Bearden Acres
Visiting Friends Near Atlanta
As an
employee of SUPERVALU, I'm often asked to attend a meeting of one
sort or another. Following the last restructuring, the absorption of the
Southeast Region by the Midwest Region, I no longer have to travel to Atlanta
as often as I once did to attend a regional meeting. Instead, I am required
to travel to Champaign, IL for meetings that might once have been held in
Atlanta.
Champaign is not the headquarters for the Midwest Region; that distinction
belongs to Kenosha, WI. However, Champaign is a more convenient location,
one perhaps more centrally located for those of my counterparts in the Midwest
Region, and for us in the Southeast Region, convenience is not a consideration.
Well, it hadn't been a consideration until our meeting in Champaign this
past January, when it was decided that our meetings should be rotated between
the Midwest and the Southeast and perhaps even meeting at different locations
within each region. It was further decided that we should meet three times
each year, rather than twice.
At the January meeting, the second week of May was selected for the next
meeting, and it was to be hosted by the Southeast Region. My boss, Bob McGehee,
was in charge of the meeting, and he, being based in Atlanta, chose Atlanta
as the site for the meeting.
Since the meetings Bob scheduled were Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I
was in no hurry to leave Pontotoc on Monday morning, knowing my presence
would not be required until Tuesday morning. I was in no hurry until Bob
phoned me around 10:00 a.m. asking me what time I would be arriving in Atlanta.
It seemed a last minute decision on his part would impact my evening. The
week's agenda stated we would dine as a group on Tuesday night and Wednesday
night, and we would be on our own Thursday night. Since Monday was a travel
day, I presumed Monday night would be a free night as well. At least, I thought
that until Bob phoned to say we would get together and go out as a group
Monday night.
I think it was around 11:00 a.m. when I left Pontotoc. I stopped briefly
to check on Aunt Jo, as Sunshine Nursing Home was on my way, then stopped
in Tupelo to pick up an ink cartridge for my postage meter. I was well underway
when I answered my cell phone and was surprised to hear the familiar voice
of Lamar Bearden. Lamar retired from SUPERVALU last year and lives near Atlanta.
"I hear you're coming over for a meeting," he said. "If you have time, my
wife and I would love to have you stop by."
"That would be great!" I responded, "But, I’ll have to check with Bob.
He called earlier and said we were meeting at six o’clock for dinner.
If I can get out of that, I'll let you know. Meanwhile, tell me how to find
your house."
For the next hour or two, I tried to contact Bob in the Atlanta office. When
it occurred to me that he might be shuttling some of our Midwest folks from
the airport to the motel, I reached him on his cell phone and explained my
situation.
"We may need your car, tonight," Bob explained. "Let me see if I can get
something from the car pool, and I'll call you back."
In a few minutes, Bob, called to say it would be fine for me to visit with
Lamar.
More than two hours had lapsed since I first talked to Lamar, so I quickly
phoned him to let him know I had the evening off. He sounded excited when
I told him my location.
"You're less than an hour from here," he stated.
Lamar and Charlene Bearden live about a mile and one-half off Interstate
20, near Villa Rica, GA. When Lamar worked for SUPERVALU and I had to be
in Atlanta for meetings, I asked him to be my chauffeur. It was a chore that
he seemed to enjoy, and I certainly appreciated not having to drive in the
congested traffic. It took me several trips to Atlanta before I got comfortable
finding my way from the motel to the regional office, and I always caught
a ride with Lamar or another employee if the situation required our meeting
at a different location.
Lamar gives good directions, but I was driving and writing at the same time.
I figured if I could read my scribbling, then I wouldn't have any trouble
finding his house. Sure enough, I drove right to it. Lamar lives in a really
nice neighborhood, and his house is one of several that backs up to a
twenty-something acre lake.
Lamar's house sits on a hillside, and the land behind the house slopes rapidly
to the lake. About midway down the hill in the backyard, Lamar had carved
out room between two pines for a quaint swing, the type folks once believed
no home was complete without one on the front porch. A climbing rose provided
both shade and beauty at one end of the swing and a larger section at the
other end was beautifully landscaped. In fact the whole yard was beautifully
landscaped. Names of plants that I asked about rolled of Lamar's tongue with
the ease of those from the mouth of a horticulturist.
I responded with "Uh huh's" and "I see's," knowing I would not remember the
names even though many of them were plants I would like to have in my yard.
"How much acreage do you have?" I asked.
"A little over two acres with part of those extending into the lake. That
leaves me about and acre and a half."
