8.6.25

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Hello, and welcome to Women's World on Radio I. As
a reminder, Radio I as a reading service intended for
people who are blind or have other disabilities that make
it difficult to read printing material. Today I will be
reading from Southern Living Magazine day to June July twenty
twenty five, and other publications as time allows. Your host

(00:25):
today is Rosemary. Newspaper and magazine articles presented in Women's
World or for general information only. RADIOI does not endorse
or recommend any of the subjects mentioned. We start with
adventures in travel and culture the South City of Gold,

(00:45):
reliving old memories and making new ones in the storied
town of doll Naga, Georgia. They're shiny stuff swirling in
the pan flex of my and parrite, and who knows
what but only fools and greenhorns mistaken for gold. You'll

(01:07):
have to ignore a lot of sparkles to find what's
truly valuable. Swish until the loose sediment washes away, until
heavy black sand is all that's left. If you're lucky
and patient, you'll spot a yellow glint gold unmistakable. You'll

(01:28):
know it when you see it. Dopamine will kick in
and the hair will stand up on the back of
your neck. Some people really do yell eureka. My dad
was a Methodist preacher from a long line of them.
He gave a sermon about gold fever once decades ago
after our annual trip to Dollanego, Georgia, about an hour

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northeast of Atlanta. It might have been about greed. It
might have been about hope. It might have been about
chasing shiny things. The Dollonega Square is different now than
how new as a child, when my friends counted men

(02:14):
with prospector bears as if they were Guernsey cattle in
a game of cow pasture golf. Now there's a yoga studio,
a jerky store, a market selling only British curiosities, a
peddler of vintage musical instruments, and even a desertery. There's

(02:38):
a toy and game shop of a type that might
in more tiresome low cows refer to itself as a
shoppy maybe even an old one. Young bucksters strum ukuleles
outside Brad Walker's Pottery on this day, harmonizing to Jason

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Merr's storm that was popular before they were born. It's
a good spot across from Connie's Ice Cream and Sandwich
shop and Catty corner to the fudge factory, which has
an aroma ever bit as mesmerizing as the shimmer of gold.
In the middle of the square is the old courthouse,

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and in that building is a museum telling Dallanega's story.
In eighteen twenty eight, a man named Benjamin Parks stubbed
his toe on a stone. He looked down to curse
that offending rock and saw that it was yellow. You

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know what happened next, dopamine hair on the neck America's
first gold rush. It is here where gold for Georgia's
capital Dome was mined, a US meant for a time
processed North Georgia gold into legal tender. And before the

(04:06):
Civil War, this place was lousy with prospectors and gamblers.
It was a na'er dowell's refuge, a lawless, ungovernable community.
Dallanega has always been my kind of place. I admit
I have long felt a false sense of belonging to

(04:26):
this town and these hills, an undeserved sense of ownership.
I came to Dollanega every summer of my life until recently,
to a tiny cabin my grandfather Holland built on Church
camp land. It was barely more than a hut without
hot water, a TV or a phone line when that

(04:51):
still mattered. Now, that was how Dad wanted to keep it,
and we kids came to agree, if grudging, it was
a spiritual and natural retreat, a haven from the harshness
of the world. So I fished in its ponds, stumped

(05:12):
through creeks that glittered with micah, tubed down rivers like
the chest Tea, and panned for Georgia gold. The memories
are like still photos in the story of Me. I
see myself as a small child running with abandon on
pass lined with Mountain Laurel. I see my children doing

(05:35):
the same. These moments triggery emotions. I can't adequately convey
Fried chicken with Dad at the wagon Wheel restaurant, the
meat and three he loved best, and the sad fact
that they are both now gone. Pizza on the Square
with my daughter, Pepperoni, banana peppers and feta became personal favorites.

(06:04):
Fourth of July fireworks at the University of North Georgia
gave us cause to talk about the real meaning of freedom,
of liberty for all and the sacrifices made for those
who truly value those concepts. A lot of shiny stuff
swirls in my brain when I think of those times.

