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.

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!

In defense of books: E-readers have limits

With all of the trendy, new gadgets flooding the market today, it’s a little scary being a librarian, especially when you take into consideration some of these little handheld devices can store up to 3,500 books. Some people are placing wages on how long libraries are going to last in the face of such technology.

Well, I’m here to say libraries, and physical books, are not going anywhere — at least, not anytime soon. I have several points I would like to present in defense of books to hopefully change the opinions of all the naysayers.

Once a month, the library tries to have an author come down to speak about his or her book. These programs are widely attended and many people in attendance buy a copy of the author’s book following the discussion. Sometimes, patrons have read the book before coming to the program and bring their personal copy for the author to sign. If you read the book on an “e-reader,” how in the world is the author going to sign your book? That’s point number one.

Now, here’s point two. You have been waiting on pins and needles for your favorite author to release a new book. Finally, the moment you’ve been waiting on! The book is out and you purchase it on your e-reader. You are knocking it out and have just reached the thrilling climax when BLEEP! The battery that is supposed to last 10 days dies and your e-reader turns pitch black. Now, you have to wait for it to charge before you can continue your literary journey.

Finally, reading is supposed to be about relaxation and enjoyment. I work on computers all day. When I get home, the last thing I want to do is snuggle up with another electronic. All I want to do is find that cozy, broken in spot on the couch and read something that does not require electricity.

Some people find it relaxing to read while soaking in a hot bath. (I just hope they’re not using library books when doing this!) Reading will truly become an electrifying experience if you drop your electronic book into your hot tub, whereas your paper book just becomes a little soggy.

I’m not against technological advances. Don’t get me wrong. I just shudder at the thought of people already counting libraries down and out because people are buying e-readers. In fact, the e-readers have done nothing but helped libraries as far as I can tell.

I’m convinced everyone and their mothers received an Amazon Kindle for Christmas. It was like a great migration of Kindle owners to the library the first week of the New Year. They all had the same thing in mind.

Patron: “So, I hear you can get free Kindle books from the library.”

Librarian: “No. I’m sorry. If you have a Kindle, you can only get books from Amazon.com .”

Patron: “Ah, shucks!”

Librarian: “Our books on the shelves are still free.”

Patron: “Libraries are so wonderful!”

Well, maybe I made that last part up. But, it brings me to another point about the e-reader.

Physical books are easy to share. You go to the library, pick one up, and take it home. You can buy one and pass it along to your neighbors or friends after you’ve read it. However, with e-books, once it’s on your device, you are the sole owner of the book. To share it, you could let your friend take your $150 device or you could go about some complicated download and transfer procedure.

Give me good ol’ paper and ink any old day.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: After writing this article, Adam Southern bought a NOOK, noting, “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em!” He is currently downloading e-books using the free Wi-Fi connection at the library as you read this.

Named a Tennessee colonel by Gov. Phil Bredesen, Adam Southern is resident of Culleoka and can be followed at http://colonelsouthern.blogspot.com .

Specter of romance takes shape at last

“True love is like a ghost, which everyone talks about and few have seen.”

— Francois de la Rochefoucauld

When the courthouse bell finished tolling, we would begin our ghost tour of Columbia’s downtown. I always thought I would see a ghost before I found true love on one of these tours.

However, one night, standing on the lawn of the courthouse listening to my story, stood my true love.

She might as well have been a ghost the first night I saw her. She was a beautiful apparition that appeared to me momentarily before vanishing into the darkness. All that lingered was her perfume and a sweet memory.

Over the next couple of months, I would see this same apparition time and time again as we crossed paths and, just as if I had seen a ghost, she left me shaky and short of breath each time. Finally, she became very real to me as we danced together at the Athenaeum. We shared a stare and a smile before she disappeared once again, becoming my Cinderella.

My heart would not let me rest until I had found her. Like I’ve said before, I put prized bloodhounds to shame, tracking her down as fast as I did. Pretty soon thereafter, we were having lunch together — our first date. Being a hopeless sentimental, I chose a downtown restaurant for this first date so that we would have the courthouse — the site of our first encounter — as a backdrop.

