The Call of the Heart

“Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.” Dr. Seuss

My daughter left for camp yesterday. This will be her 11thsummer at Heart O’ the Hills Camp.  We did the usual last minute shopping for the requisite white shorts for Sundays, brushed the cobwebs off her trunk, aired it out on the back porch, and then filled it with everything she’d need for the next four weeks – at least everything she could think of at the time.  Inevitably, one of us forgets to pack something.  In the old days, that meant a letter home with a request and up to a week of waiting for said item to arrive via the US Mail.  Now, it’s only a quick few clicks on the keyboard to order the item from Amazon or a 20 minute drive into town for a Walmart run on her afternoon off.  

I’m always sad and happy at the same time when my daughter leaves for camp.  I have so many happy memories of Heart O’ the Hills.  It is a very special place.  I went every summer for five years:  1974 to 1979. I spent a few years away and then, like the boy in Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree, I returned to Heart O’ the Hills during a time in my life when I needed to be in a place that had always nurtured and welcomed me.  I had just completed the first year of the many it would take to earn my Ph.D.  I needed a break from the bleakness of the ivory tower.  I needed, as one song the campers still sing at camp, “to be still, to take it in a while, to feel the sunshine warm upon [my] face.”  I missed the feel of the cool, clear waters of the south fork of the Guadalupe River; the light of the fireflies that I have only seen one place in my entire life; the smell of the mesquite campfires at Opening Ceremony; the sound of Taps right before bed, and the camaraderie and fellowship of those blessed with the opportunity to spend time at that very special place on a quiet, two lane road “deep in the heart of Texas.”  

 I’m sad because, like every single Heart girl I have ever known, I’m “camp sick.” It’s hard to explain to someone who has never experienced it; it’s not a siren’s call, exactly – that word has such negative connotations – but it is a call.  Camp calls to me this time of year: “Come, come girl – come swim in my river and ride my horses.   Come climb up to the top of Pawnee Hill and sit around the fire with the other members of your tribe – your Heart sisters who know you like no one else ever will – and share the deepest secrets of your heart.  Lay on the Front Lawn and feel the grass under your limbs while you gaze up into the night sky at the millions of stars that you can no longer see under the glare of the big city lights at night.”

Then I remember the wise words of Dr. Seuss:  “Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.  And I tell myself to smile because “it” – the wonder of camp – continues to happen every summer, just as it is happening right now for my daughter and the girls she is teaching to love this place as much as we do.  

Chicken Sundays

I always associate Sunday with two things: church services and fried chicken. When I was growing up, I spent one month each summer at Heart O’ the Hills Camp for Girls in the Texas Hill Country. On Sundays, we were allowed to wear pajamas, robes, and slippers to breakfast in the dining hall, where waffles, strawberries, whipped cream, and an assortment of fruits and cereals awaited our arrival.

After breakfast, everyone had to change into her “Sunday Whites” – white t-shirt, white shorts, white socks, white tennis shoes. Sunday church services were held on the waterfront along the Guadalupe River.* Sunday dinner was always fried chicken, mashed potatoes, a vegetable, rolls, cream gravy and milk or iced tea. Sunday supper, usually sandwiches and fruit, was always served outdoors on the verdant grass of the Front Lawn.

Fried chicken has always been a Sunday staple in my family, too. It was a tradition in my mother’s family to gather on Sundays at her grandparents’ big house on Avondale in Houston’s Montrose neighborhood and sit down to a home cooked Sunday dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits, cream gravy, and pie. All of the Barbour children and grandchildren would sit down at the massive mahogany dining room table set with fine china, crystal, and silver flatware.

Now neither my mother nor I can fry chicken to save our lives – believe me, we’ve both tried many times over the years, so fried chicken in my house is always take-out from one of the local franchises.

Today, however, I enjoyed a special treat. My husband drove to Sanger, Texas to Babe’s Chicken Dinner House and brought home fried chicken and all the sides to my mother’s house for Sunday dinner.

Babe’s Chicken Dinner House is a Texas legend. I’ve heard about Babe’s amazing fried chicken for years, as my in-laws live in the DFW area, but for one reason or another, I had never eaten Babe’s chicken until today. Let me tell you: it is the best fried chicken I’ve ever eaten in Texas. The only place with better fried chicken is Loveless Café in Nashville, Tennessee. Trust me – I’ll address the wonders of Loveless Café in another post. For now, though, I am going to stick to sharing with you the chicken fried goodness that can be found at Babe’s Chicken Dinner House.

The photo I have posted above does not do justice to the food. It cannot convey the perfect crunch of the skin and the moist, tender meat underneath. It cannot convey the perfectly seasoned taste of the fresh green beans or the “just right” ratio of corn to cream sauce. I will never be able to eat green bean casserole made with canned green beans or creamed corn from a can ever again. The food is just that good.

The buttermilk biscuits and gravy are great, too. These are two other southern staples that you have to learn how to cook at an early age, and neither is easy to master. I gave up on making homemade biscuits long ago; mine wouldn’t rise correctly, or they were too dry, or they didn’t cook all the way through. I do make pretty good “drop biscuits” using Bisquick, but they just aren’t the same. As a result, my poor husband has made do with Pillsbury’s Grands!™ Southern Style Frozen Biscuits for most of our marriage.

People who know us well also know that my husband always swore when he was single that he would only marry me if I could sing American Pie all the way through from start to finish (it’s 8 ½ minutes long) and make decent cream gravy from scratch. I had no trouble meeting the first requirement; as I said in an earlier post, I’ve loved that song since I was 8 years old. Making decent cream gravy is something different altogether.

Part of the problem with making cream gravy is that you need fresh bacon grease to make a roux. The grease has to be just the right temperature before you add the flour. You have to add just a little bit of flour at a time and stir the mixture continuously over low heat. Then you add warm milk to the roux, again stirring continuously to ensure that your gravy is free of lumps – lumpy cream gravy tastes just awful. Finally, you have to add just the right amount of salt and pepper; too much of either ruins the mixture and you have to start the process all over again.

Fortunately, my mother is a very patient person and a good cook. She taught me how to make cream gravy, so I met the second requirement.   I have never achieved the high standards of my husband’s grandmother’s cooking, but he tells me that mine is “good enough.” He eats plenty of it, so I know he’s telling me the truth.

Babe’s Chicken Dinner House also serves southern dessert staples like banana pudding, chocolate meringue pie, coconut meringue pie, lemon meringue pie, and pineapple upside down cake.  We didn’t get dessert from Babe’s today, so I can’t comment on whether or not the restaurant’s versions of these items are really tasty or not.

My mother and I make our own chocolate meringue pie, lemon meringue pie, and butterscotch meringue pie using my maternal grandmother’s recipes. Butterscotch is my favorite, but they are all delicious. I make my own pineapple upside down cake, too. I always baked one for my mother-in-law when she would come to visit; that was her favorite dessert. I use a friend’s recipe to make my own banana pudding. So, as you can see, my mother and I have the dessert front covered!

In today’s fast paced world with family scattered across the country, it’s nice to be able to sit down for Sunday dinner at the table and share family favorites, even if you don’t have the time or, in my case, ability to make them yourself. I know today is a day that I will look back upon fondly, and I’ll always remember eating Babe’s chicken in my mother’s house while my Labrador Retriever gazed longingly at me from her spot just next to my chair.

 *These traditions continue today at Heart O’ the Hills.