When I was a child, we used to make the annual trip to Mississippi for Thanksgiving and I would get sick before we left, almost every time. Somehow, once we were there, I magically recovered and was able to run and play with my cousins, leading me to believe that it was the excitement about going that made me sick in the first place.
Grandmother was a fabulous cook, I have yet to taste biscuits as good as she made them, flaky and dripping with butter and molasses. The other dish she was famous for was her pecan pie. It was our job as kids to gather the pecans from her orchard which surrounded her house. She paid us a dime a bucket and my cousins and I usually made a day of it, singing songs and playing around as we picked them up. it was a sort of competition to see who would bring her the most.
When they passed away, the trips stopped. I miss that connection with my family, one that is still broken to this day. Luckily, my cousins Edie and Mary inherited Grandmother’s love for cooking and on a recent trip my husband and I made, we were treated to some of their delectable dishes. She would have been so proud.