Almost a year after this first date, I was sitting nervously in her parents’ living room, asking for the hand of my darling Kayla Keeton. Surprisingly enough, they didn’t order me out of their house, but, instead, gave me the green light. I then had the daunting task of finding a ring and, more importantly, figuring out the best way to pop the question.

With the ring tucked in my pocket, I knew exactly what I was going to do. We were dressed in our 1860s attire this night, headed to the Athenaeum Girls’ School ball. Kayla believed me when I told her we were going to swing by the courthouse so someone could take a few pictures of us dressed up. I thought I had it all figured out and everything would go according to my plan. As usual, I was wrong.

The first part of my plan to go awry was the presence of an audience. Any other Friday night, the square would have been deserted. On this night, however, people were swarming around every corner. With Kayla being dressed in a hoopskirt and myself in a Confederate uniform, it goes without saying that we drew some attention.

As soon as we got out of the truck, a woman screamed, “Are y’all re-enactors?” Before I could answer, she was coming towards us at a full gallop. I was so busy pondering how I could break away from the woman to propose to Kayla, I practically turned a deaf ear to everything this stranger said.

Politely, we excused ourselves from the woman and walked around to the other side of the courthouse. We were finally alone and, with one side of the courthouse being just as good as the other, I thought I would go ahead and fish the ring out of my pocket. Just about the time I worked up the nerve to propose, someone pulled over, jumped out of their car, and came over to talk to me. I felt like screaming.

Kayla and I walked back to our original spot on the courthouse lawn only to find that same woman standing there as if she had been waiting on us to come back all along. She picked up her conversation as if we had never left. Somewhere in the exchange between re-enacting and war memorials, Kayla slipped off to a bench and left me stranded with this woman as she talked and talked. When she finally ran out of things to say, she strolled off. I still don’t know what the conversation was about.

Kayla was never as beautiful as she was on the bench that night. With those remarkable brown eyes of hers, she looked up at me and asked, “When are they going to show up to take those pictures?”

“Well, I lied,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. I knew I had to act quickly. I pulled the ring box from my pocket and opened it in front of her as I hit one knee.

She said yes!

We have a few locations in mind, but we haven’t set a date yet. Kayla is enrolled in a dental hygiene program in Alabama, so we will have a two-year engagement while she finishes up.

Now, Monday through Friday, while my body is here in Maury County, my heart is somewhere I never thought it would be ... Alabama!

Named a Tennessee colonel by Gov. Phil Bredesen, Adam Southern is resident of Culleoka and can be followed at http://colonelsouthern.blogspot.com

Have Signs, Will Travel: The Life of a Politician

Heidi, folks! It sure is good to be back after my hiatus campaigning in Maury County’s 8th District.

Between knocking on doors, going to political rallies, shaking hands, slapping backs, kissing babies, fighting the summer heat, and keeping all of my personal affairs in order, I am bushed!

It is good to be writing again, however, and I sure do have a lot to write about. This has been a wild summer that has brought several changes. I have met so many interesting people and experienced so many things that it is hard to figure out what to write about first. Being just a few days after the election, I will start there while the events are still fresh in my mind.

I remember being so excited the day I picked up my petition from the Election Commission to run for county commissioner. A week later, the paperwork was filed and I was on my way. A week after that, I was asking myself, “Are you sure you really want to do this?” Being too late to turn back, I pressed on.

I came up with an elaborate design for my yard signs, figuring to have a couple hundred or so printed up. My chin hit the floor when I found out how much these signs cost. Yet, being vital to the campaign, I had to buy them, settling on a more conservative, one-color design. (Then when I found out how fast people steal them, I felt like I was just throwing money up a certain part of a wild hog’s anatomy.)

I had doors slammed in my face. Dogs growled and snapped at me as I walked through their territory to knock on their owner’s doors. I spent the better part of an hour talking to a woman who was really grilling me on some of the issues. Afterward, she admitted she couldn’t even vote in my district.

