A Buttery Reminder

*
"Just what am I going to eat for breakfast, Mom?" Sam fussed, rifling through the cabinets. "There's no food in the house!"
"Have you even looked?" I yelled from in front of the computer.
This seemed to be a Y-linked chromosomal trait, this inability to see the food --or the favorite shirt or the baseball cap--right in front of their faces.
"Yes I've looked," he sighed. "Come see for yourself."
"Okay, I will!" I declared, ready to point out the wide array of breakfast choices and gloat in motherly triumph.

Uh oh.

Darn it.
Sam was right. There were cornflakes and Cheerios, but not a drop of milk. No bread, no juice. Someone ate the last peach the night before. No tortillas for a cheese quesadilla. Just one lonely egg in the carton. No yogurt, except two Cotton Candy Gogurts that Sam says taste like medicine and make him want to puke.

This was bad.
Here stood my hungry eleven year old, but even worse, there was an eighteen year old son studying upstairs. In a mere twenty minutes or so, his hunger would trip the alarm in his stomach and he'd come barreling down the stairs like a grizzly bear, ready to pick up somebody's Honda and shake any food out of it.

Obviously, the Breakfast Man (aka Todd Ramsey) had been gone for the week.
Todd grew up eating breakfasts of eggs and bacon and sausage (yes, two pig products offered each morning,) rice or grits, juice and milk, while I grew up eating cereal with milk or a Danish Go Round or maybe cinnamon toast.
Not a criticism, Mom! I so miss a Danish Go Round. (Do y'all remember those?) And I hate washing breakfast pans. (Todd is an enthusiastic breakfast cook, but not so enthusiastic on the cleaning up part.)

I looked at the clock and searched the freezer. Surely there was something in there.
Frozen biscuits! Yes!

I popped them in the oven, sat back down in front of the computer, and promptly immersed myself in your blogs. And promptly forgot all about the biscuits.
The blog posts I read were so very good.
I forgot about my boys and I forgot about the oven.

Some twenty minutes later, a fragrance tickled my nose.
Ooh, that's nice.
What was it? It smells like a country kitchen. Like butter. Like bread baking.
BISCUITS!

Lucky for us, they were perfect, lightly browned, puffy in the middle, golden on the bottom.
Thank goodness for the scent, leading me out of my morning fog, reminding me of the deliciousness waiting for me and the boys: the bread that would satisfy our hunger and tame my savage beasts!
If the buttery perfume hadn't reminded me, I might have carbonized our breakfast!

This got me thinking about other reminders. Ordinary things that we see or hear or smell that pique our memories, that jump start our brains out of the fog of the day, that call to mind more than biscuits. That make us remember a Power bigger than we are, a Lover more capable that we are to hand out grace and gifts of all sorts.
So I'm wondering what sort of things jolt you out of your day and turn your thoughts to the Creator?

The feel of a cool breeze after a summer of torturous heat?
A random act of kindness between bickering brothers?
The scent of grapes ripening on the vine?

I hope you'll share!
Love, Becky

*Photo by smohundro, creative commons

The Perils of Loving a Tomato Picking Dog

My dog picks tomatoes.
I wish I were joking but I'm not.
The first time we found a tomato on our bedroom floor, pocked with doggy teeth marks, we were such proud parents. Did you see what Our Smart Doggy did? He even picked a ripe one! What an amazing pooch, copying us like that!

As we gushed on about his intelligence, Tanner just ducked his head in embarrassment, the same way he does when we catch him stealing crackers off the counter, or when we discover he's spent the afternoon hiding out with a highlighter, turning his entire snout day-glo yellow. He stared at the ground and scratched a paw at the floor, as if to say, "Who, me?"

But as the summer progressed and the tomatoes grew even more delicious and fewer in number, I began to get annoyed. Tomatoes began showing up daily in random places in my house. Another tomato ruined? I began to resent all the Resolve I had to spray when Slobber Dog lost self control and mauled his homemade spaghetti sauce all over the carpet.
This resentment felt faintly familiar.

I pondered it a moment and a light bulb flashed. Yes! This was just like the time he learned to open doors with his doggy paws! We were so proud, at first. That dog had watched us and copied the flick of our hands on the french doors. Wasn't that amazing? We clapped and petted and invited neighbors over to watch. We even took video and posted it on youtube. But then he started letting himself in during a dinner party, grinning at us and waiting for applause. What happened, he seemed to say as I locked him in the den. Why doesn't Mommy let me climb my 90 pound body onto the people's laps? They love me! Everyone does!

