Native

Home this morning, greeted by the 'rents fresh from Florida.

Mom (as she's juicing tangerines): Nag-ihaw ko og chicken. [I "barbecued" chicken).

Me: That's nice.

Mom: Yeah. I butchered it. We bought a live one and I butchered it.

She shows me pieces of chicken in a Glad bag, thawing and blood tinged.

Mom: It's native chicken.

Here I was thinking of giving her Michael Pollan's oeuvre as a present, but those are useless to a farm girl. You can take the farm girl out of the farm, but ...

Photo: Calamansi and Calamansi, Jr. - lone survivors of a Florida winter from my Mom's Florida yard.