Those were a few of the bad things I experienced. The good greatly outnumbers the bad, thankfully.

I remember on one of my weekend drives through the district, I saw an elderly man sitting by the roadside, taking in the shade in his motorized wheelchair. This old gentleman was just happy to have someone to talk to. He didn’t even care I was a politician, it made his day. He took one of my cards and promised if he was still alive in August, he would vote for me. A couple of weeks later someone stole my sign out of his yard.

There are many, many more people just like that, who made my time on the campaign trail worthwhile. In addition to the people, just driving around my district was a joy on its own. There’s a reason why Maury County was dubbed the “Dimple of the Universe.” It is a beautiful place. Sometimes we just get too busy to actually slow down and enjoy the scenic beauty in our own backyard.

The months seemed to fly by and the big day had finally arrived. Someone asked if the day before the election was like Christmas Eve, waiting to see what Santa brought. No. I don’t think so. I would describe it more like the day before execution. You eat a hardy meal, try to prepare yourself to meet the deeds you have done, and you pray like you have never prayed before.

Davy Crockett supposedly said, “You can go to hell, I’m going to Texas,” after losing his bid for re-election. I, however, do not share his sentiments. Although Texas is a great place to visit, my place is here. And, I don’t want the people of the 8th District to go anywhere … I may need their votes again!

I came in a strong third place — a noble finish for a race with six candidates. The numbers say I lost, but it is not really losing if you gained something from the experience, and I have gained a great deal. (Not excluding the tag number of that champagne-colored Chevy that stole one my signs!)

I am now off of my soapbox and it has been put away for another time and place. Like I said, I have a whole lot more to write about. This will be my last article about politics, though. I’m sure everyone is tired of it by now, including the candidates.

But, brace yourselves for round two — November elections will be upon us soon!

Named a Tennessee colonel by Gov. Phil Bredesen, Adam Southern is resident of Culleoka and can be followed at http://colonelsouthern.blogspot.com .

Looking for Love in Historic Places, aka "The Courting Colonel"

My last article seems to have hit a soft spot with a few readers.

My phone rang several times with people wanting to know exactly what I was thinking. I just answered the same way I did when I was a kid in trouble. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Oddly enough, I haven’t received any calls from troop leaders wanting retractions pertaining to cookie sales. The calls I got were from a band of female friends I affectionately refer to as my “other mothers.” Every young man should be as lucky as I am to have a group such as the other mothers in my life.

Essentially, the other mothers are another set of eyes and ears for my real mother. These other mothers fill in for Mama should she be absent and report back to her regularly. In polite company, they remind me to refrain from spitting or scratching myself and oftentimes chastise me should I forget one or more of my moral obligations. They keep my feet to the fire and my course on the straight and narrow.

When the other mothers read my line, “maybe I am in love,” they became enraged. “Why in the world would you say ‘maybe?’ You either are or you aren’t,” I heard more than once. But, always motherly, they would end with, “Other than that, it was a good article!”

I’ve always heard a real man will admit when he is in the wrong. So here it goes- I may have been in the wrong when I wrote my last column about the exceedingly addictive Girl Scout cookies. Hmm, crow doesn’t taste so bad after all.

Now, for me to clear this matter up once and for all, I have a few things to say. For one, I am one-hundred percent, completely in love with the most wonderful girl in the world, not maybe. Secondly, yes, I love her more than any Girl Scout cookie. That includes tagalongs and samoas.

I met the girl that stole my heart at the Athenaeum Rectory ten months ago during their annual Ladies Weekend. During this weekend, the Athenaeum staff teaches ladies etiquette, penmanship, and dances of the antebellum world. Through some strange set of events, I decided to go help with dance practice. But, I would be no help at all that night.

All I could do was stare at the beautiful brunette Southern belle in the blue, billowing ball gown. My heart raced as she promenaded towards me. Then, all of a sudden, I was holding her hand. I smiled and tried to speak. I’m still not certain if any words actually came out, but she smiled back before promenading on to the next dance partner.

