We’ve moved to www.goddessofgumbo.com –come visit!

The “Trans-V” Probe … and Other Historical Atrocities

Well, I declare. And I use those words with the inflec­tion of gen­er­a­tions of South­ern aunts and mamas and grand­mas echo­ing in my ears: “Well, Ah dee-clare!” Can you hear the musi­cal trip­ping off the tongue? Two soft trochees, drip­ping with won­der … and scorn? And what is it that has caused this retreat from the

How to Grow More Vegetables I

I’m eight years old again. My mother has planned a huge birth­day party for me, with cake and bal­loons and all my friends from school. (No, no clowns, or jug­glers or face painters, but it didn’t take much to please us in those days.) I have a new dress to wear in my favorite blue–royal. And

The Thing Called Hope

Far too reg­u­larly, I seem to suc­cumb to despair. The things I care about seem so obvi­ous to me–and yet so unim­por­tant to my own fam­ily mem­bers and most of the peo­ple I know. My strug­gle with indus­trial food, for exam­ple … Some­times I can’t help but won­der what I’m doing, why it mat­ters to