Mothers Day - Carnations and Cornbread

 

Mama always sent me to cut roses for “me and her” to wear to church on Mother’s Day.
“You wear a pink or red rose if your mother is living and a white rose if she has died,” Mama explained.
-Jaine Treadwell, writing in the The Troy Messenger


Growing up in a small Southern mill town I was indoctrinated in 1001 customs, traditions and niceties.

Not enough of it took.

I like to say that those social graces are essential to preserving our humanity and our civilization, both of which are in big trouble these days. But in practice, I have been negligent and inconsistent, with one exception. I have remained faithful to one of those life lessons from long, long ago: I have always remembered that the only place for cornbread batter is a sizzling hot cast-iron skillet.

On this day, with white flowers blooming all around, my memory turns to the same old tradition that Jaine Treadwell wrote about.


My mom, Mary Rose Eury, and me in 1960

Treadwell's story is my story. Sixty years ago, I heard the same explanation when my mother pinned a red rose to my lapel while we got ready for church on Mothers Day.

I’m curious if anyone still observes this little tradition. I wonder if it was just a southern thing. In any event, I hope it still happens somewhere, quaint practice though it may be.

For those whose roses are red, as for those whose carnations are white. Mothers Day is a good day for cornbread...as long as it's cooked up in a sizzling hot cast-iron skillet.

Don't forget!