Ronda Rich's blog

Here’s how you do it

Ronda Rich's picture

My brother-in-law, Rodney, is a farmer of the most admirable kind. He farms, despite the heartbreaks, hard times, hot sun and little pay, because he loves it. Not even the relentless stronghold of healthy kudzu could choke the passion for farming from him. He is devoted to the land and what it brings. Good or bad. Read More»

Practical folks

Ronda Rich's picture

Southerners tend to be practical folks, at least those of us raised in rural areas that have seen their share of hard times. Read More»

Fried pea patties

Ronda Rich's picture

Any Southern woman worth her weight in Martha White Flour has at least one drawer or cookbook in her kitchen stuffed with recipes she has torn out of magazines or newspapers, fully intending to try each and every one of them.

Most of these recipes are never cooked, baked, mixed or thought of again. Read More»

A quick, sharp tongue

Ronda Rich's picture

My niece, Nicole, was saying the other day how a quick, sharp tongue is built into our DNA and how we need to watch what we say and how we say it.

If you haven’t already read between the lines, that was her attempt to be subtle and encourage me to watch what I say. Of course, it was a waste of her sweet breath, but I pretended to pay attention and agreed with what she said. Read More»

Facing off with Facebook

Ronda Rich's picture

It wasn’t my idea. In fact, I was so opposed to it that I had to be forced into doing it. I’m still not a happy participant.

My literary agent in New York, dear friend though she is, insisted that I become part of the Facebook community. Read More»

My Mama’s faith was unbending

Ronda Rich's picture

I wondered the other day how a mother could even think that, let alone say it. But then Mama was a woman who defied exact definition. She was strong, smart, courageous, sometimes outrageous and, above all, ruled by a faith that was simply unbendable and unquestionable. That part of her was definable and clear: She believed unyieldingly in an Almighty God who never left her side. Even when it could have seemed that He did. Read More»

What has happened to NASCAR?

Ronda Rich's picture

Since I once called the garage area of the NASCAR Cup Series “home,” working in the sport for several years as one of few women among hundreds of men, folks often ask my opinion on today’s NASCAR. Read More»

4 seasons: Christmas, Easter . . .

Ronda Rich's picture

A few weeks ago, I was on the phone with a friend who lives in Las Vegas. Suddenly, out of the blue, he asked, “Is Easter this Sunday?”

“No,” I replied. “Easter is one month from this Sunday.”

“Oh.” He laughed lightly, embarrassed, I suppose, that he didn’t know. “I was just thinking of the beautiful place where I usually go for sunrise service.”

At the time, I didn’t think much about it but later I thought, “You can tell he’s not Southern for Southerners always know exactly when Easter is.” Read More»

Ingenious Mama

Ronda Rich's picture

Mama wasn’t sentimental. In fact, I never knew of anyone who grew up in the Southern mountains during the Depression who was sentimental. They all said they were trying to forget, not remember.

So, as I continued to unpack Mama’s belongings after the disaster of a winter’s broken water line that destroyed her former home that is now my office, I didn’t expect much sentimentality. I, however, am extraordinarily sentimental. When the contractor pulled down a medicine chest in the bathroom to reveal ancient, pretty wallpaper, I pulled off pieces to save. Read More»

Going visiting

Ronda Rich's picture

One night back in the summer, Louise, Rodney and I stopped to see Russell and Neva, whom we have all known in one way or the other for decades. Yet, we go ages without seeing each other. It’s a crying shame, as Mama would say.

We piled out of the car, exchanged hugs and hellos, then climbed two short steps and settled down on the lovely porch of the hundred-year-old house that faces a neatly manicured pasture and is shaded by trees much older than any of us. Rodney and Neva took the swing and the rest of us plopped down in wicker chairs and rockers. Read More»