I had to feel a little sorry for Slobber Dog. He was just doing what comes naturally.

Yes, Tanner is a master copier. When anybody hugs, he'll cry and bark until we help him stand on his hind legs and join in. (Yes I know, it's a little silly looking. Don't tell anyone.) And that's not the worst of it. We have to keep him inside whenever Todd has to plant anything or else that dog will follow at his heels, digging polka dot holes all over our backyard.

We even planted our tomatoes on an old coffee table, just to keep Tanner out of the dirt.
See?

So how does he pick them? I am still trying to figure it out.
He's a different species, obviously, with no nimble fingers to grasp the fruit, to twist it gently until it falls into his palm. I'm guessing he adapts by using what God gave him, those yards of flexible jowling made for cradling birds, the extra facial skin my middle child calls his glibber.

I've hidden outside with the video camera, hoping to get the heist on tape, but no such luck. I just get hot and sweaty and attacked by bugs, while Tanner stays cool in the AC and watches me from the window. Smart dog.

I guess that's the danger inherent in our natural tendency to imitate. I see it in my kids as well. They may copy my friendliness with the grocery store clerk, but they'll also copy what I say when somebody cuts me off in traffic.
And it's no different with grown ups, I'm afraid.
I'll hang out with my friend Susie, and before you know it I'll have picked up the generous way she listens, making you feel like you're the most important person in the world. Suddenly I've picked up "Hugs to you," typing in her sign off as if I thought of it myself.

But then I'll spend a few moments around negativity, and I'll hear it coming out of my own mouth. What? I didn't want to copy that!
Negativity has no part of the imitation I want to live. I'm a Christian, literally a "little Christ." (Now that's a daunting title, don't you think?! It makes me want to stay locked in the house with my mouth taped shut! ) I want to do what Ephesians instructs:

Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.
Ephesians 5:1-2

Live a life of love.
It seems impossible, too big, too ambitious in this world. God is a different species of being. God is so much bigger and greater and full of love than anything I can think of. I'm puny and small and human and weak. I can try my best, but how can I even come close to imitating God?

I can use what God gave me: God in human form, Jesus, the living example. I can study Christ's life and do my best to imitate His love. I can pray for help. And when I fail in my journey, I can cling to grace and try again.

Now, if I can just share the love with my tomato stealing dog. Maybe a short fence around the coffee table garden? As if it doesn't look ridiculous enough!

What helps you in your journey to imitate The One?
And while you're at it, any ideas on tomato crime prevention?

Have a great Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky
PS. Here's the video of Tanner showing off. And just so you know, I don't usually talk like a high pitched Snow White. It's my mommy's-got-a-treat-for-you voice. Enjoy!

Bubbling Up Soul Bread

Flickr photo by treehouse1977, creative commons
Just in case you're wondering what to buy your favorite ten year old boy, may I suggest a package of Fleischmann's?
Bubbling yeast is DISGUSTING, which makes it a fantastic gross out gift.
Kids love to watch it come alive, eat sugar, and poop out gas.
Yeast also comes in handy at church, if you don't mind your Sunday School smelling like a brewery.

I came armed Sunday morning with pockets full of packets, figuring I'd need all the help I could get. Susan and I trade teaching every week, and I drew the straw for the shortest lesson of the year. The parable of the leaven is one sentence long.
One sentence.
We've got fifty minutes each Sunday and at least a dozen 4th and 5th graders. We need a meaty story or the kids go nuts with the quick dry clay. Then they do rude things with pipe cleaners.

Normally, I love the lessons on the parables. We use a Montessori style curriculum called Godly Play, and each week of the summer we pick a new parable box, unpack it's contents, and study the story. I'm not being metaphorical here. It's a real box, painted gold, since parables are treasures.
But a one sentence lesson? I was nervous.
So I did what most Sunday School teachers do when they're nervous.

Step One: Read parable. In many translations.
He told them still another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough." Matthew 13:33

Step Two: Research
There were two interpretations on the parable: Many scholars view the yeast negatively, warning followers of the corrupting influence of evil in the church. Others view the parable as a celebration of the church's influence spreading throughout the world.

Step Three: Pray. And hide the quick dry clay.
After a few deep breaths and meditation, I decided once again to close my eyes and hold tight to the philosophy of Godly Play: to simply present the story, gently guide their discussion, and trust the Holy Spirit to help the kids discover the wisdom and meaning.
And then I hid the pipe cleaners.

