fire ants. Seems farmers and ranchers in Texas have smeared these pretty little berries on their horses and cattle in order to provide the livestock a little relief from all sort of biting and stinging creatures.

Have you ever flown into Atlanta’s Harstfield-Jackson International Airport and seen the sculptures of the fire ants lining the ceiling out near the baggage claim? Next time in town, look up and you will spy a larger version of my arch nemesis parading along the ceiling and walls. I’ve always thought that instead of the Falcons or the Braves, our sports teams should be the Fire Ants, as that is what seems to be holding the understructure of this state together—one giant red dirt fire ant mound…uggghhh. This should not be news to any of you if you’ve read any of my post regarding my time outside—-simply put, I despise fire ants….I often wonder if it just wasn’t proving to be a really bad day when God made the fire ant—maybe that was after the whole Garden of Eden incident….but I digress….

What a wonderful discovery my time in the woods provided last weekend. I now know a little more than I did before venturing out for my hike. Don’t be surprised if the next time you see me outside, either working in the yard or merely going for a nice walk, if I’m not smeared in a pretty bright purple goo. You’ll just know that I am sporting a little American Beauty…berry.
Take that fire ants!!!

I spy mint– that can only mean one thing—Julep Time

Here in “the South” –and for those of you readers not in the US, or familiar with the particular regions making up the US, “the South” means anything below the Mason Dixon line and east of Texas. The Mason who and what about Texas you ask??!! Well, most Southerners equate the Mason Dixon line as a dividing line dating from the Civil War time period denoting “free” states and “slave” states– or in layman’s term, northern states and southern states. However the survey line actually dates back much earlier and was originally used/created/surveyed to denote British colonies verses American Colonies—a dividing line no matter when or how you look at it.

And as far as Texas is concerned, when they travel, many a Texan will claim to hail from the South when asked from where it is they “come from”— but if the truth be told, Texans would prefer to say that they hail from the country of Texas, a separate country from the US entirely—it’s that big you know.

Anywho (a southern expression) back to the point of this story…here in the South, at the first sign of warm weather—and warm weather is anything on a thermometer reading from the 60s to 70ish degrees Fahrenheit, and of course the sun must be shining– people begin shedding. This phenomenon is a lot like animals that shed as the temperatures rise but rather than shedding hair or fur, Southerners shed clothes.

It could be January 6th on the calendar but if the day is sunny and feels “warm,” a Southerner will scour the closest for special clothing items that have been tucked away for winter hibernation— a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a pair of flip flops (a simple type of sandal). Business people will think it a good idea to dine alfresco at lunch. Folks sporting convertible cars will think it wise to “pop the top.” (Let’s not talk about pollen yet, shall we—that is another story entirely, how the world turns to yellow powder). Snow and ice may be forecast for the following day, but this day, this day is warm and that means time to “soak up some rays” (meaning to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin and enjoy it).

When I was in college, attending The University of Georgia, I was a member of a sorority (a kind of club for girls). I was a Phi Mu. The Phi Mu house there in Athens, is an antebellum house dating back 150 years. It has an old tin rooftop. The Phi Mus were famous for “sunning” on the tin roof. It could be 38 degrees, with a cold north wind howling, on an early February day, but if the sun was shinning, and heat radiating, girls, oh so very pale girls, would don bathing suits, make for a window only to scamper out to the roof in order to procure a prime sunning spot. The roof of the Phi Mu house is famous you know.

However back to the story, again– as the temperatures begin a slow ascent upward, usually in March, the little, winter, dormant, garden plants that have been “hunkered down” (another southern expression) for the past couple of months, begin slowly creeping upward as well. One of the first little plants (weeds to some as it is a plant that spreads and never seems to give up) to emerge out of hiding from down in the dark soil, baring its sleepy little leaves, is the Mentha x piperita or the Peppermint plant/herb. I prefer Peppermint for my yard, however spearmint is the more common plant found in most gardens.

Ever since I was a young girl, I have loved peppermint tea. It was always a treat when my mother would buy me a tin of Twinning’s Peppermint tea, a real splurge on my mom’s grocery budget. I would feel so sophisticated making myself a cup of tea at the wise old age of 10. I must confess that this little ritual has been with me ever since but I digress.

Being the true Southerner that I am (I’m no transplant as I was born and raised here) I watch my sleepy little mint plants popping up out of the ground and I immediately start thinking Juleps!
What’s a Julep you ask—a beautifully sophisticated southern adult sipping beverage. Refreshing on a hot, humid southern sticky day (anyone traveling to the South in the summer months has come face to face with the dreaded southern sticky humidity—a type of heat that hits you smack in the face and sucks the life out of you. Making it difficult to breath, it can trigger health warnings and does a terrible number on one’s hair—but there I go digressing again…)

It is important to find something, anything to soothe the southern sticky humidity and a Julep is an age-old remedy. It is also a precursor to the most famous of horse races, the Kentucky Derby. I suppose Kentucky may claim to be the home of the Julep. I can’t say for certain, as I’ve not done any historical research into the inception of the drink, but given that the main ingredient is Kentucky Bourbon, I suppose they may claim it as so.

I would like to continue this little discourse of all things southern, horse racing, juleps, etc…but today is one of those “sunny” southern days of glory. My mind is wandering to all things of warm weather…cookouts, the sweet smell of freshly mowed grass, fire ants (damned creatures—for another post), long sunny afternoons, watermelons, star gazing to the mournful sound of the whipper-o-wills, sweet corn on the cob with buttery wonder dripping down one’s chin, and a tall frosty glass of either a julep or even a mojito to quench that sweltering sticky humidity that I know is coming…

Here are two little recipes for a Julie Julep or of Jujito –be mindful that I am not one big on the whole concept of measuring. I’m of the school of a dash of this and a splash of that…a scary little concept when talking Bourbon, Vodka or Pisco. (Pisco is a wonderful fermented liquor made from distilled grape must originating from Peru—I prefer it to Tequila).

Get a pretty tall/collins glass—I pull out my best Waterford crystal (thank you Ireland). But a true Julep cup is a small squat sterling silver cup which nicely captures the “sweat” of the ice within on an oh so hot day….. Cut a bunch of fresh mint leaves. Get some crushed ice. If you’re a purist, make some simple syrup by boiling equal parts sugar and water but I have found Agave nectar to be a quick solution—found at grocery stores—
Place the mint in the glass/ cup and using a muddler, or the end of a wooden spoon, crush the mint leaves releasing the essential oils. Fill the glass with crushed ice. Add a Tablespoon to 1 oz syrup/ nectar, depending if you like it sweet or not. Next add 2 to 3 ounces of good Kentucky bourbon (the best you can afford) and if necessary an ounce or so of water, depending if you’re a purist or not—give it all a stir, top with some mint leaves and voila!!

The Jujito is more of a lime inspired libation equally rewarding on a hot sticky southern evening. Get a tall/ Collins glass (see above). Fill with mint leaves, crushing with a muddler or end of a wooden spoon. Cut a lime in half and squeeze ¼ to ½ of the lime in the glass. Pour in 1 oz of syrup/nectar, 2 to 3 ounces of either Pisco or Vodka—the Pisco is really the best choice. Top off the glass with lime-aid, Simply Lime, or some other limejuice type beverage (not a soda—raspberry lemonade can be substituted). Top with a slice of lime and more mint—enjoy and do not gulp.

Warning–if you want more accuracy measuring, perhaps a lookup of a cocktail would be helpful–you are welcomed to experiment with ingredients and measurements–whatever floats your boat (another southern expression). These are meant to be savored in a lawn chair or rocking chair–no drinking and driving ever intended!!