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Fried Peach Pies and
Orange Blossom Honey
By Jaye Lewis
When I think of Polly and George Johnson, three things come to mind: laughter, food, and the Appalachian Mountains. Polly was a tiny, dark skinned, open-hearted, Cherokee Indian, from Johnson City, Tennessee, in the heart of the southern highlands. George, Polly??™s husband, was a giant of a man, whose name could be traced to the original founders of Johnson City. George was in construction, and, in the 1950s,
Florida was the "construction state." He came south to build Interstate
75, in it??™s early days. George said that it broke his heart to tear down the old orange groves, some of which were hundreds of years old
Polly was my mother??™s friend, and when my mother was at work, I??™d hang out at their house. I was nine years old, and I was the original "latch-key" kid. I would have run wild, if it weren??™t for the irresistible lure of Polly??™s humor, her warmth, and her southern cooking. Her biscuits were nearly two inches high, and as soft as a cloud. Hot biscuits under a scoop of warm butter, and her fried peach pies, were to die for
As soon as I got up, in the morning, I??™d sniff the air, and more often than not, Polly would be making her fried pies! I??™d be into my shorts and shirt, stopping for nothing, and I??™d be banging on Polly??™s screen door, feeling a powerful hunger. Polly would tempt me with a couple of fried peach pies, smothered in powdered sugar, and she??™d invite me to "set a spell" and visit. No need to ask me twice. It was pure heaven!
Polly nurtured more than my hungry stomach. She nourished my soul. Polly??™s humor was frank, honest, and hilarious. She could tell a story, that "took me there," and I found myself longing to be just like her. Her humor was often ribald, and was not for the faint of heart, but her generous heart captivated a
little girl, who was hungry for acceptance.
Polly never treated me like a kid. I always felt included, and she and George would listen to my stories, and they would laugh in all the right places. Polly and George treated me as though I were interesting and had something important to say. I loved them
The only thing better than Polly??™s biscuits and fried pies was her southern fried chicken. I??™ve spent the better part of my adult life, trying to duplicate her mouth watering recipe, and in the
year that I knew her, I memorized every step. When George was out of town, as he often was, working on the Interstate, Polly and I would cook. She taught me that biscuits need to be kneaded with a "light touch," and fried pies were made with a sweet dough, and dropped into hot grease at just the right moment. When that pie hit the grease, it would make a gentle sizzling sound. I can still smell the sweetness, and I hear that sizzle in my dreams.
Polly read the King James Bible aloud to me every day, and I can still hear the sound of her musical, mountain twang. Her favorite passage was the 23RD Psalm, and she would tell this little
red-haired girl, that no matter what I faced, I would never have to face it alone, if I held on to Jesus
He??™ll be with you in every dark valley," Polly would say. "Now
don??™t you forget that, honey." And I would promise, "not to
forget
I saw George less frequently, but his kindness and his hearty laugh still rings in my heart. He taught me to play poker, and would even let me sit in, when his buddies came to play, setting me up
with a pile of pennies. They would praise my quick mind, let me
win, and feign shock and dismay. I loved it, never dreaming that
they understood my loneliness
One day, George came home, right in the middle of breakfast
holding something behind his back."I??™ve a surprise for you!" He
grumbled, in his rough, gentle voice. Then he swiftly swung his
arms around, and there, in his huge hands, were two jars of a
beautiful, golden elixir called "wild orange blossom honey."
George had felled an old tree, which was filled with wild
honey-bees, and this incredible thick liquid, right in the middle
of an orange grove. We took Polly??™s biscuits, still warm from the
oven and dripping with butter, and George spooned that honey all
over mine, and we ate until we were ready to "bust." George turned
to me, when we were way beyond full, and he gave me a sad smile.
Polly looked away, a tear in her eye
"Honey," George said, gently, as he touched my face with the tip
of his finger. "We??™re leaving tomorrow."
I
gasped, and I could feel the color drain out of my face. My heart
pumped wildly in my chest, and my hands got very cold
"Leaving! How can you be leaving?!"
"Well, we??™ve got to go. My job is over here. We have to go!"