Once everyone was seated criss-cross applesauce on the carpet, we began.
I admit that I started out a little hesitantly.
I showed them that the box had a lid, reminding us that sometimes parables are hard to enter into. Sometimes they're confusing, and we have to come back later and unpack them again to work out what they mean.

Then I told them the short, one sentence story, and I got ready to guide their discussion.
But first I opened the vial of yeast.
The kids peered in, sniffed it, and decided it was stinky. I let them tell me about the times they've baked bread and what exactly yeast does.
Just when I was about to take the reins again and dive back into the story, something beautiful happened.
The children took over.

"It's like a riddle!" one girl said. "I think I know what it means. Maybe it's that when we all work together we can get a lot done for God."
"Yeah, I think the woman is Jesus."
"Or maybe she's God's spirit. That when God gets mixed up through all the people, it helps the people do good things for God."
"But wait," another girl said, "it says the kingdom of heaven is like the yeast."
"Maybe it's us, the people of God. Maybe it's saying that we can pass on God's love, until the whole world sort of rises with it."

The kids kept going, scratching their heads and biting their lips and working hard at their thinking!
"Sorry to stop you," I finally said, "but we've got to go make our bread sticks if they're going to have time to bake."
Everyone cheered. (They always go crazy for food.)
But as they moved from the floor to the table, one boy got up in a dramatic huff. "This is crazy!" he said. "Why couldn't Jesus just TELL us what he meant?"
"Why do you think He didn't?"
"Maybe because He wanted us to figure it out ourselves," another boy added.
"Or maybe because it's kind of fun," said a girl. "And maybe because it means different things to different people."

At that very moment, the parable itself became bubbling yeast to me. We had opened the box and as we warmed it in our hands, the Holy Spirit breathed life into it. The story was now a living organism, and as we ate the bread sticks, shaped into crosses and snowmen and unintelligible lumps, it fed our souls as well.

Aren't kids the best teachers of all? They were so busy interpreting the story that I forgot all about the packets of yeast!
Have any more ideas about the parable? Thoughts on Sunday School and pipe cleaner madness? I love to hear what you're thinking!

Have a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky

PS. I wish I could hand you some bread, warm from the oven!

Flickr photo by treehouse1977, creative commons

Nutella, I Pledge Thee My Troth

Happy World Nutella Day, y'all!
Actually I'm lying. WND was February 5, but somehow I missed it. So I'm making it up to The Greatest Spread of All Time by celebrating a few months late. Yey, Nutella!

Are you a Nutella lover too? We Ramseys fell in love with its creamy, chocolaty hazelnut goodness within a few days of moving to France.

Some dear soul brought a jar to our apartment, and I spread a little on toast, as I saw French people do on commercials,



and my life was forever changed.

Nutella makes everything better. It's great for pretzel dipping, to lather on a cupcake, right out of the oven, and (don't tell anyone) it's even heavenly on a finger!
And of course it's magnificent on crepes. With or without sliced bananas.
WARNING: This short video may make you cry. At least it has that effect on me.



When we moved back to South Carolina, I positively grieved over the lack of Nutella. Every time Todd went back on a business trip, he knew he'd best return with several jars in his suitcase.
But then a marvelous thing happened. Nutella showed up at the local Bi-Lo! It's in the peanut butter section, and it's kind of pricey but well worth it. Ask my kids. They've become Nutella evangelists, converting all their friends, and teaching them Nutella trivia. (Did you know it was invented in the 1940's, when cocoa was rationed? Pietro Ferrero thought of extending the cocoa flavor with the hazelnuts plentiful in northwest Italy, and Nutella was born!)

So Happy Nutella Day, everybody!
If you haven't experienced it yet, my crepe-master suggests you give it a try!



Have a great day, y'all!
Love, Becky

You Sit on a Throne of Lies

Do you share my affinity for Elf culture?

Maybe a little explanation is in order.
We had a remarkably peaceful Thanksgiving holiday thanks to our pesky winter companion Strep Throat. It attacked Sammy's tonsils on Turkey-Day Eve, stomping all over our travel plans to climb both sides of our family tree. What could we do? We stayed home.

We missed seeing our family, but it wasn't all bad. We found a turkey last minute and spent the break eating until we were sleepy and sleeping until we were hungry, all from the comfort of our warm little nest. And we watched movies. Can you guess which movie I fell in love with all over again?

If you need a good dose of innocence and Christmas cheer, allow me to prescribe a trip through the seven levels of the Candy Cane forest, through the sea of swirly twirly gum drops, and out the Lincoln Tunnel. It's perfect Christmas fun.

