Driving on through Georgia we passed endless pecan orchards. The nut trees taller than you'd imagine a nut treeever ought to be, all in perfect rows and stretching for miles. We also passed quite near Plains which, oldies will remember, was the home of President Jimmy Carter, who was known principally in Britain as a peanut farmer.
"I've got to buy some pecans before we leave Georgia", said sister-in-law and, as luck would have it, just before we crossed the border, there was a sign and what turned out to be a splendid farm market. But what was the first thing we saw?
Oh no! Those boiled beanuts again. Here they are, sizzling away.
We gave them a wide berth.
Other items might have proved tricky to transport.
Or a little too tempting.
But we stocked up with fruit and frog jam and scuppernong relish and Georgia moonshine jelly, mud pies and "hotter than hot" sauce and other esoteric delicacies of the South.
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And of course there were sacks and sacks of nuts.
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