My heart broke, then and there. Polly and George were my
happiness. My strength to make it through. My light in a valley of
shadows. And they were leaving??¦me
I
turned to leave. I was angry and hurt. I walked away. Back to the
green, wooden trailer, and out of their lives. They left the next
day, before light. I awoke to a sunny day, and I catapulted into
my clothes and out the door. I was so sorry, but they were gone. I just
leaned against their screen door and I cried my eyes out
I
hoarded that jar of wild, orange blossom honey for nearly a year,
until one day, it disappeared. I frantically searched for it, but
to no avail. It was gone. It??™s amazing what a little love and
kindness will do to change the life of a neglected child. I found,
through the years, that much of what I learned in Polly??™s kitchen,
has become the focus of my life: Jesus, the Bible, southern
cooking, and laughter. The 23RD Psalm is still one of my
favorites, and memories of Polly and George and their kindness has
taken me through many a dark valley. Born in Pennsylvania, I??™m a
southerner to the bone, because of them, and I live in the
mountains she loved. Fried Peach Pies? I??™ve never made them. It
just wouldn??™t be the same without Polly and George
?© 2003 by Jaye Lewis
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Jaye Lewis is a Christian writer and poet, who lives with her family in the Appalachian Mountains of southwestern Virginia. This story will be included in Jaye??™s forthcoming book, entitled Entertaining Angels. Jaye can be emailed at jlewis @ smyth.net
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From the Mailbag
Re: Slum Lords - Who Needs Them?
It was so good (sad though it was) to read Carol Roach's story of her life in a "slum." There are some good people out there and this is a great way to learn about them, through STARFISH. Carol is a wonderful "ripplemaker" herself, as she describes the
landlord and lets us know that people like that do exist. He was a
Ripplemaker to encourage Carol and help her to overcome the
situations in her own life. Now she can encourage others to be of
help to those around them. I hope I can be more aware of the needs
of others
Nancee Donovan
*** *** *** *** *** ****
(RE: Slum Lords
What a beautiful story. We can find goodness in anyone. God
blessed her with a wonderful grandmother. even though she was poor
you can see the love she had for her. I also had a wonderful
grandmother. she was the mother I never had. what feelings this
story brought forth. Thanks for a sad, but sweet, story. Dianne
Chambers
*** *** *** *** *** ****
Re: Slum Lords - Who Needs Them
Carol's story about her glasses was touching to say the least. "To those who give, more shall be given," I hope Mr. Snatch reaped
dividends for his kindness. It would do us all good to remember
what the Bible teaches us about giving, for there are many who
have not. Even to give of ourselves and our kindness can make a
difference in someone's life.
Betty King
*** *** *** *** *** **** ****
Re: (Contest) Summer Vacation
I
was delighted by Melva Cooper's story about the summer vacation
God provided for her loved ones. It's such a blessing to hear
people reach out to each other, so another can be blessed. What a
testimony of God's love. I'm glad she could share it!
Annettee Budzban
*** *** *** *** *** ****
Re: Everything I Needed to Know
Bob,
This man must be commended on his outstanding look at life and his
enormous sense of humor. I laugh so hard on days with his stories
or tales I have tears in my eyes. Only those that know me well
enough know how hard I can laugh if truly tickled the right way. I
enjoy Al so much. If he needs more stories, I can introduce him to
my family and am sure he could find the laughter to spread more
from them also. I will try to find one of my stories in my head of
my family and send to you to add to your collection. Thanks again.
I needed that one.
Cindy Warner
*** *** *** *** *** ****
Re: Everything I Needed to Know
I
knew that today's story "Everything I Needed To Know" was an Al
Batt story, as soon as I read "Dick and Jane had issues."
Hilarious trip back through grade school, my guess is, for all of
us old enough to remember Dick and Jane! I loved it! Move over,
Dave Barry! You'll have to work harder to be half as funny
Jaye Lewis
*** *** *** *** *** **** ***
Hi Bob,
I am thrilled with the news that I tied with Joan Wester-Anderson
in the June Writer's Contest. I thought there were so many
exceptional writers, and it was difficult to choose which story to
vote for. To tie with Joan is a real honor, considering she is a
professional writer with many books and writing credits to her
name. I can still hardly believe it. I am looking forward to
receiving her book and the software. Thank you again!
Maria
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Re: (Contest) Oh Say, Can You See
This is DEFINITELY a WINNER!! This one gets MY vote!! Too timely
for words!!
Nancee Donovan
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Re: (Contest) Oh Say, Can You See
A
GREAT thought provoking piece today!
Betty King
www.betty.newsmoose.com
*** *** *** *** *** **** ***
Re: Life Buoy Saga Finale
That Loren, he keeps life interesting! He'd feel funny if he
received a years supply of Life Buoy in the mail! Hey I might just
have his address! Bubbles anyone?
Betty King
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