You get to see old friends...

And meet new ones.

Not to mention make snow angels, ice skate, eat plenty of snacks from the four basic groups (candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup,) and chug it all down it with a big mug of the World's Best Coffee. And then snuggle.

You might even see You Know Who!

Just be sure he's the real deal. (Hint: Impostors smell like beef and cheese.)

So, are you as Elf crazy as I am? Don't be a cotton-headed ninny-muggins. Tell me your favorite part. And don't forget, the best way to spread Christmas Cheer is singing loud for all to hear!

Have a wonder-full Monday.
Love, Becky
PS. You have such a pretty face. You should be on a Christmas card!

Our State Fair Is A Great State Fair

When it comes to Wonders of the World, it's hard to beat the North Carolina State Fair.
(Yes, I know I live in South Carolina. Don't get your feelings hurt, Palmetto State, but I practically grew up on those fairgrounds! It was the site of my first funnel cake, my first spin on the Tilt-A-Whirl, even my first date!)

Carnival rides, fried dough, blue ribbon dahlias, and The Village of Yesteryear. What more could a girl want for entertainment? If you're a girl like me, anyway.
Plus, I got to go with Mom and Dad!

And look! They're wearing LONG SLEEVES!!!!
Yes, this excitement is worth all the capital letters and excessive exclamation points (!!!!) because it's been a long hot summer and I'm thrilled to finally feel free from sticky sweaty-ness! In fact, I'm sitting here in front of the computer FREEZING TO DEATH AND LOVING IT! AND I REFUSE TO BE REASONABLE AND PUT ON A SWEATER BECAUSE, COLD WEATHER, I'VE MISSED YOU SO!

And look again! The fair had PIGLETS!


And death defying rides that Sam rode over and over again.

I chose to sit this one out on account of the caramel apple still spinning in my stomach.
It didn't bother Sam.


In fact, the boy showed a whole lotta happy!

Even in a room full of vegetables!
I know! It shocked me too! (This is the same fellow who nearly threw up on the bus ride home from his class trip to the apple orchard because the bus smelled so apple-y.)

Maybe he was too busy reading the weird vegetable variety names to notice the scent.

Or he could have been holding his breath, waiting for the animal exhibits.

Not that they're smelly.
I'm afraid his mood changed once we got to the chicken house. He spent the whole time wandering around, looking sad and handing out apologies.

"I wish I could be a vegetarian," he whispered to me. "If only I didn't hate vegetables so much."

I tried to distract him with a trip to the pig races.

(No one mentioned bacon. Or barbecue.)
Sam's pig won, and the happy returned!
My pig lost, but that's okay. As I always say, if you can't beat them, join them!

Oink oink!

Have a wonderful Monday, y'all! And tell me, are you a fair lover, fair weather or not? What's your favorite fair feature? (I LOVE the chicken house, but I cannot tell a lie. The fried dough wins the blue ribbon for me!)

Love, Becky

A Montana Mancation

Today's Wonder of the World is...a Mancation on the Missouri River.

Don't you love this photo of my Ben's bony, size 14 feet? The pic was taken as my very own Lewis and Clark spent a week canoeing down the Missouri River, eating Beanie Weenies, and reliving the Corps of Discovery, as the famed explorers called their adventures.

And to think that it all started from a footnote in a book!
Back in 1997, Stephen Ambrose's book Undaunted Courage turned my mild mannered husband into a raging Lewis and Clark evangelist. "I must see this for myself," he said, and showed me Ambrose's footnote on page 228.

It is today as Lewis saw it. The White Cliffs can be seen only from small boat or canoe. Put in at Fort Benton and take out three or four days later at Judith Landing. Missouri River Outfitters at Fort Benton, Montana, rents canoes or provides a guided tour by pontoon boat. Of all the historic and /or scenic sights we have visited in the world, this is number one. We (his family) have made the trip ten times.

"That's nice, honey," I said. "Maybe you can use some of those frequent flier miles and make the trip one of these days."
Little did I know that he was a man obsessed.
A few months later, he packed up his tent and vanished into the wilderness with his crazy friend Butch. I was six months pregnant with Sam at the time, but I didn't worry too much. After all, he was with Butch, the original Marlboro Man. The man who flies a World War II biplane for fun, who's flown water bombers into forest fires, who worked for years spraying coca plants in South America while people were shooting at him. Butch is there, I'd repeat to myself. Everything will be fine.

