By 8:30 Saturday morning Beth and I
were coffeed up and headed east on 82. Our destination: Gordo, AL, for
the town”s annual celebration of the mule and the chicken, Mule Day
Chicken Fest.
If I had a year on my hands — feel free to steal this idea — I”d go to
a small-town festival every weekend.
You could probably devote the best part of the summer going to
different celebrations of the fruit about which Mark Twain wrote:
“When one has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat. It was not a
Southern watermelon that Eve took; we know it because she repented.”
Almost anything you can grow and eat has its own festival somewhere in
America. Yes Virginia, there is a poke sallet festival (Harlan, KY).
Mule Day Chicken Fest on the first weekend in June would be on my
list. Entrance $1 or a canned food item.
First thing we came to was the T-shirt tent. “Yes they will shrink a
little,” the lady said as I admired a faded purple number.
“Anywhere I can try it on?” I asked, thinking I best not take my shirt
off on Main Street.
“Just go into the bookstore,” she said pointing to a storefront behind
her called Starboard Rail Books. “The mayor owns it.”
A young woman was straightening up books in the back.
“OK if I try this on?” I asked, taking off my camera and unbuttoning my shirt.
Thirty minutes later, realizing I was without camera I returned to the store.
“Forget your camera?” a man asked.
We visited with Kathy Fetters and her partner, Glenn House; the two of
them are responsible for a fledgling artist colony in this small
Alabama town. Kathy is a photographer and Glenn is obsessed with
letterpress printing. They have bought and rehabbed downtown buildings
in which they”ve set up presses and made them available to students in
the book making program at the University of Alabama. They maintain a
gallery in an old NAPA auto parts store.
Beth got tied up with Walter Gray of Winfield, AL, who had a homemade
rig that uses a tractor motor to make homemade ice cream. Walter had
about six batches going, but he was struggling. The contraption had an
equal number of fan belts, one of which kept jumping track. Beth said
something about trying to get him to Columbus, but Mr. Gray allowed he
was still trying to work out the bugs, as this was only their second
outing.
As she tried to get his phone number, I set out for an encampment of
antique tractors on hand for a one o”clock parade (behind the mules).
There we met James Wilson of Coker, AL, the proud restorer of a bright
red ”56 Farmall. The tractors — John Deere, Farmall and Ford — are
beautiful. Solidly built, strictly functional, the machines harken
back to a time when American manufacturing was dominant and the family
farm a staple.
About his hometown, Wilson said, “We”ve got a woman mayor. We”re
finally getting something done.”
On the way back up Main Street Beth pointed out a man walking toward
us eating ice cream with a .410 shotgun balanced on his shoulder.
“Why don”t you take his picture,” she said.
I did and we met James Free of Gordo. Free, a member of the Gordo
Lions Club, was selling tickets for a fundraising raffle, a dollar a
ticket or six for $5. Another Lion shamed her into buying six tickets.
I”m writing this Saturday evening and as yet we”ve not gotten a call.
Guess we can quit hoping.
On the way back up Main, we noticed Mr. Gray”s fan belts seemed to be
behaving. We stopped next door for homemade lemonade for the ride
home. Continuing, we passed the genealogists, the high school dance
ensemble, a gospel quartet performing on stage and a trio selling
Gordo Green Wave T-shirts.
Reluctantly, we headed for the car and the ride home. Felder Rushing
was on the radio telling someone in Vancleave how to prune his berry
plants.
“You wanna split another lemonade?” I asked, stalling and pulling the
car behind a row of buildings near the lemonade tent.
While Beth went for the refill, I listened to Felder explain to a
woman how to plant a maple tree. Better tell her to wait till fall, I
thought to myself. It”ll never make it in this heat.
Beth returned with the lemonade, and we headed for home.
Birney Imes III is the immediate past publisher of The Dispatch.
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