Sitting on a "park bench" on crushed rock near the edge of the water amid
more manicured plants, I felt like I was onsite at a Southern Living or Home
and Garden photo opportunity, but I didn't have a camera with me. My cell
phone rang and disturbed the tranquil moment. It was Barbara phoning from
Indianapolis to check on me.
"I'm looking across the lake in Lamar Bearden's backyard. You should see
this place," I shared. "Lamar's done a great job with the landscaping."
"Tell him to come over the week before the fish fry, and he can landscape
our yard."
"I wish," I mused. "He’ll be over our way, but he’s catching the
fish fry on his way back to Atlanta."
Lamar led me along the edge of the water to another landscaped section that
he said was all undergrowth and small trees when he bought the place. It
was there a small ditch, serving as part of the boundary dividing his property
from that of the neighbor to his west, created a small inlet (3 to 4 feet
across) into the lake.
"This would be a perfect spot for a decorative garden bridge," I commented.
"Shush!" he responded, holding a finger to his lips. "That’s what
Charlene’s been telling me."
Lamar is a capable craftsman and has the tools to finish a bridge project.
In fact he or Charlene one had remarked that Lamar had made the swing I described
earlier. The next portion of the Bearden Tour took me to the basement where
I saw plenty of woodworking tools and Lamar’s downstairs’ office.
He uses the downstairs’ office for his consulting business, a business
that is doing quite well.
"I’m actually making more money than ever before," he concluded. "I’d
have never believed it, but my taxable income is larger than it was when
I was with SUPERVALU.
The only time I envy anyone living in a metropolitan area is when I consider
retirement. I will need a part-time job of some sort to supplement my retirement
income. However, supplemental income is more difficult to come by in rural
areas than in the cities. Yes, I may envy Lamar, but I wouldn’t swap
places with him, even for the money. What with the "Good Lord willing" I’ll
live out the remainder of my days in Pontotoc, a place where all the men
are strong, and all the women are good-looking, and all the children are
above average …or is that the idyllic land of Lake Wobegon? Probably,
but it fits Pontotoc, too.
In my opinion, the most beautiful of Lamar’s landscaping projects lay
beneath the kitchen window in an area where he once considered building a
deck. Instead, a picket fence encloses the flower garden/ courtyard that
he and Charlene constructed.
As Lamar put it, "She picks out the plants and tells me where to plant them,
and I dig the holes."
Their work must be the envy of the whole neighborhood.
Lamar and Charlene prepared what I believe was the best meal I ate during
my stay in Atlanta. Charlene made fried onion rings for Lamar and me to snack
on while Lamar grilled the steaks.
"I can’t tell you my recipe," Charlene quipped. "It’s a family
secret…pancake mix and an egg."
"We usually buy a mix," I responded, "but my sister says you can’t beat
dipping the onions in buttermilk and dredging them in flour. That’s
also a good coating for fried chicken, pork chops, and minute steaks. Sarah
said our grandmother (Mama’s mom) told her that, and she also said to
fry the food on medium heat when using buttermilk as it was easy to burn
instead of brown the coating."
The onion rings were tasty, and it would have been all too easy to "fill
up" on them before the meal. However, the sight of the bone-in rib steaks
searing on the gas grill reminded me to save some room for dinner. Dinner
included more onion rings, the steaks, baked potatoes, and a salad. Dessert
was delayed approximately one-half hour to allow for digestion, or so I supposed.
Fresh strawberries over vanilla ice cream and topped with whipped cream,
served inside the screened-in back porch, was a nice finish for the delicious
meal.
Dusk came earlier than I would have preferred, as I was enjoying the relaxed
atmosphere of my beautiful surroundings, but Atlanta time is an hour later
than Pontotoc time, and I knew I needed to hit the bed early. Traveling eastward
across a time zone is like reliving daylight savings time in the spring all
over again. I thanked Lamar and Charlene for the food and their fellowship
and drove toward my motel, looking forward to our next visit.
War On The Home
Front By Sarah Carter Brown
I noticed a few weeks ago that some creature had been pilfering through the
garbage. Thinking it must be the cat that kittens regularly under my house,
I simply quit setting the garbage in the carport. Felicia is home for a few
weeks, and not knowing about the pest problem, put a few bags of garbage
in the carport last Saturday afternoon. Upon opening the door to go to work
Sunday morning, I noticed that the garbage was in quite a state of disarray.
It took a good ten minutes to complete the unpleasant task of getting the
garbage re-bagged. I was pleased to note when I arrived home Sunday afternoon
that the garbage was undisturbed, so I settled down for my late afternoon
beauty sleep.
