COUSINS OF A DIFFERENT KIND

In 1963 Tom and I were finishing school in Chapel Hill, graduate and law school, headed on the path to our years of working in South Carolina segregationist private schools and for Governor George C. Wallace of Alabama. We recently discovered that in 1963 another Turnipseed, Tom’s cousin not so far removed, was a college student of a very different kind.  This April her college is honoring her for her brave stand during the civil rights era. And to think this happened in my very own hometown.  Wow, do I wish we could go!

 Birmingham-Southern College students to march to downtown Birmingham in April to commemorate 1963 stand by BSC student

Birmingham News

BIRMINGHAM, Alabama -- In 1963, a 19-year-old student named Martha "Marti" Turnipseed heard on the radio that seven African-American students were staging a sit-in at a Woolworth's department store lunch counter in downtown Birmingham. 

Turnipseed, who was white, made a decision to join them. She walked off of Birmingham-Southern's campus and trekked two miles to downtown Birmingham, and sat down at the counter with those students.

For her efforts, Turnipseed was arrested and eventually expelled from BSC, although she was readmitted a year later.

On April 24, 2013, Birmingham-Southern students will recreate Turnipseed's walk as part of the 50th anniversary commemoration of the Birmingham civil rights events of 1963. BSC President Gen. Charles Krulak and Birmingham Mayor William Bell announced the plans for the march at a press conference Thursday afternoon. 

"Often times we talk about the foot soldiers, and we think in terms of the foot soldiers being predominantly African-Americans, but there were many others who joined arms with them to say we're not going to tolerate segregation any longer in our community," Bell said.

A photo of Marti Turnipseed from BSC's 1963 yearbook.

"This is a young lady who, at the time, was a student here at Birmingham-Southern, and could have just easily turned away, and said that's somebody else's problem, and that's somebody else's headache," Bell said. "But she chose to get involved."

Marti Turnipseed later married Charles Moore and changed her name to Marti Turnipseed Moore. 

According to a BSC spokesperson, Marti died in a car wreck in 1972, and her husband is also deceased. Marti's brother, Spencer, is invited to the march.

Bell said he and Krulak plan to jointly invite current Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice to participate in the march.

The path is expected to be about 2.3 miles long, ending at Kelly Ingram Park.** Area gospel choirs, high school and elementary school students will be asked to join in the march along the way, Krulak said. Buses will be provided to return the marchers, choirs and students to where they began.

The march is being dubbed the "Forward, Ever Birmingham!" march after the"forward ever" cry in BSC's alma mater. 

"One of the hallmarks of a liberal arts education is that it's not just about the knowledge you gain, but how you apply that knowledge in helping to change the world," Bell said. "And Marti Turnipseed understood that. She stood up when others did not, and it caused people to think."

"This is not about what happened yesterday," Krulak said. "It's about what's happening today and what will happen the day after tomorrow. We know how important Birmingham was in moving this nation to do the right thing. Now, it's time to show that we're continuing to move forward."

**Across the street from the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church where the four young girls were killed when it was bombed that same year.

HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW? THE TENDING

In an earlier post I talked about the adventures of planting our garden. Of course, once the garden is planted, comes the hard part, the tending.  Now I know why I am not a farmer by trade.  How do they do it?

I know why I should want to be a farmer: being outside in the air and sunshine is wonderful, watching things grow from nothing before your eyes is awesome, staying strong and healthy in a natural way instead of with machines and exercise videos is good for your head--and your body.

Farming or gardening is really, really hard work, and full of risk.  So many things can go wrong-- devastating if you are a farmer, only irritating if you are a gardener. 

The Weather

If there is no rain, the garden will dry up.  We don't water our lawn at all any more, because we are trying to be more ecologically mindful.   If a drought comes, it just turns brown.  However, during a dry spell,  Tom--who 

does most of the garden tending-- waters it every day, either early in the morning or after we get home from work.  It is important not to water in the heat of the day--I forget why. 

I was the official waterer when Tom was recuperating from his hip replacement last year. We don't use one of those automatic waterers, again,  because it wastes water and we are trying to help the planet a bit.  So we water by hand,  holding the  hose and using the squeeze nozzle to regulate the spray of water. It takes at least 45 minutes to do our whole garden.  It is boring work, so I would try to amuse myself to make the time go faster. I would squeeze the nozzle different ways to see how big I could make the drops.  I would hold the hose up as high to see how far it would spray so I could cover as much area as possible.  I would count as I moved the hose back and forth in an arch, counting to 50 at each section of the garden. I liked to watch the birds and the squirrels, but if I did that, I would forget what I was doing and water in one place too long. By the end of the 45 minutes I was pretty sure my arm was falling off and I couldn't squeeze the nozzle anymore, even using two hands. But I usually didn't complain when I reported in to Tom, with his hip packed in ice and his next pain pill overdue.

