Hey Y'all!

Inspired by the Bob Wills' tune That's What I Like About the South, here you will read my ramblings on the South and all things Southern. As the song goes, "Cornbread and turnip greens... Ham hocks and butter beans... Mardi Gras down in New Orleans- That's what I like about the South!!!" That and a whole lot more. I hope y'all enjoy!





Friday, April 8, 2011

Have you seen our lake?


After all of this cold weather, I am fondly remembering my summer trip to the white sandy beaches of Florida, and I don’t even like the beach.

As a matter of fact, I hate sand. The fine sediment finds its way into your clothes, shoes, and certain sensitive parts of your anatomy. The stuff even follows you home. I hate it. But, as much as I hate the beach, I hate cold weather more, making my summer trip now seem like a weekend in paradise, sand and all.

This was no ordinary vacation for me. I was going down to the sunny shores for the wedding of one of my Culleoka buddies and his high school sweetheart. I knew I wanted to be a part of their joyous ceremony, only I didn’t know it would be in Florida.

Nevertheless, I loaded up my rented Kia and headed in the best direction — south.

I started on the interstate, when the monotony of the whole thing finally took its toll. I reached in the backseat, grabbed my travel atlas (I also hate GPS) and charted a new route. I was in no hurry. Why not take some back roads?

I turned onto a two-lane road and cruised along at 55 mph and watched the world pass by my windshield. The hills of home flattened out and clay soon turned into a sandy soil while Elvis Presley sang a song about the “Promised Land.” The sun burned and the wind licked at my arm as it hung from the open car window.

My darling Kayla constantly reminds me I need a GPS because she “thinks” I get lost easily. She’s right, but getting lost is fun to me. It is what makes the journey interesting. I mean, driving straight to Point B from Point A is rather boring. Getting lost gives you something to talk about.

Just so happens I found DeFuniak Springs, Fla., by getting lost.

What first grabbed my attention was an antique store named Sanford and Sisters. Being a fan of Redd Foxx and “Sanford and Son,” I thought to myself, “This is as close as you’re going to get,” so I pulled in.


I spoke to the Sisters Sanford, I presume, and commenced to look about their store. Nothing really piqued my interest, but I thought it was only polite to pick up and examine a few items before making my exit. As I stopped to thank the ladies for letting me peruse, one looked up from her pricing and said, “Go see our lake before you leave town!”

I smiled, nodded, made my exit and soon found another antique store in the vicinity. As the dinging doorbell announced my arrival, the storekeeper looked up and said, and I swear this is what he said, “Welcome to DeFuniak! Have you seen our lake?”

This was enough for me. I had to go see what all of this fuss was about.

It didn’t take much effort to find the appropriately named Lake DeFuniak, which I later learned is one of two almost perfectly round spring-fed lakes in the world. “No wonder they are so proud,” I thought.

I made the circle drive around the lake, watching the kids splash around in the sandy shallows and trying to imagine the tall tales the old men swapped as their fishing lines bobbed on the lake’s surface. The rigors of driving all day disappeared as I made that lap around Lake DeFuniak. It was just nice to know a place like that still existed and my mind was put at ease.

Then, as it always seems to happen, I saw something that reminded me of my responsibilities at home. The DeFuniak Library sat on the western shore of the lake. Founded in 1886, it was the oldest library structure in Florida.


I was completely smitten. I could just see myself behind the circulation desk where my fishing pole was hidden for a quick fishing trip on my lunch break. It finally dawned on me I still had a wedding to attend, so I put my daydreaming on hold, pointed my rented Kia back into the best direction and sped toward Santa Rosa Beach.

As I left DeFuniak Springs, I realized the lake was about all the little town had. But, boy, were they proud of it.

Think of all we have to be proud of in Maury County. When was the last time you told someone about Mule Day, the Polk Home, the Athenaeum, or any of the other great things we have to offer? Maybe we should stop fussing about our wants long enough to be proud of what we already have.

As for me, the forecast says warmer weather is on its way, but if it turns cold again, you can find me at the Walton-DeFuniak Library. My fishing break will be from 1-2 p.m.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Mule Day 2011- Southern Comfort


Hello Mary, Well, everybody was at the mule show — except for you, I think.

Do you see me in the crowd?

Love,

Bessie


When Bessie mailed her postcard to Miss Mary Smith of the Elm Grove Dairy in April 1947, I’m sure she never thought an ’ol boy in Culleoka would be holding it in his hand 64 years later. Yet, here I am, card in hand, thinking about how much fun Mule Day 1947 was.

The crowd Bessie talks about looks more like a sea of people to me. The expression, “couldn’t stir ’em with a stick” is what really comes to mind. Every man is in a suit and hat, and I’m pretty sure a person could have walked from the courthouse to First Methodist Church hat-to-hat, never touching the ground.

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time just to witness an old-time Mule Day. I would like to see the crowds, all dressed in their Sunday best, as mules were sold and paraded around the square on the first Monday in April. I would like to eat in some of the diners I have only heard the old folks talk about and experience the smell of the, well, I’m sure that messy part of Mule Day smells the same.

But, then again, I think of all the scorching hot or rainy Mule Days I have attended in the past, and I am very thankful to be living in the time of air conditioning and paved roads. I also begin to wonder if they were having as much fun on the first Monday in April as I do on the first Saturday in April, because I have a blast.

My Mule Day starts early, well, as early as it can after laughing myself silly at the Liar’s Contest the night before. I pull my cowboy boots on, fire up my truck, and head to town. My body needs nourishment and I know exactly where to get it.

For as long as I can remember, the Culleoka Lions Club has held a pancake breakfast at the Memorial Building. And, for as long as I can remember, it has been a part of my Mule Day tradition. I have learned to get there as early as possible because rumor has it some people have starved to death waiting in line for a stack of flapjacks. Nevertheless, they are worth the wait.

Another trick I’ve learned over the years is to go ahead and stake your claim. After eating pancakes, I go to my spot on the parade route and place my chairs. (After sitting in the same place year after year, you begin to think of that spot as your own!) If I stick to this itinerary, I still have time for another passion of mine.

The stretch of Nashville Highway north of town is always good for a yard sale. As a matter of fact, so many of the homes on this side of town have yard sales on Mule Day weekend, it looks like one big flea market. I’m one of those people that believe the next great find is just over the horizon, so the lure of junk gets me every time.

Before long, it is time to return to my chairs. Police sirens announce the beginning of the parade and, soon after, the first mule walks my way. This is the first of many that will trot by, each one unique and beautiful. I still miss the marching bands, however.

This is usually enough to wear me out, but if I’m feeling squirrelly, I know I can always go to Maury County Park just to take it all in. There will be food, music, mules and more. Really, there’s something for every taste.

This Mule Day, be like Bessie — be seen in the crowd! Happy Mule Day!