"I love to drive," said Gale to Evelle Snoats. It's a good thing, too, as I've been doing a fair bit of it the past couple of weeks with Kathryn, traveling to and through three states to visit kinfolk and friends. First stop: The Grandparents (hers) in Graceville, FL. Graceville is a small southern town (yes, there are southern towns in FL), a description that to some is tantamount to a cuss word, but I have always appreciated the intimacy and uniqueness that is bred in such places and that is often eclipsed in The City. Granted, intimacy and uniqueness in a southern town can be demanding and difficult, but my tendency is to be more willing to trade that for the demands and difficulties that City Life can bring. (Plus, there's a cafe in downtown Graceville that serves up some killer chicken salad, which, I've been told but have not yet experienced, Grandpa Polston serves up as well.) Pros and cons, cost-benefit analysis--it's all a matter of what you're willing to put up with.
I'd never been to a cattle auction before the trip to Graceville, and Grandpa Polston made sure I was treated to one before I left. Stadium seating. Small dirt floor arena sunk below the benches and chairs surrounding it on three sides. A front row of buyers at the rust-colored railing encircling the arena, tobacco firmly between cheek and gums. (One of the guys, who didn't buy anything while we were there, kept spitting his dark juice right on the calves when they came in.) And the smell of cow poop. (Reminded me a bit of the dairy farm one of my uncles once operated.) They would send in a calf through a gate, a guy in the arena with whip in hand would announce the gender and get the calf to walk around, the caller would begin his blend of gibberish and price-setting, and the calf would exit out another gate. All this happened in the span of about 10 seconds, at the end of which someone would have purchased a calf. After figuring out what the caller was actually saying, which admittedly took me a while, I started watching the buyers to see what kind of signals they would give to indicate they were interested in the price-at-the-moment. I could make out a signal maybe half the time. Sometimes they would just raise a pinky finger or roll their eyes. Sometimes it would be a full hand motion. Sometimes I couldn't tell that anything happened. But, somehow, the caller knew and no time was wasted getting those calves in and out. I felt kind of silly sitting there in my t-shirt and sandals, rather out of place among the checkered shirts and boots. But we were in good hands, and I figured if Grandpa Polston didn't mind then I wouldn't worry about it either. In exchange for the experience and entertainment of the cattle auction, I showed him how to microwave his breakfast oatmeal. I think we both got a pretty good deal out of that!
The dirt road lane beside the Polstons' house.
Grandpa and Grandma Miller were absolutely hilarious, the latter being especially, and enjoyably, feisty. They live on about 70 or so acres of pasture and woods with a small pond. We couldn't find the pond when we walked around one afternoon, so Grandpa Miller decided to show us himself in his truck and we commenced to pile the three of us in his small cab. The thing is, he can't see very well. "I sure hope there's nothing behind me," I hear as he guns it in Reverse. "I'm just going for the dark spot," he says just before we cross through the tree line into the pasture. Some of the deep dips in the pastures that we somehow made it past (or through or over) provided me with apprehension at first, but he knew where he was going so I just sat back and enjoyed the ride.
One afternoon we took a trip down to Panama City with Kathryn's uncle to visit with him and her cousin. We spent the afternoon at the beach and the evening eating crab legs and drinking Corona at the condo where her cousin was staying. Man, what a relaxing evening!
Standard beach pic
Second stop: My Parents in Clinton, MS. No funny stories to tell of, really. No pics, at least none that are on my computer at the moment. But we had a great time laughing and visiting with mom and dad, looking at my childhood photos (the ones from the late 80s are especially hilarious: "Why did you have your hair parted in the middle?" Kathryn asks), and picnicking at the Jackson reservoir with Colin, Yoybe, and the kids.
Okay, I'm all out of gas. I've been on this post for too long.
That pig looked--and tasted--mighty fine.
Some shenanigans (yes, I'm using that word a lot in this post) from Gina (above) and Val (below) at the reception. It was nice having the old Mellow Mushroom crowd back together again (sans Oren and Jenny, sadly).
Miriam and Meredith
What's that Thomas up to, anyway?
The Beautiful Bride
But, as far as I'm concerned, not to be matched in beauty to this lovely lady!
