"In a plant shed nearly leveled by arson, its once elegant latticework
reduced to burned shards, Edmund McIlhenny pondered the miracles that he
held in his hands. The Civil War had just ended, allowing McIlhenny, his
wife and in-laws, the Averys, to return to their island in Louisiana's
Gulf of Mexico after a two-year exile in Brenham, Texas, that began when
they fled in 1863 as Union troops bore down on their home....
While working in this garden, McIlhenny stumbled upon his miraculous
discovery. As McIlhenny recounted later, he had just begun to clear the
weeds, windborne rubbish and ashen debris in preparation for planting
when he was stunned to find a dozen or so stunted red pepper plants,
bearing fruit, poking up out of the undergrowth and tangle....
McIlhenny remembered stripping a few of the peppers from their stalks
and taking them into the plant shed to study them more closely. They
were exquisite--deep blood red in color and perfectly shaped. Although
not a religious man, McIlhenny found it impossible to deny the divine
qualities of plants that had stood up to hellish destruction, according
to family legend. It seemed certain to McIlhenny that these scrawny
vines with the picture-postcard peppers were omens pointing to some as
yet unclear direction he should take. So he tinkered with the peppers,
planting their seeds for future crops and using their juice in recipes,
especially for pepper sauces."--excerpted from book
"Books About the South" is from the January 2008 issue of Southern Living.
