My maternal grandmother had a reputation for being a keen genealogist. One of her favorite discoveries - in years of tracking down the roots of her family tree - was the fact that my mother's first American-born ancestor was married to the first cousin of my father's original American ancestor. That marriage started in scandal. Legend has it that Mary Isham Randolph (first cousin of Daddy's line) had run off with her father's overseer, and after much maneuvering on her family's part, was married off to the Reverend James Keith, a safe, if not-very-exciting husband. The offspring of that union stemmed from two family trees that would ultimately result in the birth of my parents and me. (Sadly I'm named for the stern Reverend Keith as opposed to his headstrong young wife).

There was always something sweet to me in the knowledge that my mother and father - generations later - had grafted two branches of American root stock to create our family tree. And so, it never seemed odd to me that my mother grew up in a town filled with the relatives of my father. Even though the original American ancestral line started in Virginia, its twists and turns had landed both sides of the distant families in the unlikely town of Kosciusko, Mississippi. Before my mother ever met my father, she would ride her bike down Smythe Street, named after her future-husband's family. Her sister learned to read from Miss Smythe, the town's beloved first grade teacher. And for a time, my father's father, orphaned in the 1920s, lived with a pair of ancient aunts right down the street from my mother's father. Mama and Daddy had been unknowingly connected for centuries. 

The Smythes were known about Kosciusko for their eccentricity. When my mother met my father, it should have come as no surprise to her that he would turn out to be an eccentric too. Our favorite Smythe - herself one of the most original women I've ever met - was Daddy's distant Cousin Annie, affectionately known to all as Miss Annie. Her ramshackle Victorian house took pride of place on a steep hill on Smythe Street, a block away from Mama's childhood home. Every time we visited Kosciusko, we paid the obligatory visit to Cousin Annie, which was always sweetened by the promise of eating her famous teacakes. 

Miss Annie's house was obscured by a tangled forest of trees, a dilapidated fence and tall weeds that hadn't been mowed in decades. As a way around whatever town ordinances were in place to keep a certain amount of order in Kosciusko, Miss Annie put up a sign at the entrance to her driveway: Smythe Bird Sanctuary & Aboretum. No one dared question Miss Annie about this self-designated nature preserve. One memorable morning just before Christmas, my sister and I were dressed in our holiday best and taken to Miss Annie's for our annual visit. Much to our surprise (and delight), Miss Annie - nearly 80 at the time - opened the door wearing a red leotard and tights, a rainbow colored sweatband, and knock-off Reebok high tops. When we looked across the room at the tv with a puzzled look, Miss Annie confirmed that indeed she was doing her daily Jane Fonda workout. But, she said, she could pause for a visit because it was a video. And would we like some teacakes?

Of course we did, and still do. And so I share the recipe for Miss Annie's teacakes that are a sort of madeleine to me, recalling the Christmases of my childhood.

Miss Annie's Teacakes (from her grandmother Louisa Currie)

Ingredients

• 3 cups flour
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 stick butter
• 2 eggs very gently beaten
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 1/2 tsp vanilla

Mix all the ingredients into a ball and roll out on a floured surface. Cut into desired shapes with cookie cutters. Bake at 350 until bottoms are lightly browned.