A Black Pearl Literary Perspective Novel

Generations Series

“Down South Summers”

Where Seeds Were Sown…A Novel of Confessions

It’s tradition. Black families migratin from the South, makin their way up North to the Midwest and the West and sendin their children back to what we called “Down South” in the summer when school let out in June to remain connected to family.

Except from Chapter One

 Knowin

                        It's a Beautiful Mornin rang out loud into the parking lots as the multitudes unloaded tables and chairs anxious to find a spot, setup, and reconnect. It was that time of year Chicago was reminiscent of the 60's capturin everything from dashikis to afros to the sound of ice cream trucks to the way the hazy heat caressed black skin. It was like slow walkin back in time. It was tradition, it was the last weekend in August just before school started back in September. It was a hot summer day, perfect for being outside with the ones you love; like groovin on a Sunday afternoon cept it was Saturday mornin. Large families from small southern towns gathered themselves together to remember the days. The annual Southern Illinois Reunion at Dan Ryan Woods was goin on and the people were comin out.

            As far as the eye could see and the nose could smell, barbeque filled the air, grills sent up thin clouds of seasoned smoke, and picnic tables were full of food. Laughter intensified with the slappin down of cards for every winnin hand of BidWhist. Skilled players crowded around thirstin to partner up and call the trump suit. Yellin, spades, hearts, diamonds, clubs. Three uptown, three downtown, three no trump. Bluffin, renegin on bids, makin books and countin up the kitty like they were throwin down twenty-dollar bills while lingerin ashes clung to the end of cigarettes waitin to be tapped.

            The saved prayed and the unsaved played but all of em were glad to see one another alive and well as Uncle Lee said, "just one mo time." The question, "Do you know Jesus?" came as quick and common as curse words, fyin up a joint and sippin on Jack Daniel from a brown paper bag. Speakers pulsated from every direction, thumpin out rhythm, blues, jazz and gospel makin heads bob, bodies jerk, fingers pop and feet praise the Lord while children ran free under watchful eyes. Old folks strolled in droves with dressed up canes, sportin large sun hats and proud faces ready to show off how their families had grown; they looked for the markers. Mound City, Villa Ridge, Cairo, Olive Branch, Barlow, and Tamms along with other kinfolk from the lower Mississippi Delta.

Everyone was family whether you met em or not. Somehow, she had a knowin about that day long before it came. It manifested itself in her mind's eye.  An oasis of black families livin, lovin, and learnin about one another. Late summer 1988, Indigo came to the reunion not knowin she was about to meet her real momma.