Today's prompt in Gwen Bell's Best of 2009 Blog Challenge is PACKAGING. She asks bloggers to share what stood out most to them this year in packaging and design.

This has been a buy-only-what-you-need year for us, so I can't think of an example of a cool new thing packaged in a slick case. What I'd like to share is only special because it signifies a place...

HOME.

If you've been reading this blog, then you may know that Rufus and I have some oddball traditions. And this one, I suppose, is no less weird. When I travel home to ATLANTA, it's usually on a red-eye. First stop after the rental-car counter is the nearest open convenience store for coffee. And while I'm there, I take a snapshot of pork cracklings to send to Rufus so he knows I arrived safely.


Uh-huh.

Really.

See, Rufus is originally from New England, and he's one of those folks who secretly buys into southern stereotypes. Sure, his own travels to Georgia have confirmed that broad generalizations about the region are just plain silly. Still, he keeps an eye peeled for things unique to the culture.

He was introduced to the idea of pork craklings — similar to pork rinds, though I have no idea what distinguishes them — on his first visit, and thought it was funny. Never mind that this visitor is the only person I know who's ever actually eaten a bag, bless his heart, I've never seen them anywhere else either. So I guess it's fair that in his mind, these things are symbolic of local flavor.

The last time I made this journey, I was on a money-is-more-valuable-than-time itinerary, so I took a totally non-traditional route. I got a crazy cheap airfare special from Las Vegas to Shreveport, LA (on Allegiant — a regional airline I recommend deal-hunters keep an eye on, by the way) and made the rest of the trip by car. The savings compared to a direct flight and set of rental wheels in Atlanta at the time were significant — enough that a nine hour drive was worth it.

Some might call this crazy. I call it recession-creative. Besides, I like a good road trip anytime...

Along the way, I made a pit stop somewhere in rural Mississippi for snacks and caffeine. I put a bag of craklings on the counter as a souvenir for Rufus, and some trail mix for me. The cashier examined my choice in road-food with a bit of disgust.

"I don't like raisins," she said, holding my bag of trail mix as if it had cooties.

"These any good?" I asked, pointing to the cracklings. I figured it couldn't hurt to get a little professional advice.

My new friend lit up as if she'd been waiting all day for someone to seek her counsel. And since I was the sole customer, she had time to consult with me about the options among so many on crackling display.

"These ones are okay," she said of my original choice. "But the best are Dixon's BBQ flavored."

Even though it wasn't the bag's contents, but the packaging I was after, I appreciated her kindness and expertise. I bought a bag on that night nearly a year ago, and I came across it in a seldom-used carry-on just the other day. 

It came to mind when I sat down to write about PACKAGING, because I've had a bout of homesickness lately to contend with — I feel so far away. This crackling packaging only represents a silly stereotype about the region I call home. That's okay, because I know in my heart what's important about the place — and those things aren't sealed and wrapped in anything at all.