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

Snowball and I, well, we had some marvelous times. It was sorta like we always knew what the other wanted. I didn’t have to tell him to roll over and play dead. I’d just point my finger at him and say “bang!” and he rolled over and played dead. Very good watch dog also. I wanted him to sleep in our bed with us four boys but mom told me no . . . A boy and his dog. Wild Indians couldn’t separate the two of us. Sno and I walked many a mile on those old dusty country roads -- chasing birds or whatever, just enjoying life to the brim. - Clyde Boswell

Most Southern writers were produced by a society in which people talk into the night and tell stories. - Eudora Welty

All around the lake were fathers and sons having some kind of uncomplicated experience, but as for me, I was thinking, what in God’s name am I doing here, holding this pole with a roach pinned to the end of a hook? And worse: what if I catch a fish? ”- Edward Cohen