There are times when a day from my childhood comes to me, swirls around me, teases me as I try to catch the memory in my hands, as I try to catch the scents, the sounds, the warmth of the sun on my young face. In bare feet, I reach for it, the memory that [...]
He smelled of the earth, of soil, of the outdoors. His heart would beat to the rhythm of the land. He wore boots and brogans and a hat. He was a farmer. I wish I had his old brogans. I'd like to slip my feet into them and lace them up. I'd like for my [...]
I wrote this post about a year before my mother died. My mother has lived under a cloud of bad luck lately. Presently, she’s recovering from a broken hip and a fractured pelvis. “First I got stuck in the elevator,” Mama said, “then I broke my hip.” She giggled like a school girl. “I think [...]
I’m going out with one my dog’s today. Ahab. He’s the big one. A mixture of this and that: Lab and Pit and perhaps something else. He came from the homeless shelter for dogs. That’s what I call it. The homeless shelter. The official name to the place that cared for Ahab for so long [...]
It is a Tuesday. The month is July. In two days my mother will be dead. As a writer I know to build the suspense one scene at a time. Stretch the tension. The rules of style, even those I reject, are tattooed inside me. But this is my story and I will tell it [...]
Plundering through the history of our southern way of life, I can always grab hold of something interesting, dust it off, and examine it. Today, I give you a photo essay of the families whose homes were at Tifton's cotton mill village before it closed. These photos were shared with me many years ago when [...]
Brenda Sutton Rose 