For Joslyn Wright and her sister, Debra Carroll, a recent trip back to their family’s home wasn’t just about gathering vegetables—it was about gathering memories. What started as a visit to the family’s garden in Corey, La. turned into a heartfelt journey through time, reconnecting them with the land, their childhood, and the traditions that sustained generations before them.
The sisters were welcomed into the fields of Jody Antwine, a retired Cincinnati police officer who finds joy in tending the rich soil of his family’s multi-acre garden.
Antwine, spends his retirement fishing, working the land with his tractor, and giving
away the fruits of his labor.
His garden is a sight to behold—acres of purple-hulled peas stretching out under the sun, towering okra plants with pods nearly a foot long, vines heavy with tomatoes, and rows of golden squash and sweet corn swaying gently in the breeze.
For Antwine, working the land is as much about sharing as it is about growing. “When it’s all gone,” he says with a shrug and a satisfied smile, “I’ll just plow it under and get ready for next year.”
But for Joslyn and Debra, this wasn’t just a garden—it was a reminder of their roots “up the river” from Caldwell Parish, where harvesting wasn’t a pastime, but a lifeline.
Buckets and bags filled quickly as the sisters moved through the rows, their hands brushing against leaves and stems that felt as familiar. Back home, their kitchen table overflowed with fresh-picked bounty. The air filled with the earthy scent of produce as they peeled back corn husks, pulling away the silky threads that clung stubbornly to golden kernels.
They spoke of their mother, Alice DeGraffenreid Adams, and her canning skills that kept the family fed when times were tight. Alice’s kitchen was always warm—sometimes stifling—as pots of boiling water bubbled on the stove and steam clouded the windows.
Mason jars lined the counters, ready to be filled with sliced okra, tender green beans, sweet peaches, or syrupy pears. Alice worked with practiced hands, wiping sweat from her brow, adjusting the flame beneath the pots, and listening for the reassuring pop as the jar lids sealed. By nightfall there was a pantry full of meals for the cold months ahead.
For Joslyn and Debra, their day in Jody’s garden was more than a harvest. It was a homecoming. A chance to honor the land, their mother’s hard work, and the enduring spirit of family.
As they shucked, sliced, and remembered, they weren’t just preserving corn and squash—they were preserving a way of life, one jar at a time.
