Every Sunday after church, my grandmother on my father's side (known to many as Mamaw) would single handedly whip up a mess of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and bread pudding for twenty. Sometimes more.

My Mamaw would feed anybody, even railroad bums. One of these transients showed me the "hobo mark" on the tree outside my grandparents house. The symbol let other hobos know that the house was friendly.