In Praise of Hush Puppies

Everyone I know is talking about The Help. The book, the movie, what you loved about them, whether they are a fair account of the way things were, on and ON. I read the book in three days and won't go another weekend without seeing the film.

But what I can't stop thinking about is how much that story aligns with my own family history. We never lived in the South, but my dad was raised in Mississippi in the 1960s: you do the math. It's fascinating to hear people talk about the movie and the book as if they were alien tales, because they really aren't. You want to know the Skeeters and the Hillys? You head to my dad's front porch in Red Banks and it will come to life. Ten minutes there and you will learn about the African American staff that raised up and supported the Harris family--Mama Lillian, Toad Frog, Doodle and Chubby. Toad Frog might even stop by. No kidding.

So as I untangle what it means to be part of this very complicated and...complicated...piece of American history (one that extends much farther back than the 1960s), I'm really enjoying the element of at least *knowing* my history. Very few people can trace their family roots the way I'm able to--back to Reverend William Harris of Bedford, Virginia, born in 1780. This website has all the juicy details from then until now, including some fascinating information on Harris soldiers in the Confederate army. Wowza.

Reminds me of the good stuff

The Colors Of Hope Book Trailer from Richard Dahlstrom on Vimeo.

Wanderlust

The books currently piled next to my bed include, but are not limited to the following:

Suite Francaise Irene Nemirovsky
Gilead Marianne Robinson (close to that?)
Dreams from My Father That New President
The Jesus I Never Knew Philip Yancey
Time's 2008 recap issue
Let Justice Roll Down John Perkins (a la Susie's baby)

Good reading, no? But have I finished any of them? Hmm, no. And did that stop me from buying three more books this weekend? No. Here's to my new copies of Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible and That Jonathan Guy's Everything is Illuminated. Wish me luck.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver

This book was probably written specifically to send my father into cardiac arrest--it's THAT LIBERAL. And what's worse (or maybe just deliciously ironic), it's all about being liberal while you eat, my favorite thing. And I loved it. :)

Not only is Kingsolver's writing the sort that makes me pause to giggle and think, "Did she really just say that?", I found her exploration into the food industry profoundly personal. How many people can crusade for local, organic, chemical/pesticide/antibiotic-free food without being completely soapboxish? Not too many. But somehow, it's all woven in like a perfectly latticed cherry pie (forgive me), and I found myself nodding along, even making up reasons to get out of the pool on my honeymoon in Costa Rica to read more about pasture-finished heirloom turkeys. Clearly, it's a good read.

And on another note, I'm so sick of reading the exact same article about buying organic berries and bell peppers in every SINGLE edition of anything I pick up, this was refreshingly crisp. Like an organic pepper, maybe. But I suppose the trendy wave of locavore writing might have been spurred on by this little (big) book in the first place.

My favorite part about Animal, Vegetable, Miracle? You'd probably think it was the mouth-watering recipes daughter Camille Kingsolver contributes throughout, and although every single one is permanently dog-eared, it's actually the way the main author serves up that one genre in Creative Writing classes I could never quick get the hang of: literary journalism. This is it, Animal, Vegetable, Memoir.