But this time Butch and Todd were taking my middle baby Ben.

And then Butch canceled!
I worried just a little.
Okay, I worried a lot.
They were going to be out of cell phone coverage, just the two of them, in complete wilderness.
Well, almost. To their surprise, park rangers had installed port-a-potties at various spots along the river route since Todd's last trip. They wouldn't have to dig holes after all. Aw, too bad, guys.

They had a fabulous time together.
Ben learned how to canoe without turning the boat over.


And how to pull over and set up camp.

They did about twenty miles a day and spent the rest of the time eating, sleeping, reading, and enjoying whatever fun presented itself. One day an extroverted bunny rabbit presented itself, and Ben got in touch with his inner four year old, hopping after it, making it his friend. A few hours later after Ben and Todd had zipped themselves in the tent for the night, Ben heard the bunny rabbit being attacked and eaten by a wolverine. Perhaps extroversion is not a good quality in a bunny rabbit.
Ah, the wonders of nature.

No hasenpfeffer for them. But they did enjoy some blueberry cheesecake, a goodbye gift from Sam.


They also enjoyed breathtaking sunrises.


And lots and lots of cows.


And even a surprise rope swing, in the middle of nowhere!



Doesn't my man look happy?

Scruffy, but very happy.
Who wouldn't be happy in such a beautiful place?

Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all!
And tell me, does the wilderness call your name, or do you prefer the wilds of the Holiday Inn?
Love, Becky

Hush, Sweet Puppy!

Today's Wonder of the World is...the Hushpuppy!

Just so we're clear, I'm talking about these morsels of heavenly deliciousness, not shoe leather!

Flickr photo by swhall72
Those seventies style dogs might make your feet happy, but some Carolina hushpuppies will curl your toes in ecstasy! I guarantee it!
I decided to blog on the wonder of the hushpuppy a couple of weeks ago when my friend Jen P saw hushpuppies on my barbecue blog, and the pour soul didn't know what they were! Then the Good Lord whispered in my ear, "The World Must Be Educated! So send I you!" (Plus my pal Gina suggested it in a blog comment, so it was unanimous. Kind of. Thanks Gina!)

So, class, let's begin our study. Hushpuppies are little bits of deep fried cornbread dough so tasty that you want to French kiss everyone at your table. Even if you're not French!
Here we have a typical plastic basket of hushpuppies in their native habitat.

Notice the paper underneath, for absorbing excessive greasiness. Notice the containers of whipped spread and honey butter added to the basket. Oh, how I wish I could show you a video of my niece Susanna eating hushpuppies. The girl is practically a professional at the art of butter smearing. Alas, you'll just have to imagine it.
Those particular hushpuppies are finger-like in shape, but they can also be spherical. Like Paula Deen's, here.

Good heavens. What is that dip in the middle? Who dips their hushpuppies, anyway? Paula, you know I love you, but I wonder if you might have gone all Hollywood on us and strayed from your roots somewhat. Still, the recipe is AMAZING. (I do add a tablespoon of sugar, though, to my batter. I like mine slightly sweet and figure that if you're going to fry them, you might as well add sugar too! Who cares about heart disease? Woo hoo! It's hushpuppies!) Hop over here for the recipe and make your family happy. Or just yourself! I won't tell anybody.

Know where the name comes from?
There are plenty of legends. I had always heard that during the Civil War, the Confederate soldiers would keep hidden from the Union soldiers by quieting their dogs with bits of fried cornbread-- hushpuppies. Others say that slaves gave the bread its name. They'd toss it to the dogs when bringing food in from the cookhouse, or feed it to the dogs tracking them during an escape attempt. Still more reasons to love the hushpuppy.
All I have to say is...those lucky dogs!


Flickr photo by mattlehrer
Yum!
Have a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky

All in the Family

Today's Wonder of the World is...Family Reunions!

You know how you can tell if you had a great family reunion? You weigh at least three pounds heavier and your face hurts from smiling.
Don't weigh me. Just take my word for it: We spent a glorious long weekend in Kentucky hugging, laughing, telling tall tales, and eating way too much home cooking at two (count them--two!) family reunions. Both the Skaggs family (my dad's side) and the Farley family (my mom's side) reunited this weekend. I think both celebrations were the best we ever had. Really, they were!
You know what that means?
Break out the elastic pants!

And while you're at it, find some dental floss for all that sweet corn!
Some sweetheart even made cornbread the way Granny used to make it.

And to wash it all down?
Ale 8! It's tradition on the Skaggs side.

