Bottletrees and Mardi Gras Beads

A Girl and Her Dog

2008-05-15T13:05:00.000-07:00

At three o’clock this morning, I decided that what my story needs is a dog. I don’t mean just any dog, but a best friend, a confidant, a beacon of good will and comfort. Any girl in crisis needs a shoulder to cry on, even if it’s of the furry variety.

My revelation came due to the exhausting battle I have waged with my dog’s stomach. For the past three weeks, we believed that the tiny Shetland sheepdog suffered from a simple bacterial stomach bug. No amount of medicine, expensive dog food, or specialty diets has helped. As I write this, he sits in a veterinary office awaiting the diagnostic tests that will determine the cause of his instable constitution.

Without him, I feel a sad sense of freedom. I don’t have to say, “Stop licking the baby’s mouth.” No one waits at the door to be let outside, and mixtures of dog food and boiled chicken don’t have to be prepared. Unless I roll in the fresh mud, there won’t be any paw prints on the couch.

Although part of me rejoices in the ease of taking care of only one cat and one child, I miss my friend and feel an instant pain of guilt for taking him for granted. Who was with me and licked tears off my face when I suffered a miscarriage? Marty, my Sheltie. Who curled up on the couch with me every time I felt waves of morning sickness? Marty. Who watches out for the baby and takes care to be gentle? Marty, of course.

We become so accustomed to doing things for our pets, that we forget the wonderful gifts they bring to our lives. They join our families not to clean the crumbs off our floor, or retrieve the paper, but to become loving members that wait at the door with eager anticipation for us to come home.

With this in mind, I plan to create a dog in The Bottetree that will be my main character’s rock. He will soothe her pain, but also provide joy. It’s ironic that before I’ve blogged about the people in the book, I’ve mentioned bottle trees, colloquialisms and now dogs.

Southern Comfort

2008-04-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

Any story set in the South should contain a generous spoonful of southern colloquialisms. As a southerner, I find the dialect comes as second nature, however these wonderful phrases, passed down from generation to generation, seem to elude me. Could my upbringing in the Big Easy have aided in the downfall of my southern education?

It is a common school of thought to assume that New Orleanians are southerners. But, are they really? With expression like “Makin’ groceries,” “By ya mama’s” and “Where y’at?” I find the gap between New Orleans and the rest of the South is wider than the Mississippi River. Sure, the food tastes southern, the architecture is southern, but why does the culture seem so different?

New Orleans is a melting pot of tradition. The French influence brought us beignets, muffalettas and Mardi Gras. The Spanish gave us Creoles and neutral ground, better known as medians. These dialects mixed with the Irish, Germans and Sicilians to form what is now referred to today as Yat. Yats are anyone you see at a Saints game shouting, “Who dat says dey gonna beat dem Saint? Who dat? Who dat?!” These cheers reverberate throughout the city, even when Sean Peyton and Reggie Bush can’t deliver.

This unique vernacular is butchered on television and in films with regularity. Stars such as Ned Beatty and Dennis Quaid confuse New Orleanians with their rural cousins, Cajuns. The truth is, an actor from Brooklyn has a better chance of imitating Yat because the two accents are closely related.

With this entirely different language in mind, I find I must pursue southern colloquialisms outside of my hometown. My husband, a native Mississippian, has supplied me with charming idioms, such as “He’s madder than an outhouse rat,” and “She’s more nervous than a whore in church.” These are the more colorful phrases that came to his mind.

As generations pass, colloquialisms, fables, and accents disappear from our lives. Young people find these expressions old and stodgy. People move, stories are left behind, and little by little, the past is forgotten. Literature remains the only true method of preserving the flavor of this remarkable part of our country. The Bottletree is my chance to seize this piece of culture so it won’t be forgotten. I can only hope that I do it justice.

The Search for the Elusive Bottle Tree

2008-03-13T08:56:00.000-07:00

I have now made it my mission to seek out the mysterious Bottle Tree. The magical voodoo symbol can be spotted in rural landscapes throughout the South. The origin of bottle trees is greatly disputed. Some claim that they first appeared in Africa. Others say it’s an all- American tradition.

Initially found in cemeteries to protect the dead from evil spirits, the bottle tree has transformed into a folk art institution. Once considered an African American practice, the construction of bottle trees has now been embraced by anyone that identifies himself as Southern. From farmers to lawyers, bottle trees unite our culture, and our belief in Southern ideals.

So, where did my quest begin?

Literature, of course! Bottle trees are prominent in novels by James Lee Burke, Eudora Welty stories, and of course the amazing children’s book Because of Winn Dixie. I also caught a glimpse of one in the movie Ray, about the late- great Ray Charles.

I’ll be honest, though, this southern icon was first brought to my attention by a bakery in Oxford, MS. Bottletree Bakery is a favorite stop of most Oxonians. Where else can you find the most delectable blueberry muffins, complete with a heavy dusting of sugar? Coffee and tea pour like water, as patrons rush to find seats in the most popular stop in town. The drifting smells intoxicate church goers after a long service at St. Peter’s Episcopal. Who could pass up a cup of Joe and a buttery croissant? I know I never could. While waiting for my treats, I often read the brief history of the restaurant, and the explanation of the title. It always intrigued me. Five years after my graduation from the University of Mississippi, I find myself still drawn to pursue

this amazing history.

I plan to continue snapping pictures of bottle trees. My first is of a man-made tree. Nowadays, many are. My father took this picture, as we tip-toed onto the property of the owner of two bottle trees. Thankfully, we were not caught. I’m not sure how we would have explained our presence. My efforts will be rewarded when I find the traditional version of the tree, complete with the clanking sounds of bottles, overflowing with evil spirits, dancing from a nearly dead tree.

What does it all really mean?

2008-03-04T11:34:00.001-08:00

What is Bottletrees and Mardi Gras Beads all about, you ask?

I created this blog to outline my journey as a writer. The Bottletree is the name of my current work in progress. I am fifty thousand words deep in the muck, and plan to climb back out over the next few weeks. Then, the great battle of rewrite will commence. My novel explores the depths of a relationship between a woman, the love of her life, and his mental illness. Set in Mississippi and Louisiana, I hope to provide a colorful glimpse of life in the deep south.

Okay, why Mardi Gras Beads, you ask?

Ah, very good question. As a former New Orleanian, I find it necessary to promote my hometown at every turn of phrase. Who wouldn't? The south plays a prominent role in my life and my writing. I am not simply writing what I know, I write what I love.