The airport exit. Many early morning, late evenings and in between rides from Kingston to Nashville,and back again. On cold, wet roads.Over the steamy Cumberland plateau to either embrace a loved one as they left, or clasp hands in anticipation of the return of one. This airport was scene to the first kiss on a new grand babies cheek, or the welcome of the newest daughter-in-law, or a beloved grandparent. It was witness to the return of a missionary, and saw the many tears of goodbyes. The halls echo the tender love that was expressed here through a hearty hug or handshake.
I dare say that all that is southern cooking is here at the Cracker Barrel. Need I say more? Just skip the okra. I warned ya!
1 comment:
Skip the okra?!? No way--that's good stuff-as long as it's fried REAL (grammatically incorrect for the southern emphasis) good.
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