Thursday my friend Dee and I jumped in the car thinking we would just drive to "a river, any river" for a change of scenery not knowing we would end up here. We've been talking about making a trip to Cross Creek for a long time since both of us have read the book by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings about a thousand times. Usually our plans to leave early and stay all weekend in a small town nearby are usually interrupted by my many health issues or hers. We were already halfway there when we decided, Dammit we might as well go now. I was more excited because she had already been there before. What used to be the orange grove is now a park with lots of trees, benches, and places to picnic.
dying to bang on that bell and yell, Dinner! Ya'll bad kids git in herr and eat!
heard, and I won't say who, but I heard someone whisper in my ear,"I'da slept with him..." I giggled loud enough for the tour guide to give me a stern look which, actually, is the real truth about why I don't have any pictures for ya'll of the inside of her home.
what nature girls we are! We ate lunch at a place with a name I can't remember for the life of me but it smelled like my Grandma's kitchen at the farm. I have to admit that we pigged out on fried chicken, biscuits and fresh honey, greens, butter beans, mashed potatoes, rice and beans...all the food I just answered as my favorites in my last post but no strawberry shortcake. Like I had any room left anyway. We both decided if we had been real visitors to Cross Creek, that's probably what we would've been served. Is the Spanish moss romantic? I think so.