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And I didn't want this place to change a custom
when Walmart came, even when it sold live worms from
a vending machine day and night. I howled when the
county built a fine new high school near the camp
where Holland Hut stood. How dare they value education? I

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mourned as highways widened, as Atlanta turned North Georgia into
a suburb, as companies raised hillsides to make mauls for
local convenience. I still grouse as I shop at them.
All preciousness is a complicated thing. Dallanega has changed, but

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was held to the character that made it what it was.
What else can you ask of a town or a person?
This village has found a quirky balance. It somehow appeals
to bikers and hikers and rebels and revelers, to students
and aging flower children, to old men with prospector beards

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and young people with prospector beards and fingernail polish. Change.
I remind myself it's not always pain. I payned for
gold in Dallenega as a boy at the Christim and
consolidated gold mines. I took my kids there to do

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the same by the time they were grown, and I
had filled a vial with tiny nuggets substantial enough to
clink against the glass. Then somehow it disappeared in a
move or in a house cleaning accident. I don't worry
about the gold. I spent more time searching for it

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than was actually worse. But I felt the loss that
vial meant far more to me than the metal inside. Recently,
I returned to Dolanega with my wife Alicia to prepare
the shiny stuff from the precious. I panned for gold

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and found a new nuggets that would clink a gliense glass.
We saw a fawnd run behind the inn at BlackBerry Hill,
a place that's as cozy as Holland Hunt, was spartan
with an innkeeper so serene. I can now acknowledge that

(08:59):
foregoing comfort is not the only way to find a
haven from the world's harshness. At the Dallaega butterfly Farm,
we fed those colorful insects from nectar soaked swabs. The
simple and wondrous moment was cut short by a thunderstorm.
It rained, but didn't dampen our spirits. Any thunder here

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reminds me of Rip van Winkle rolling nine pins in
the hills of the past of time. The magic of
things you see when you dare to stop and look.
The Holland Hut is no more our claim to it.
Died with my parents On a spring morning in twenty nineteen.

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Their survivors hiked to one of Mom's favorite spots, above
a waterfall she thought sacred. We spread her ashes at
the sun rose, and the whole sky turned pink. I
cried as I left, not just for Mom, because I
knew it was her time, but for this place. It

(10:10):
was no longer mine. I knew that day, perhaps that
it never had been. I am pleased to return, if
only to understand that no one can seek a claim
to the things that are genuinely precious, the wonder of nature,

(10:31):
the kindness of neighbors and strangers, The memories we make
can share and hold deer in places like this Eureka.
They are worth much more than gold. Plan your Dalenega
get away. Where to go? Visit the Dalenega Gold Museum

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in the Old Courthouse at the center of town to
learn the unvarnished tree about the nation's first gold rush.
Take the mine tour deep into the earth, but not
that deep. At the consolidated gold mine. You can pay
in for gold and hunt for gems there, though we
struck it rich this time at the chrism gold Mine.

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I asked my children what they remember most fondly about Dollanega,
and two out of the three says the Dollanega General Store,
located on the square. When you're done, there's a fudge shop,
a chocolate shop, an ice cream shop, and there's also
a place that bills itself as a chocolate, fudge and

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ice cream spot. Try them all, but start with the
fudge factory, and don't sleep on the antique malls down
the street. They'll suck up an entire afternoon. If you're
looking for a low key, feel good moment for less
than ten bucks, stop by the Dolinaga Butterfly Farm, sit,

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walk around, or chat with the informative workers about the
stages of a butterfly's life or your own, if they'll
let you. This part of Georgia is stunning, from the
Blue Ridge Mountain scenery to the many cascades like Dick's
Creek Falls and Amacola Falls, to name a couple. Chattahoochee

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National Forest, where the Appalachian Trail begins, has hundreds of
miles of hiking paths and even more miles of trout streams.
Kayakers and canoeists can take advantage of Class one and
two rapids on the Chistatye in Edawah rivers. Casual tubers

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can float either one or Heck, just sit there, look
at the mountains and listen to the creeks and the
crickets until you know their songs. The smith House has
been serving Southern meats and vegetables family style since the
Prohibition era. Only a few references in the world made

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my grandmother gad along. This was one. My wife has
Celiac disease and can't have gluten at all, and the
Bourbon street grill took her needs. In Astride, bless their
kind hearts, you can get gaidor gumbo, or a swamp salad,

(13:30):
which is really just a salad with their choice of protein,
anything from crawfish to steak to meatless meat. I was
a sucker for their muffiletta, but then I always am
Shannanagan's Irish Pub, another dining experience that sit in my
wife's dietary needs, has classic pub grub. They offer bangers

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and mash at Irish stew and guinness galore. There was
music in the parking lot outside on our last trip,
not traditional jigs or reels, but a guy singing Jimmy
Buffet tunes and such. He didn't get a whole lot
of attention, but he should have. I figured come Monday

