Thanks so much, Sharon. I couldn't agree more. I hope that spring and all the goodness that entails is finding you well. We are ready for the blossoms here. Be well, Martin
More essays from the Roadshow are queuing, for sure. I'll pivot in and out of more baking-focused content and stuff that is about other things (but sometimes disguised as baking-related, lol!).
I did put a link at the bottom of the post to an audio version of another one that I'll put up at some point (The Healing Stone of Mountain Creek). Thanks for your kindness, Jane.
Thank you for this sweet story. It got me to thinking about staying for midday dinner at my babysitter Maxines’s house in Pettigrew, when I was growing up in the Ozark mountains in the 1980s. Her biscuits, which I remember being like a wet drop biscuit, but cooked together in a pan so the edges met each other, with brothy canned pinto or purple hull beans, sliced raw onion, potatoes fried in lard (it was store bought and came in a plastic bucket, and the potatoes were salty and barely browned, soft inside, and they were pretty much addictive). She put out home canned green beans, skinned sliced tomatoes in the summer, maybe some fried pork or mystery meat, but it was all about the vegetables, and they were all so good. Plus home canned dill pickles or sweet pickles but dill were my favorite. Such generous abundance. We felt welcome.
That's incredible, Joanna. My jaw dropped with the similarities. What a treasure of a story. The first visit that I did was only a mile or so from Pettigrew (further west on 16), up at the height of land near Red Star and Boston. I'll put that essay up at some point as well. That area has some magic, as you know. Thank you for this. You made my day.
I love listening to you, Martin. Listening to the hearts of people is a treasure. Family and community are to be cherished.
Thanks so much, Sharon. I couldn't agree more. I hope that spring and all the goodness that entails is finding you well. We are ready for the blossoms here. Be well, Martin
Wonderful! The story and the storytelling. I love your writing - it is so immediate. Thank you.
Thanks, Cheri! Really appreciate this!
Very cool story! I love the imagery and artwork that accompany it.
Very kind, buddy. Thank you.
Great story and hoping there are more biscuit tales to share soon❤️
More essays from the Roadshow are queuing, for sure. I'll pivot in and out of more baking-focused content and stuff that is about other things (but sometimes disguised as baking-related, lol!).
I did put a link at the bottom of the post to an audio version of another one that I'll put up at some point (The Healing Stone of Mountain Creek). Thanks for your kindness, Jane.
Kudos to you for your perseverance! Are we are able to hear you on the banjo and sing somewhere?
Just put a story up on Instagram with a short clip! Thanks so much for reading. I appreciate you.
Bonding thru food and music! The. Best.
Sometimes I think that food and music are all we have to glue us together. It's a good thing they are so powerful. Thanks for reading, Beth!
Love this piece- laughed out loud several times!
Well, well, my number one fan rolls into the comments section. Nobody cheers more loudly or more often. Thank you! ❤
One of my favorite things to do is read your writing ❤️
Loved this! Brave man and great story full of soul . Food is the center of my universe too. 💕
Thanks, Dana. Glad to hear from you!
So good. Thank you.
Did you feel at home or an expat on your trip? Who do you think you would be if you hadn't left when you were younger?
Thank you for this sweet story. It got me to thinking about staying for midday dinner at my babysitter Maxines’s house in Pettigrew, when I was growing up in the Ozark mountains in the 1980s. Her biscuits, which I remember being like a wet drop biscuit, but cooked together in a pan so the edges met each other, with brothy canned pinto or purple hull beans, sliced raw onion, potatoes fried in lard (it was store bought and came in a plastic bucket, and the potatoes were salty and barely browned, soft inside, and they were pretty much addictive). She put out home canned green beans, skinned sliced tomatoes in the summer, maybe some fried pork or mystery meat, but it was all about the vegetables, and they were all so good. Plus home canned dill pickles or sweet pickles but dill were my favorite. Such generous abundance. We felt welcome.
That's incredible, Joanna. My jaw dropped with the similarities. What a treasure of a story. The first visit that I did was only a mile or so from Pettigrew (further west on 16), up at the height of land near Red Star and Boston. I'll put that essay up at some point as well. That area has some magic, as you know. Thank you for this. You made my day.