Sometimes it rains too much and the wind blows the plants over.  We have to go straighten them back up and pack dirt around them or tie them back up.  Sometimes they have been broken too badly, are declared dead and are sent to the compost pile.  One thing Tom does that I didn't understand.  I imagine few amateur gardeners know to do it.  If the tiny plant gets splashed with mud or falls in the mud and we straighten it back up, Tom always carefully washes its little leaves off.  I follow suit, but I had to ask. Actually it is to expose the whole leaf to the sun for photosynthesis.  If the mud blocks the process, the leaf will die and if enough die, then the plant does too.

Tom's Expertize 

I marvel at Tom's knowledge of gardening. How does he know these things?  I grew up in Birmingham, a city of cement and steel mills; he grew up in a rural part of Mobile, Alabama, helping tend his family's WWII Victory garden as part of Roosevelt's call for patriotism.  After the family's move to the eastern shore, he and his brother won blue ribbons as members of the 4H Club and earned money by selling the corn they grew in the rich soil of the plot of land their father gave them to farm. He is the true son of an agricultural scientist.

So the difference in our background  may be why the part of the tending that involves pulling weeds is hard for me. I know weeds.  There were a lot of them that grew in the cracks in the sidewalks in Birmingham.  Trouble is, I can't tell in the early garden which are weeds and which are plants,  till they get big enough to see that some are in a row and some more random. In a row, plants--leave them alone; random, weeds--yank them up!  Until then, my weed pulling requires very close supervision by Tom.

Tom does much to encourage the plants along in our thin, clay soil.  Several years ago we bought some compost from a farmer in South Congaree.  Since then we have added only our own home made compost made of vegetable peels, egg shells, coffee grounds, leaves,etc., turned often and processed with the red wiggler worm.  Early in the tending season he transplants the delicate little seedlings a lot, moving them around in the garden, till he finds the very best spot for each to settle in,  take hold and flourish the best. Of course we rotate the crops each year.  Again, I forget why.

Different Crops

We have tried different crops over the years with varying luck. There has been eggplant; butternut, acorn, and yellow crookneck squash; strawberries; cabbage and lettuce.  This year, and every year, it is tomatoes, okra and peppers-jalapeno and banana.  We have added back one of my favorites, field peas, a real southern crop to go along with the okra.

Butternut Squash

Different plants bring different challenges.  Last year the prolific butternut squash spread like the plague and crept throughout the garden, its vines slithering up the tomato and okra stalks, its fruit appearing everywhere. There was a whole lot of choking going on.  We didn't replant.

Okra

Tom has to love the okra into growing. It is delicate at first and needs much tender care.  This year our cats decided to add a twist to the okra struggle by adopting one corner of the okra plot as their kitty litter.

   Each time they visited, they scratched up the tiny plants along with the dirt before they wandered off. We lost a fair number of plants, despite our various attempts to alter the cats' behaviour.  Puck and Muck are not good listeners.

Tomatoes

The tomatoes every year have a different challenge.  One year it was stem rot -- the only year we used poison on the garden.  One year something tried to eat them on the vine--down low.  We figured rabbits, though we never saw them. 

 This year the birds have decided to take a bite out of each--and we have watched them do it. This is the first year that has ever happened! I think they have never liked the hybrid ones, but the heirloom ones we planted this year are to their liking.
 It may also be the squirrels.  We have loads, though for the life of me I can't imagine that they would be hungry with all the bird seed they eat. One of our Republican, NRA supporting, friends tells us with an evil grin that he handles the predator problem with a shotgun. I picture his garden strewn with the dear little bodies of wildlife.

Crookneck Squash

The biggest problem we ever had was with our crookneck squash. It began disappearing, the entire squash.  Turns out the raccoons were clipping them off at the stems and carrying them away.  We tried everything to discourage them, some suggested from Google, our primary research tool. Their big suggestion was to sprinkle cayenne pepper on them.

Fail. The raccoon does not care. Apparently he carries the squash to the closest water, washes the pepper off, and down the hatch it goes. Any he leaves for the next visit the rain takes care of and the pepper is washed away.  In desperation we called Tom's entomologist brother Sam for professional advice, knowing that he is better than Google any day.  Professor Sam, cleared his throat and said, "Hell, Tom.  Just plant enough for you and the raccoons."

Will all the hard work pay off?  What kind of yield will we have?  Every year I can't wait. Will this year be the best ever? 

*Tom wishes me to note that all photographs of vegetables are from our own garden.

LESSONS FROM MY SON 2

My Mother died a little over 3 years ago. Jeff wrote a piece about her and gave me permission to post it here.  

 You're never too old......

 Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Popmommy's Funeral

My last remaining grandparent, Popmommy, died last week at the age of 93 and we went to the funeral this past weekend.

Popmommy's eyesight and general health had declined in the past few years, but her mind had not. Everyone saw the end coming and all family and friends had been to visit her in the weeks before she died. Because everyone had already said their goodbyes and knew that Popmommy was ready to leave us, the entire weekend became a celebration of her life.

Here is Popmommy's obituary.

