My imperial mother Georgia is a land of surpassing loveliness and thus has for ages been the inspiration of poets and painters too.
The southerners dream of beauty is the magnolia and who can tint her roses or paint the morning glory that points its purple bugle towards the sky as though to sound the revelie for a waking world. No prima donna has ever yet entertained the crowned heads of Europe with such music as that divine melody with which the mocking bird greets the coming dawn.
Ours is a land where skies bend blue and all nature seems to smile; where mosses veil the infirmities of decrepit oaks and vines spring unbidden from the ground to hide the scars of grey old walls; where the grape-vine staggers from tree to tree as though drunk with the purple juice of its own luscious fruit; where flowers lie at your plate on a winter's day and the humblest laborer carries in his dusky hand flowers fit to grace a May queen's crown.
As proud as I am of the beauties of Georgia I am prouder still of her material and natural resources. We have a vast undeveloped empire within whose borders there awaits the prospector such potential treasure as would make the fabled wealth of Lydia's ancient king seem but a beggar's trifle, and the consuming ambition of my life is to see these resources developed to the fullest degree and then shall my imperial mother Georgia shine as the brightest star that gleams in Columbia's diadem.
But of all the natural resources of Georgia there are none to be compared to the possibilities in the development of our NATIONAL NUT the Paper Shell Pecan.
The history of the paper shell pecan is but another example that "a prophet is not without honor save in his own country," for native Georgians failed to avail themselves of the opportunity at their door and the credit for the development of Georgia's pecan industry belongs to the far sighted men and women of the North. Then why should I not feel grateful to such men and women as you believing as I do that the paper shell pecan industry is destined to lead Dixie out of her industrial bondage and restore her to her rightful place among the sisterhood of states.
"History repeats itself" says the soldier and there is pictured in his mind vision of other Shenandoah Valleys swept by the fiery broom of war and other Atlantas and Savannahs given to the flames on some other Sherman's March to the Sea.
But history has repeated itself; the North has again invaded the South but not with drum and fife and armed hosts and has been met not with shot and shell but with a genuine southern welcome and from this commingling of northern capital and energy with southern soil and sunshine has sprung a new industry of such roseate promise as to almost make the story of Aladdin's Wonderful Lamp fade into insignificance and Dixie's imperial product, the cultivated paper shell pecan makes her bow to the world.
French explorers as early as 1740 left authentic records of pecans in the Mississippi Valley and the many giant pecan trees scattered from Maryland to Texas which the scientists tell us are hundreds of years old seem to indicate that the pecan is a native of America whose origin is lost in prehistoric times.
The earliest financial transaction in pecans that has come to my notice was in 1772 when William Prince of Flushing, New York, sold in England eight pecan trees for ten guineas each. These trees were grown from seed planted by himself.