PATSY BRUMFIELD: Zombies, hops, grave search on my mind

By Patsy Brumfield/NEMS Daily Journal

Many good developments, dear readers, since I last put my brain in gear on this page.
The season finale of “The Walking Dead” is behind me, only to worry about next season’s brooding possibilities.
Grandpup Bonnie got her springtime haircut so her heat-enduced panting and wayward shedding will be minimized, we both hope.
My garden is before me with great expectations already in the ground, much to the consternation of “serious” gardeners who warn we’re “likely” to get a freeze in early April, and then, where will I be?
Where? Back at the garden store buying more, of course.
But if we don’t get that freeze, I’m ahead of plan with sugar peas, okra, butternut squash, cucumbers, tomatoes and bell peppers already in the ground.
Think I’m going to need an expansion of my asparagus patch, too. It’s doing fine but it’s not big enough to sprout-up a decent serving size fast enough to suit me.
One of the largest developments is the relocation of my hops patch from the big water trough to terra firma under a big ole arbor, which once was the skeleton of my well-traveled Grove tent.
I’m sure some of my neighbors cast a horrified eye its way, but once those hops vines shoot up the central posts, it will look simply gorgeous. Even more gorgeous, I hope, will be the nectorous beer my brewer-friends know how to make with the cute little clustery hops flowers.
We’ve also had an excellent addition to the neighborhood in the likes of a state trooper.
His muscle-bound patrol car sits conspicuously in his front driveway when he’s not out protecting and serving, and it makes a mighty fine sight for Joe Rutherford 3/21/12 we “senior ladies” who remember last spring’s Tupelo bank robber who left his booty just across the street under an azalea bush.
And congratulations to my neighbor, Mel Deas, and her minions for their fantastic production of the Don’t Be Cruel BBQ Duel in Fairpark over the weekend.
Their weather prayers were answered, and it was a fabulous event for young and old. I’ve acquired T-shirts as Easter presents for a few lucky relatives.
Speaking of that great High Feast Day, I’m busy planning an Easter Eve jaunt to Memphis’ gorgeous Elmwood Cemetery, where my great-grandparents – the parents of the beautiful and willful Rosalie Dial – are buried.
Their graves are not marked with headstones for some reason, so we’ll enlist the cemetery historian’s help in determining their exact location.
Then, we’ll work on a plan to mark their resting places in a more fitting manner so that future family travels and generations won’t have so much difficulty finding them.
If I remember correctly, the graves are not too far from revered Mississippi writer Shelby Foote on whose grave my daughter splashed good whiskey not long after his burial.
Now, where did I put that little flask?
Patsy R. Brumfield writes a Thursday column. Contact her at

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