Road trip! Part 7: Family

The next stop on our tour d'America was Meridian, MS, where a lot of my family comes from. They have the best accents and pecans in Mississippi, and I can really just sit and listen to Aunt Nancy talk and be pretty content. There's just something about the way she says, "Honey," with her deep voice. Wow.

And Aunt Nancy loves fried catfish. (I don't think you're allowed to live in Mississippi if you don't like fried catfish.) Especially from Ezell's Fish Camp, which is just across the border in Alabama, right on the river. It's a little off the beaten path, so once you turn off the main road, it's all cotton fields and then a little open place with a restuarant. It's easy to sweet talk her into going over there for lunch, and I was happy to hop in the driver's seat once again if it meant catfish. Yes ma'am!

Well it was worth it! Indeed. The dining room was big and homey and overlooked the river. We had some fried pickles to start. Those are so funny! And tasty. We all got fried catfish with tartar sauce and coleslaw and hushpuppies and maybe even some fried okra (my mouth is watering too), and it was just a feast, really. I mean, how do they expect you to eat all that food they bring you? But I got to listen to her accent the whole time! That is really on my top ten list of favorite things, my Aunt Nancy's accent.

Now Aunt Nancy has a knack for grabbing the bill before anyone else can, but Aunt Judy and I were prepared. Instead of asking for the check, which ultimately just causes a hullabaloo, we slipped the waitress a card and told her to take care of it. Then we found out how sneaky Nancy really is, because long before we'd gotten any of our food, she excused herself to the ladies room and gave the waitress her card. Hmph! Now we know.

This brings me to my favorite part of the story. We were at the front getting ready to go- I forget what they were doing- but I saw those cotton fields, and having just gotten off a farm myself, I was mighty interested in them. Especially since I'd never picked cotton before. We inquired, and they gave me the go ahead and a plastic grocery bag, and I was off! As I headed into the fields, two young men had just come back from the fair where they'd been selling catfish, and now they were unloading the truck. They were a little confused at what I was doing. I sauntered on past 'em. I had a goal.

Cotton is nice and fluffy, although I could see how picking it for a living could tear your hands up. The bolls are really soft, and the stems and such are really prickly- totally opposite textures. And there were loads of little bits of the prickly plant on the white fluff! I tried to clean them up as I picked, and that was just too much to do when you're picking for speed. But as an adventure, it was really nice. I filled up that whole bag with cotton! It took some doing, but I did it. And then I sauntered on back with my prize. One of the guys unloading the truck was black, and he really did not know what to do with a little white girl pickin cotton. He kept looking over at me, like he was making sure it was really happening. I really enjoyed the cultural flip: black man working in a restaurant; white girl picking some cotton. It was worth it in every aspect. Even having to eat all that catfish.