MY STORIES ARE CREATIVE

Inspired by a sense of place

AUGUSTA, GEORGIA

The road stretched forward leading to the house I grew up in. However, I didn’t recognize I was home simply by the sight. Instead, it was the first jarring bump, followed by a dull rumble as the sound of tires bounced across the street. I knew I was home as soon as the car hit the bricks.

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Mixed, molded, and fired to retain heat, each brick was created to withstand corrosion and resist flame. If this was 5,000 years ago, these bricks would have laid out in the sun, soaking up the rays and preserving their shape. Yet only a couple hundred years ago, bricklayers lined them in perfectly straight rows, their process guided by a mason’s line. Like buttering a biscuit, mortar was spread evenly and precisely to the brick before placing it in its final resting place. To ensure the integrity of the foundation, each was knocked into place with the trowel, allowing any pockets of air to escape.

Crafted with care, today the prim letters AUGUSTA printed across each brick are faded, only recognizable on those laid on the outskirts, free from the tread of traffic. An industry and craft faded away. The road was built to last and last it has. In fact, it’s a little out of place in today’s modern world.

CRAFTING PERFECTION

In my home, barbecue was king, the process was worshipful and the quest was for perfection. The Big Green Egg was my father's altar. Standing in front of the grill, smoke poured out, a perfume of pecan and apple wood, each chosen meticulously with flavor in mind, incensing the area. “Low and slow,” as he liked to reference his smoking process, low temperatures and lots of time. Football games, family gatherings and the Fourth of July were all revered occasions in my household. When 12-18 hours are put into the process any time barbecue is prepared, it becomes a special occasion.

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His was a scientific method, religious in nature with a dash of creativity. “I’ve still never perfected it, but I’ve got it pretty good,” he claims.

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Taking the pork shoulder out of the crisp brown butcher paper, he placed it on the granite countertop. The process had begun. First, with meticulous concentration, he trimmed the meat of excess fat. Somehow, inherently he knew what would cook down under low temperatures to provide tenderness and what would overwhelm the final product. Scents of cumin and paprika filled the air as the sting of chili powder made its move and notes of brown sugar calmed the mixture. Combining spices into a dry rub, he worked them into the meat by hand. I knew this would create what he called the “bark” and serve as an indicator of the time and effort spent.

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By this point the grill would have already been lit and a combination of apple and pecan wafting together filled the house, knowing no bounds and alerting the neighbors that the process had begun. These scents stained his hands throughout the entire process, the sign of a master. Alarms were set throughout the night. With vigilance, he protected the integrity of his final product.

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This was all part of perfecting his craft.

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

Heavy, the aroma makes its way across the city. Serious, it beckons others to join, out of sky-high towers and too-small cubicles, away from sequestered homes and hosts of apartments. Exotic, it promises newness. Familiar, it fills its followers with warmth.

In Seattle, a cup of coffee is more than a jolt of energy; it’s in the culture.

The bean is roasted as temperatures are raised rapidly, for gold is refined by fire. Chemically changed to reach perfection, as only the Pacific North West would tell you they could determine, they are cooled quickly. Those sealed in flavors are packed and ready to take on their new role.

With the invention of Starbucks, now almost synonymous with the town, the bean has been shipped, ground, packaged and poured all over the city.

Perhaps it’s the invitation of the cold, rainy atmosphere, it needs something to puncture the gloom. Or maybe it’s the fast-paced lifestyle that requires something to keep the city moving, always awake, always thinking, inventing. Whatever the reason, the proliferation of coffee shops across the area dots the area. Follow the sharp scent as it winds its way across the city, beckoning in crowds.