The South Moves North

Out on the deck last night with a glass of ice, a bottle of whisky and an Arturo Fuente, it was warm, sticky, the air heavy after a 95 + day. Our brow was sweaty. We couldn't help but feel we were communing with our Southern ancestors.

You know the family still owns land down in Louisiana? Some of it was bought in the late 19th century from former Confederates. Turns out this Yankee is a (or will be, anyway) a Louisiana farmer. Its in a trust with my grandmother's brother's kids, Uncle Bookie*. 

Even though our grandmother was older, she always made Uncle Bookie say he was the oldest. She insisted she was born in 1927 when in fact she was born in 1925. We know this becuase when she was getting cancer treatment in the early 2000s, Mrs. Stroock, helped sort out the medical bills. 

What difference those two years made, we don't know. But they were important.

Now excuse us while we go sit on the front stoop and count our Confederate war bonds. 

*The South, I know. It's the heat.