Me and Mrs. Jones (and a lemon pie)

“Egg whites are good for a lot of things – lemon meringue pie, angel food cake, and clogging up radiators.” ~MacGyver

My soundtrack:  Me and Mrs. Jones by Billy Paul
https://www.youtube.com/meandmrsjones

Family ties run deep in the Delta like the roots of the mighty bald cypress that anchor the majestic trees to the soil.  The generations before us were lifers - born, raised, reared their own then died in the Delta. Leaving was never fathomable.  Men especially stayed to carry on the family farm or business. The lifers became intertwined like kudzu to the point where it's hard to distinguish between friends and relatives.  More often than not they are one and the same.

I'm always fascinated by the lengths at which people in the Delta go to establish familial links to one another.  It reminds me of those long, tedious Bible verses - the begats - where they drone on and on about geneology.  It's boring to read but of immense importance as it substantiates historical accuracy and ties Jesus back to David.  I've sat for many an hour as my parents and their friends regale us over cocktails with stories of growing up here.  These conversations invariably turn to painstakingly weaving together how so-and-so is related to so-and-so.  It's like the Delta's own version of six degrees of separation that inevitably ends with us all somehow being cousins.  

During my latest trip to the Delta, I got wind of plans to sell off the contents of the Caile Methodist Church and either move or demolish the building.  The church was established in 1892 and the building has been a fixture on the side of Highway 49 since I can remember, keeping a faithful watch over the cemetery across the road.  The church has a special place in many people's hearts in the area but attrition, as it has in other small communities, has taken its toll.

My sister Anne and I along with Mama meet at the church one afternoon with Norman Aycock who is overseeing the sale of the church contents.   We look around and inquire about purchasing one of the pews.  Mr. Aycock explains that he's only offering to sell pews to actual members of the church or people related to members.  Anne and Mama immediately chime in on how they believe we're related to W.O. Jones, a longtime member of the Caile church.  Anne rolls off a lineage that would make any Delta native proud.  "Our grandmother's sister blah, blah, blah, blah, second cousin twice removed." (She loses me at "our grandmother.")  I'm  impressed by the detail to which my sister links us to the Jones family.  Those cocktail lineage stories are coming in handy and she is apparently a better listener than I. Satisfied, Mr. Aycock decides we've met the criteria for a pew and a deal is struck for the purchase.

We return to my parents' house triumphant,  When we proudly tell Daddy about our pew, he quickly sets us straight.  We're wrong on the lineage to W.O. Jones.  Oops.  We feel like swindlers.
  

In true southern fashion, while mulling over our dilemma, we decide to worry about the pew another day and instead set out to make a lemon pie with meringue from scratch.  Why, you ask?  Because it's spring and why not?  My sister settles on a recipe in the Inverness Cook Book.  She commences to cooking while I look on.  Everything is going great until we realize we only have store bought pie crusts.  A crime in any true baker's book but we press on. The time comes for the most important part, the meringue, so we call in the big guns - Daddy.  Everybody in the Delta knows what a fabulous cook and baker Daddy is and knows he never uses a recipe.  As he starts beating the the egg whites for the meringue, I start asking questions to which I already know how he's going to respond.  "How much cream of tartar do you use?"  Response:  "I don't know."  "How much sugar do you add in?"  Response:  "Enough." Whatever he does, it's just right because the meringue is perfection.

As we admire our work, I glance at the recipe.  It's by none other than Mrs. W.O. Jones. Coincidence? I think not.

The next day we return to Caile to retrieve the pew.  We sheepishly confess to Mr. Aycock that we may not be as closely related to W.O. Jones as we initially thought.  Not to worry.  He smiles as he presents a brass plaque that previously adorned one of the pews which reads, "In Loving Memory, Martha Francis Garrard 1847 - 1933."  With the last name Garrard, we know we have to be related to Martha, even though none of us are really sure who Martha is. I feel better heading back to Texas with pew in tow knowing the only crime committed while I was in Mississippi was using a store bought pie crust.