(14:17):
he'd be all right. The nearby picnic cafe in Desertery
reminds me of my mom of important moments with my grandmother,
of ladies at church when I was a kid, who
knew that egg salad was an art and pimento cheese
a science, or the other way around. The place is

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neither fancy nor pretentious despite its name, whether you're having
breakfast or lunch, there's always something sweet at the end.
It's like being at a wedding without the stress. I'm
a mountains knob, the kind who believes the retreat is

(15:00):
for retreating from the modern world and the human contact
that comes with it. I realized after staying at the
Inn at BlackBerry Hill that I've been to put a
finer point on it, an idiot. My epiphany is partly
due to the lodgings themselves. Sure, rustic is great, but

(15:24):
I quickly got used to the luxurious furnishings here, with
fine linens and other comforts. Our room, the manor sweet
open to a view of mountains by day and stars
by night. My change of heart, though, was really due
to innkeeper Tammy Nash and unobtrusive kind host who make

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sure snacks and wine are available at all hours, which
means a midnight tiptoe to the dining room leads to
the home baked treats so tempting they'll chase away any regret.
Nash cook's breakfast for each guest and even makes some
gluten free pancakes for my wife. Other options include Dalla

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Naga Inn on Maine, located in eighteen forty six colonial
style building that's within walking distance of everything. If you
prefer to be in the middle of the action. The
Hall House Hotel is the only lodging option on the square.

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Next Peach Perfect simple desserts that celebrate the South's favorite
stone fruit. In early August nineteen ninety two, I was
dashing out the door to fly to Boston to meet
Julia Child. Yes, that Julia Child. She was about to
celebrate her eightieth birthday, and I had secured an interview

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at her Cambridge, Massachusetts home. Before I left my Atlanta house,
I locked the front door. I panicked because this interview
had come together so fast that I hadn't thought of
bringing her a hospitality gift. I glanced at the fruit
bowl on the kitchen counter and quickly grabbed the largest,

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most fragrant Georgia peach, blushing deep coral red like those
late summer varieties do. Then I swaddled it in paper
towels and placed it gently in my purse. In Julia's kitchen,
we roasted chicken and tossed a green salad for lunch,
and sipped the chilled souvn on blanc as we cooked.

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After the meal, I sheepishly pulled out the peach and
said something like, from my Georgia kitchen to yours. Julia
held my gift carefully like it was a newborn. She
cooed about peaches in her warbling voice, how she loved
the white varieties of France, and then she sliced it

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into a plate for us to share that peach thrilled
her and saved me. Peaches do that on their own.
They can transform the simplest meals into memories. They leave
their flavor behind in recipes for warm weather preserves, boldly

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imprint their fragrance into homemade ice cream or pound cake,
and pill cobblers and sonkers on the top of pan
effortlessly with all their wonderful juices. I just can't imagine
a summer without Southern peaches, whether cooking with them or
devying one. As I lean over the kitchen seek so

(18:54):
to the sweet tart juices are free to run down
my arm to my elbow. Although California is the largest
US producer of peaches, the best flavor can be found
in Southern varieties. The earliest ones will likely be clingstone types.
The pit hangs into the fruit's flesh, making them a

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little fussy to slice. They don't have the deep flavor
that late season free stone ones do. But both kinds
work in recipes. Whether they're a variety from upcountry South Carolina,
reliable Georgia, Alberta's bright red havens from Clinton County, Alabama,

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or even the kind grown around Cleveland, Tennessee, peaches are
the greatest gifts of a southern summer. Here are my
favorite ways to enjoy them. Peach poundcake active time twenty five.
Total time for the recipe one hour and fifty five minutes,

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plus one hour for cooling. The recipe makes serves twelve.
The ingredients are one cup unsalted butter at room temperature
plus more for pan, three cups all purpose flour plus
more for pan, two and one half cups granulated sugar,
five large eggs at room temperature, two teaspoons vanilla extract,

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one half teaspoon almond extract optional, three fourth teaspoon kosher salt,
one fourth teaspoon baking powder, one half cup sour cream
at room temperature. One and one fourth cups finally chopped,
unpeeled peaches, drained and padded dry from three to four peaches.

