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Photo: My grandmother and mother’s cornbread mold with an ear of Bradford heirloom corn. By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Born of fire, master of fire, and survivor of fire, my vintage cast iron cornbread mold fed many a soul. Best I figure it came to be in the 1930s.Continue Reading

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Something about a rainy winter day fires up the imagination. For some. By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net I have long admired the work of a fighter pilot turned writer. He wrote under the pen name James Salter. James Arnold Horowitz volunteered for combat duty in Korea and flew moreContinue Reading

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By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Photo: The ash door to the smokehouse in Historic Brattonsville. To some, the smokehouse remains a symbol of the impoverished, rural South. Not me. I see it as a rustic savior, and I thank the late Harry Crews for my column’s title. I recalledContinue Reading

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My lost geisha By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net It was the photograph in my father’s war album. Her white kimono. Hair black as onyx. Pale, serene face. Perfect bone structure. Gloss, a sheen upon her hair. On one side, a nameless GI. On the other, my father, not muchContinue Reading

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By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Photographs speak if you listen to them. That curling, cracked Polaroid of your deceased uncle and aunt tells a story as surely as the photos of Iwo Jima and V-J Day in Times Square images do. A world entire lives inside the four wallsContinue Reading

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Red, messy, slick, and a trademark of the American South. By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Drizzle drifted and spritzed as if it were January except it was October. Mists coated my camera. In its viewfinder red mud glistened in rain that slickened it to slip-sliding away status and thatContinue Reading

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The front entrance to New Hope Baptist Church, Lincolnton, Georgia. By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net For the first time in my life I was alone in my church. The old Regulator wall clock ticked away as I ticked away the families who had walked through their last door. Ivys,Continue Reading

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The Horaltic Pose By Tom Poland: A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Back roads never disappoint me. Such was the case with a road, paved just a tad, but deliciously dirt the rest of the way. As I suspected, its name, Sardis, comes from the Bible, though it could be a family name.Continue Reading

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By Tom Poland: A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Sunday lunch at the Sea View Inn. Forty-five years it had been since my daughters and I were together at Pawleys. While eating I thought about our long-ago days at an old beach house. I could rent the house for a week for somethingContinue Reading

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By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Sea View Inn’s fried chicken. As evening shadows fell, I made my way home through woods. Overpowering the peppery smell of autumn leaves, the chicken frying in mom’s cast iron skillet came to me. For the rest of my life no fragrance said homeContinue Reading