Easter in Latta

There are moments when certain seasons, smells, days, and moments call you back to days gone by. At first you think it's deja vu, but then it becomes a memory. Easter Sunday, no matter when it falls, always - always reminds me of visits with my Great Aunt Anna Margaret in Latta, South Carolina.

She was all southern woman - towering at nearly six feet, with an imposing, yet welcoming presence; especially as she greats you with a bear hug embrace, forever burying your head in the largest bosoms you could ever imagine.

Fried chicken, ripe tomatoes, corn - she had it all made fresh and ready upon arrival. Locals brought tribute to her in the form of fresh vegetables from their gardens. Neighbors in large plantation homes that were slowly dying in the late setting sun with their inhabitants, expected visits from my sister and I. We always obliged, and truly enjoyed it. We went alone, even if we were little, and we were perfectly safe; though I'm certain parts of town, especially those on the "other side of the tracks" were not. Anna Margaret had the respect of all. She drove us around, saying hello to everyone, delivering food, care packages to people of all colors, ages, and economic standing. The purpose, of course, was to merely show us off. She was a proud southern gal, and the town granted her that pride without judgment. She was a legend in Latta.

Easter Sunday was spent at her church, where she served once as music director, and in later years filled in on the organ or piano. The choir was named after her. Another morning in the sun. In fact, it was always sunny on Easter in Latta. The summer heat was still at bay - there was dew on the grass. Easter egg hunts were under blue skies. Easter was perfect. Always perfect.

Anna Margaret's only fault was that she was a die hard Cowboys fan. We should have been sworn enemies, but we managed to coexist. Tom Landry, the dapper, classy couch of many famous Cowboy teams sent her a letter when he learned that she was ill and in the hospital. She was speechless at his kind, personal letter.

She left us many years ago. The town named a street after her and mourned her passing. I have driven out of my way to drive through Latta over the years and revisit fond memories. Her modest home is still there, though bare of shrubs and flowers she fussed over. The church is there, growing up in the center of town. And downtown oddly thrives, if only for two blocks. It is a town on the way to Myrtle Beach, and within a 30 minute drive of the booming Metropolis of Dillon. The pictures are from my last visit, though I have none of Anna Margaret scanned to share. It doesn't diminish my memory of her.

Easter will forever be in Latta, in the loving grace of one Anna Margaret.