This morning while shopping at Walmart we passed the milk display. My eyes focused on a half-gallon of buttermilk. I suggested we should buy some, and an ancient memory screamed in from my past….
The year was 1963 and I was a new arrival at an air base in the West Indies. Our newborn daughter, Evie, was required to reach the age of six weeks before she and her mother could join me. So i was living in the A&E barrack for that period.
We were in the midst of the Cold War. Keeping aircraft and flight crews at the ready everyday and around the clock meant that our duty hours were all over the place. But once in a while two A&E maintainers from Tennessee would join our rotating gab session on the small porch near the First Sergeant’s office. These two Tennesseans were previously acquainted from a previous SAC assignment. They had one thing in common – cornbread and buttermilk, the way Mama used to make it.
I heard their story so many times that I can’t imagine why it’s taken me so many years to give it a shot. But that’s what Barb and I are going to do today.
I’ll let you know.