NEWNAN, Ga. — Elizabeth Cherry Davis, of Peachtree City/Newnan, passed away Wednesday, October 18, 2006, at home surrounded by family, three days after her 93rd birthday. Mrs. Davis, known to her many friends and family as “Lib” or “GG” or “Pop Mommy” was a Renaissance woman. She was born and raised in Estill Springs, Tenn., lived a large part of 

her life with her husband, Jack, in Birmingham, Ala., and spent her post-retirement years in the Peachtree City/Newnan area. She was a prolific reader who collected, over her lifetime, a wide spectrum of books that numbered in the many thousands. She was an exceptional bridge player for decades, having earned various masters points. Her reputation as a linguist, a crossword aficionado and a Scrabble player was well known. It was claimed by Scrabble opponents that she knew every word in the English dictionary. She could discuss at great length subjects as diverse as politics, sports, music, religion, classical and modern literature, history or the latest computer game. She was a successful businesswoman who held a number of management positions in the Birmingham area. In addition, she was the president of several service clubs and charities. She was a member of New Hope Baptist Church South in Senoia. However, her greatest joy came in seeing her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow and prosper. She was the matriarch of a large family that lives throughout the southern states. She is survived by son, Jim (Evelyn) Davis, of Newnan; daughter, Judy (Tom) Turnipseed of Columbia, S.C.; grandchildren, Dodd Davis of Greenville, S.C., Paige Mathis of Chattanooga, Tenn., Jeff Turnipseed of Columbia, S.C., Jeny Mathis of Atlanta, Matt West of Sharpsburg, and Melisse Fetherston of Sharpsburg; beloved niece, Libby (Tommy) Blair of Chattanooga, Tenn.; nephew, Mike Powers of Savannah; sister-in-law and brother-in law, Dorothy and Earl Brooks, of Hilton Head Island, S.C.; and 15 great-grandchildren, Haley, Zack, McCay, Zack, Jackson, Sarah, Madeline, Davis, Brooks, Elliot, Sam, Lauryn, Gunner, Tate and Philip.  

Friday, Cyndy and I drove 3 and 1/2 hours
to Peachtree City, an Atlanta 

Suburb for the Visitation. During the visitation, I asked my cousins if they remembered the scary puppet that had been at Popmommy's house when we used to visit in Birmingham growing up. The puppet was green with a black cape and top hat and one giant tooth. My cousin Paige replied, "Oh Mr. Sweet Tooth" and told me that she has Mr. Sweet Tooth now at her home in Chattanooga, Tenn.

Friday night we drove 45 minutes to my sister's house in Atlanta and spent the night.

Saturday morning we drove 45 minutes back to Peachtree City for the funeral. All 4 grandchildren were asked to speak about Popmommy.

I talked about how I had named Popmommy as a small child (She lived with my grandfather, "Pop", so the name seemed logical).

I talked about how fun it was to travel to Birmingham as a child because TV shows came on an hour earlier there and I described Mr. Sweet Tooth.

Popmommy loved to tell stories and she loved to tell me about some little frog toy that creeped me out as a child. Apparently the frog felt wierd and toddler Jeff would shiver when he touched it. Popmommy loved to tell me how they used to make me touch the frog, repeatedly, and laugh at me when I shivered. Popmommy told me the story, again, the last time I talked to her and she, again, laughed at the memory of creeping out her grandson and watching him shiver.

When I finished speaking and was walking back to my seat, my Uncle Jim, announced,

"I will give $1,000 for Mr. Sweet Tooth!"

My cousin Paige's husband, Michael, raised his hand and shouted "Sold!"

The funeral ended at noon and we had 4 hours to make it to the interment at the cemetary in Birmingham, AL, where my grandfather, Pop, is buried.

Cyndy and I rode with my sister Jeny and her husband, Gil. Gil and I were pallbearers. There was much discussion about where to eat on the way to Birmingham and how much time we had. Gil was craving fried Okra and insisted that we had time to eat at Cracker Barrel and that Popmommy would have wanted us to cut it close on the time and have an adventure.

After stuffing myself with country fried steak and fried okra, I fell asleep in the car.

When I woke, the adventure was in progress, as we had just reached Birmingham and had about 15 minutes to make it to the cemetary. We made it with 5 minutes to spare.

When it was all over, someone said that they had heard that Bear Bryant was buried in the same cemetary. I walked up to the three guys in the truck that was parked in the distance waiting for us to leave so that they could bury Popmommy. They confirmed that Bear Bryant was indeed buried in block 30, but we never went to look.

We drove 3 hours back to Atlanta and then 3 1/2 hours back to Columbia, arriving just before midnight.

Popmommy always told me "You are never too old/big to love your grandmother."

These were my last words to her.

MY HIGH SCHOOL BFF

I got a call from a friend from high school today.  We graduated from Phillips High in Birmingham in the late 50's--more than 50 years ago.  I really can't believe that.  She was (and still is) my BFF and I am hers.  Even though we didn't know what that was in those days, we were that!!!  I haven't seen her in 3 years and haven't talked to her in at least six months, but soon as I said hello, we just continued the conversation we were having last time and talked for an hour.  Did you ever have a friend like that?