But the best part food wise?

Dessert, of course, made by my dear aunties.

The food was incredible as always, but it wasn't the only thing that made both reunions amazing.
So what was it?
I thought about this all the way home, and I think I've figured out contributing factors to reunion greatness.
1. Both took place in meaningful places.

My daddy's reunion took place at his parents' farm. My cousin Adam lives at the old home place now, but just being there started the memories flowing.
Plus, there's the creek to play in!

My mother's reunion was at my Uncle Bill's house. There was plenty of room for all the kids to play and lots of space for picnic blankets...

And for bean bag toss.

I mean Corn Hole.
(Did you know it was called that? I didn't until I found it here.)

2. We played together. And not just with balls and bean bags.
Some of my cousins brought music with them.

This branch of my family tree is just dripping with musical talent. So why is my little twig all dried up? One of the mysteries of life, I guess.

3. My Aunt Patricia brought out my Granny's old photo albums. There were a bunch of them.

We spent at least an hour flipping through pages and laughing over big hair, big eyeglasses, and little short shorts.

4. Puppies!

There were plenty of dogs and several puppies at both reunions. Puppies make anyone happy.

5. Watermelon! With or without the salt.

It's a perfect reunion food, plus if things go south, you can always spit seeds at each other!

Before you scoot, tell me. Have you had a family reunion yet this summer? What's your favorite part? Any traditions to share? Food or play wise?
Have a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky

Barbecue Is Not a Verb.

Today's Wonder of the World is...Barbecue! Carolina Style!

Flickr photo by eekim
That's eastern North Carolina style, just between you and me. My South Carolina neighbors put mustard (mustard!) in their barbecue sauce, but don't be too disgusted. The poor dears were raised that way and don't know any better.

See the gorgeous pic above? It's the Precious Trinity of Pulled Pork Barbecue (with the proper vinegar with red pepper flake sauce,) slaw, and Brunswick Stew. (No need to fear lightning strikes for all the references to the divine; after all, God invented barbecue Himself. It's somewhere in Genesis I'm pretty sure.)

One doesn't barbecue. One makes barbecue. Or one eats it in a fine establishment like this.

Flickr photo by lumierefl
If you have no ball cap, not to worry. It's recommended, not required.
Know how to tell if a barbecue joint is promising?

Look for excessive pig statuary.
We love barbecue so much at our house that we worship our own American Idol.

Remember Mr. Pig?
Oh Mr. Pig, I adore you. I've loved you ever since I was six and had my first taste of your glorious Boston butt.
As I grew up, my barbecue appreciation deepened.
Then I became a Ramsey and experienced a whole new level of barbecue ecstasy.
It's because of this man.

That's Kerry, my father in law, the King of Barbecue, the Champ of the Pig Picking, the man who once played a practical joke on his new daughter in law by hiding an entire pig on ice in the guest bathtub. Don't worry, I was too busy staggering around, trying to give myself the Heimlich maneuver to take any photos.
Kerry makes barbecue the traditional way, by splaying the pig over a bed of hot coals and letting it cook hours and hours and hours.
It's quite an impressive undertaking. See for yourself!


Now for the fixings.
If you put barbecue in a sandwich, you must add slaw on top. It adds a nice sweet flavor and a coolness to the heat.

Flickr photo by mattlehrer
You must have a few hush puppies! What would the meal be without anything fried?

And for a beverage?
Easy! Just ask yourself What would Jesus drink?

Flickr photo by Godverbs
Sweet Tea of course!

For dessert?
You've got a choice. It's either banana pudding, nice and cold, NO MERINGUE...

Or sweet potato pie...

Flickr photo by Made in Mississippi
Or a big hunk of pound cake. I just pulled one out of the oven that I'd show you, but I want it to last the weekend. If I cut a wedge for you, boys would scurry out of the woodwork and make waste of it in seconds with their sharp little teeth. Seriously. It's happened.
Just imagine its almond-y goodness.

When we lived in France, we made the whole shebang for our French friends. They liked the barbecue (Porc Vinaigrette,) and thought the slaw was nice, but it was the pound cake that really wowed them. I'm still not sure why the barbecue wasn't the star. I can only attribute it to my lack of pig statuary.

So tell me, what does barbecue mean to you? Have you ever been to a pig picking, or are you not the barbarian type?
Have a wonder-full weekend, everyone!
Love, Becky
PS. If you're confused by all the different types of barbecue in the South, these North Carolina boys will make everything clear. In song!