Got No Time for Spreading Roots
July 10th 2008 02:46
When I was 8 years old, my dad bought a Country Squire station wagon—mainly for the purposes of our trips. I called it Woody (because of the faux wood paneling). We would hook up our travel trailer to it and go on the open road. We traveled to many places in that wagon— to Colorado to visit Pikes Peak, west down Highway 66 to California, north to Branson Missouri to see the Baldknobbers perform, many places along the Blue Ridge Parkway, up and down the Florida coast, and all over Texas to visit family. We traveled with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, church groups, etc… There was no end to our rambling.
In all of these trips we visited as many kitschy places along the way that we could find. We visited the Uncle Remus Museum in Eatonton, Georgia and the World’s Largest Chair in Anniston, Alabama. We toured the Jack Daniel Distillery in Lynchburg (my mom agreed only because the county where the facility is located is dry). We went to Booger Hollow (pronounced “holler”), Arkansas, the Tick Museum in Statesboro, and Bedrock City (home of the Flintstones). Don’t be jealous…. We were there and all the while singing the tunes of my dad’s favorite country or bluegrass singers. My parents would always stop and eat “where the locals” ate. My dad believes that life is measured in greasy spoons. I loved how the sun streamed through the filmy glass walls, the surly or “sweet as pie” waitresses, and the home cooked meals. No matter where we ate my parents look on the waitresses as family. I loved how they talked in a kind of short hand. Coffee? Can I freshen that up? It was familiar, kind, and reassuring no matter where we went[ Click here to read more ]
In all of these trips we visited as many kitschy places along the way that we could find. We visited the Uncle Remus Museum in Eatonton, Georgia and the World’s Largest Chair in Anniston, Alabama. We toured the Jack Daniel Distillery in Lynchburg (my mom agreed only because the county where the facility is located is dry). We went to Booger Hollow (pronounced “holler”), Arkansas, the Tick Museum in Statesboro, and Bedrock City (home of the Flintstones). Don’t be jealous…. We were there and all the while singing the tunes of my dad’s favorite country or bluegrass singers. My parents would always stop and eat “where the locals” ate. My dad believes that life is measured in greasy spoons. I loved how the sun streamed through the filmy glass walls, the surly or “sweet as pie” waitresses, and the home cooked meals. No matter where we ate my parents look on the waitresses as family. I loved how they talked in a kind of short hand. Coffee? Can I freshen that up? It was familiar, kind, and reassuring no matter where we went
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