About 11:30, Sunday evening I heard a commotion in the carport. I opened
the door to find no sign of the creature creating havoc, but the garbage
can was overturned. One of the 33 gallon bags had been pulled halfway to
the street. I had no more than turned off the lights when the scratching
and pillaging sounds began anew. Since the carport light was not working,
I had some difficulty trying to see the creature causing me so much grief.
I flung open the door, hoping to frighten the animal into running and found
a monstrous raccoon hanging by its paws onto the rim of the garbage can.
I yelled at it, but it did not move. I kicked the metal storm door, which
elicited not a response from the beady-eyed bandit. I, thus, had plenty of
time to assess its size. The raccoon was about the size of a half-grown Labrador
retriever. I threw a shoe at the pest, and it did not flinch. I slammed the
back door loudly, while yelling at it, and the monster ran under the car.
As it peeked at me from behind the front right tire, I surveyed the mess
in the carport.
As theatrically and effectively as possible, I hissed, "You realize, of course,
this means WAR!"
As I retrieved my purse and car keys, I noted that the time was 11:30. I
struck out for Wal-Mart to buy the biggest garbage can with a lid that I
could find. On the drive to Wal-Mart, I remembered my former principal, Sam
Dowdy, mentioning a spray that would keep cats and dogs away from the garbage
sacks if you put them out the night before the garbage truck ran. I spent
some time searching for the spray, but found it in the pet section. I had
to ask for assistance in order to find the large garbage can because they
had been moved to an area near, of all things, the paint section. Twenty
dollars poorer, I returned home to plan my battle strategy.
I, again, raked up the garbage from the carport and driveway, secured the
sacks in the new garbage can, and sprayed the foul-smelling stuff all around
the carport area. It was after 1:00 a.m. before I could settle down for the
night. Monday morning, all was well, and I had won the first battle.
Monday evening at dusk, the racket and commotion in the carport began anew.
I looked out to see the raccoon in a pile of garbage from the old can. Nearby,
was the overturned new can. We stared at each other with equal disdain. I
was the first to move. I came out of my corner spraying the awful stuff at
it and was pleased to see it flee under the car. Moments after I returned
to the house, I heard the can fall over again. In a moment of epiphany, I
remembered that raccoons are nocturnal. I quickly found a 100-watt bulb and
replaced the carport light.
As of this moment, I seem to be winning the war with the raccoon.
Note: Sarah C. Brown teaches English to Juniors at Pontotoc High School
and is a part-time employee of the local hospital working in ER
Admissions. She is also the only sister of the Editor.
Bodock Beau
Don't Mess With Texas
Texans are definitely different. But, then perhaps they have a right to be.
Texans believe everything is bigger and better in Texas, and they like Texas
just the way it is. Texans are the stuff of legends. Here's an example.
A guy from Texas is driving around in his brand new VW and rolls up to a
stoplight, side by side to a Rolls Royce.
He looks over at the Rolls driver & asks, "You got a telephone in that
Rolls?"
The guy in the Rolls answers, "Yes, of course I do."
"Well, I got one too, see?" the Texan brags.
"Uh huh, yes, that's very nice," the Rolls driver responds.
"You got a fax machine?" asks the Texan.
"Why actually, yes, I do," says the Rolls driver again.
"I do too! See? It's right up here!" brags the Texan.
The light is just about to turn green & the guy in the VW says, "So,
do you have a double bed in back there?"
The guy in the Rolls replies, "NO! Do you?"
"Yep, got my double bed right in back here," the Texan replies.
The light turns & the man in the Volkswagen takes off.
Well, the guy in the Rolls is not about to be one-upped, so he immediately
goes to a customizing shop & orders them to put a double bed in back
of his car.
About two weeks later, the job is finally done. He picks up his car &
drives all over town looking for the Volkswagen beetle with the Texas plates
Finally, he finds it parked alongside the road, so he pulls his Rolls up
next to it.
The windows on the Volkswagen are all fogged up & he feels somewhat awkward
about it, but he gets out of his newly modified Rolls & taps on the foggy
window of the Volkswagen. The man in the Volkswagen finally opens the window
a crack & peeks out.
The guy with the Rolls says, "Hey, remember me?"
"Yeah, yeah, I remember you," replies the Texan, "What's up?"
"Check this out... I got a double bed installed in my Rolls."
To which the Texan exclaims, "YOU GOT ME OUT OF THE SHOWER TO TELL ME THAT!"
Submitted by Vickie Murphree
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