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Pre Heat oven to three hundred and twenty five degrees
with rick in middle position. Butter and flour a ten
inch two pan and set aside. Play sugar and butter
in a large bowl. Beat with electric mixer on medium
speed until light in color and fluffy. Four to five minutes.

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Add eggs, one at a time, beating until incorporated. Beat
in vanilla and almond extracts if desired. Whist together flour, salt,
and baking powder in a medium bowl. Add a third
of the flour mixture to the butter mixture. Beat on
low speed, just until incorporated. Add half of the sour cream,

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mixing until just incorporated, with mixer running. Alternate adding flour
mixture and sour cream, beginning and ending with the flour mixture.
Fold in peaches, spoon and spread batter evenly in prepared pan.

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Bake until top is golden brown and springs back when
lightly pressed in the center one hour fifteen minutes to
one hour twenty minutes. Let's cool in pan on a
wire rack fifteen to twenty minutes. Run a knife around
the edges of the cake to loosen. Remove from pan,

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and let cool right side up on a wire rack
for one hour. Next. Mary Joe's sun cooked peach preserves
My aunt Mary Joe Ellis had an unconventional way of
preserving peaches. She'll let the sun do most of the work.

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The juices evaporates, leaving soft slices of glistening fruit behind.
Spread onto warm biscuits or toast. The ingredients are six
cups peeled slice peach from ten to twelve peaches, four
cups of granulated sugar, three tablespoons fresh lemon juice from

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two lemons. Place peach slices, sugar and lemon juice, and
a large five quartz stainless steel or enameled saucepan. Stir
to combine. Let's stand until sugar is dissolved about thirty minutes.
Bring peach mixture to boil over medium high, stirring occasionally.

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Reduce heat to medium low, and simmer, stirring occasionally eight minutes.
Remove from heat. Transfer peaches and their juices to a
clean two quart glass dish or bowl with a transparent
lid to allow the sunlight. In place on the table
outdoors for at least six hours of full sun, stirring

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once or twice at the end of the day. Bring
peaches inside, cover and refrigerate. Depending on the amount of
liquid in the peaches and the intensity of the sun,
the preserve should come together in two to three days.
With six hours of full sunlight each day. The peach

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slices will look translucent and the juices should thicken, though
they will not thicken as much as store bought peach
preserves for thicker results. Simmer preserves and a soft pan
on the stove until desired desired consistency is reached. Pack

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preserves into four to six sterilized half pint jars, leaving
one fourth inch headspace at the top. Secure with sterilized
lids and jar rims. Store in the refrigerator. Preserves will
keep in the fridge for two to three weeks. That

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was the recipe for Mary Joe's sun Cooked Peach Preserves,
and next the stove top variation of the suncooked Peach preserves.
Make preserves through steps one in step two. In step two,
heat saucepan over medium high. Bring mixture to boil, stirring occasionally.

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Reduce heat to medium low, and cook, stirring occasionally and
skimming foam off top until peaches are translucent and a
candy thermometer registers to twenty degrees thirty twenty to thirty minutes.
To check consistency, place some of the peach mixture on

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a heat proof plate. Freeze ten minutes. Remove plate. Run
a spoon through the mixture. It should be thick enough
to hold a trail that flows back together very slowly.
Remove from heat emit steps two and three per seed

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with step five as directed, and that was the stove
top only variation of the sun cooked peach preserves. Next
the ultimate Peach Sunday. The act of time twenty five minutes.
Total time twenty five minutes. The recipe serves four four

(26:26):
one half inch thick slices peach pound cake, two cups
peeled and sliced peaches from two to three large peaches,
two tablespoons granulated sugar, plus more to taste, eight scoops
of iron skillet peach ice cream and sweetened with cream.
Put the peach pound cake slices into one cut the

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peach pound cake slices into one half inch cubes and
set aside. Toss the sliced peaches with sugar in a
medium bowl until well combined. Taste the mixture and add
more sugar if desired. Set peach mixture aside. Divide half
of the cake cubes among four goblets large wine glasses

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or small bowls. Top each serving with one scoop of
the iron skillet peach ice cream. Spoon half of the
peaches and their juices over the ice cream in the goblets.
Repeat the Sunday layers once with the remaining cake cubes,
ice cream and peach mixture. Top Sundays with sweetened with

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cream and drizzle with any leftover peach juices if desired,
serve immediately. It was the recipe for the Ultimate Peach Sundays.
This concludes Women's World for today. Your reader has been Rosemary.

(27:54):
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