I stood there completely smitten. I’m pretty sure I ignored every other partner I danced with that night because I was staring across the room at the girl who smiled at me. All the while, I cursed every other man that danced with her. If she noticed my stares, she never let it show.

Finally, dance practice was over. I was on my way to make a bold move- introduce myself to the pretty girl- when someone grabbed my arm and talked for what felt like an eternity. I stood there, a helpless captive, as I watched the girl of my dreams walk out the door. As soon as I broke away from the conversation, I rushed to the parking lot to see if my Cinderella was nearby. Of course, she was long gone, not even a glass slipper left behind.

I didn’t even know her name. However, being on the board of the Athenaeum, I was able to make a few phone calls and, before long, I had her name. And once I had that name, I hunted her down so fast I put prized bloodhounds to shame.

I’m still surprised to this day that she, this dream girl, agreed to the first date. I am even more surprised she agreed to the second one. Now, I can’t imagine my life without her.

The funny thing is, she thinks she is the lucky one.



Named a Tennessee colonel by Gov. Phil Bredesen, Adam Southern is resident of Culleoka and can be followed at http://colonelsouthern.blogspot.com.

Cookie Junkie: Girl Scouts have us hooked!

My hands are shaking as I try to type.

I’m not nervous. I am not, well, maybe I am in love. But, that’s not the cause of my shakes. My shaking, trembling hands are cause by nothing more than pure sugar overload.

I made it through Thanksgiving and Christmas without gorging myself full of homemade candies, cakes, and pies. Valentine’s Day came and went without me eating a single piece of chocolate. Then, something came along that my willpower had no power over at all …

Girl Scout Cookies.

Every year I place an order, and every year I make the same mistake. I open that initial box, tear open the plastic wrap, and pick the most unsuspecting cookie to be my first victim. It’s like the old potato chip adage, “I betcha can’t eat just one!” Cookie No. 1 is just the first in what is sure to be a long, chocolaty reign of terror.

Before I know it, the first box is empty. I stumble around the house, my eyes glazed over like doughnuts, and search for another box. At the peak of my sugar high, I find my stash of hidden cookies only to be confronted by another problem. Which cookie should I choose?

Tagalongs are good. Samoas are even better. How about a little bit of both? The latter seems like the best choice, and I dig in. Hours later, I awake on the floor, crumbs scattered all around.

This, of course, is an exaggeration. I haven’t passed out lately on any cookie-eating binges, although I have eaten my fair share of them this year. After my third box, I begin to wonder, “Are these cookies really as good as I think they are?” I came to the conclusion they are not.

It’s all a hoax. The reason they seem so good and why we have to buy about 20 boxes just to “stock up” is that they only come around once a year. If we were able to buy Girl Scout cookies all year long, we would tire of them very quickly.

Don’t get me wrong, the cookies are great, but they are easy to burn out on. It’s just like when I stayed with my grandmamma during the summer years ago. Every day, I had a corndog for lunch. Not, because that’s all there was, but because that’s what I asked for. By the end of that summer, just the thought of another corndog was more than I could handle. Twenty years later, I am just now able to eat corndogs again.

Luckily for me, Girl Scout cookies never last at my house longer than a couple of weeks, much less a full season. I never get a chance to get that old burned out feeling. Instead, I’m always left wanting more which is the genius of the Girl Scouts — quit selling while they are hot and leave everybody wanting more.

Regardless, the cookies generate revenue that will be put to great use by the Girl Scouts of the U.S.A. I keep telling myself that’s the reason I keep eating cookies until I founder — it’s going to a good cause. That must also be the reason I have several boxes in my stash for a “rainy day.”

Faces are on the boxes, making the personification of the box staring at me not completely untrue, and if I listen close enough, I can almost hear the box calling my name. I better cut this article short and go see what it wants. I, for one, want to figure out what a deep-fried Tagalong tastes like!

Named a Tennessee colonel by Gov. Phil Bredesen, Adam Southern is resident of Culleoka and can be followed at http://colonelsouthern.blogspot.com.