Every spring, violets bloom in a mass of purple and white in yards all across the South. Every time I see them, I think of two things: Easter (and I have no idea why) and my paternal grandmother’s violet jam. Nanny grew up during the Depression when folks took economizing to a whole new level. Everything had a purpose. Nothing was wasted. Nanny reduced, reused, and recycled long before the expression became popular among greenies. She was so thrifty, she…
Note: This post was originally published on my author blog on 25 November 2015. When I was a kid, Thanksgiving meant days spent at my maternal grandmother’s house helping prepare for the upcoming feast. It was prefaced by a long, summer growing season, canning homegrown vegetables outside in a huge cauldron propped over a wood fire, and slaughtering a pig MawMaw raised for sausage, hams, and bacon, cured by her own hands. There’s nothing like canned sausage reheated and served…