The family reunions were all night, weekend affairs, held at Grandma and Grandpa's place in Singer, a produce community that dozes in East Texas. Nobody in Singer gave a damn about the "New South" . . . and it was still a sin to kill a mockingbird. - Randy Hill

There were private clubs and lounges, and there was Frank’s place, a beer joint with a hard-liquor license. Free from the foofaraw of club membership, strangers mingled with the regulars at Frank’s--a place that did not exist in polite circles. – Gene Goodson

Who among you also had a mother who was a chicken neck wringer? The poor chicken and its head were promptly separated and the headless body jumped wildly around the yard until it kneeled over dead. Into the kitchen with a single bound, Mother submerged the carcass into a pot of boiling water, cooled it slightly and began to pluck the feathers from its body. – Bettye Rozier Gibson

On the north wall, under the window, sits Joel, the new guy in town. He’s less than thirty and green as grass, but he’s got a wisdom and seasoning that comes from living in central Georgia tending apricot orchards. He’s a tree man. He’s already cut down a dead locust tree on the bogue property and stacked the wood perfectly for burning. He has designs on the apple and cherry trees. – Jim Goudelock

I have become a “blogger.” I can’t imagine why because I can’t stand the terminology, but my daughter set me up, and now I’m sending total strangers little bits and pieces of myself. - Lonnye Sue Pearson

My friends and I spent considerable time left to our own devices on my grandmother's porch. Our parents didn't set up color-coded trays brimming with activities: beads to build finger dexterity, watercolors to enhance our artistic nature, magnets to promote scientific curiosity. Nope, during those long, unstructured marvelous afternoons, we were on our own. - Jan Risher