8 May 2006
We packed up all our plunder, as we are apt to do this time of year, and headed north.
Now, north is not generally a direction I am inclined to head, but old Calico Wade promised that if we’d go just a little north, we’d have a great time and still could be below the line. We wouldn’t need no passports, ner nothin’.
Well, since I hadn’t ever caught Wade lyin’ directly to me, more than a time or two, we cranked up and headed off to the frozen north…all the way to Tennessee. Almost to the Kentucky line. I just about got a nose bleed.
Naw, it really weren’t all that bad. The travelin’ was the worst part. It gets a little tough getting the dents out of the dash board where Tilley Hawk’s fingers had been the whole trip. She don’t ride too good. The crazy drivers are bad enough, but she gets just a might perturbed with my driving sometimes. Especially when we’re flyin’ through Birmingham at rush hour and I’m singin’ along with Joey on the CD player and throw my head back and close my eyes to hit the high notes.
I do that too much and suddenly I can’t hear Joey for the ringing in my ears. Sometimes Tilly Hawk does take her hands off the dash board.
But even with the traffic and the singing and ringin’ in my ears, we made it to the Bledsoe Fort. We had been there two years ago. We saw again the rolling hills, the little Irish cottage and the log cabin.
That log cabin where I stood up for the Colonel when he wed the love of his life.
I sure do miss him.
After we paid the king’s ransom, they let us in. I thought that was right nice, them knowin’ who we were and all, and then we went in search for other heathens, different, just like us.
Wasn’t long till we found the WhiteWater LongHunter camp, away off in the back, far from decent folks. Back where upstanding women and well mannered children wouldn’t blunder into us and maybe get corrupted.
We pulled up and said our howdys, and picked out some prime real estate for our lodge. Since OBD had already threw up his digs astraddle of the nice wide road Wade and his crew had laid out, we figured we’d take the next corner space. It was far enough from the hooters and close enough to the wood pile to be just right.
So, I parked the truck, opened the old used boy scout trailer, and popped the top on my first beer. Just as I was about to take out the tent box, OBD came by and we stopped a little to talk about how he had decided to put his lodge where he did and how he was never into urban planning anyway. Tilly gave me one of those looks she has and I put the beer down and pulled another box out of the trailer.
I got the tent all laid out and with Tilly’s help put the ridge up, when Ed and Betty stopped by for hugs and howdys. I was forced to open another beer. I was in the mist of an interesting story about the last time we had set up here, when Tilly got a slight coughin’ spell. Well, I put that beer down and pulled out another box. I got the makins’ of the fly out of that box and was about to attempt to put up the ridge for it, when Road Kill came by and volunteered to help. I don’t think he knew that was what he was doing when he stopped by, but it was what he did.
Having helped me put the fly up; I felt it was my obligation to offer Road Kill a beer and not wanting him to drink alone…
Well, about this time, Tilley Hawk figured that dark was fast approachin’ and the beer was fast runnin’ out. So after a few “why don’t you”s and some “But I was just”s I decided, all on my own, that I’d better concentrate on finishing up the camp set up.
A couple very dry hours later, I was all done, except for the fire pit.
Now, Ed had told me that for convenience sake we should put the counsel fire pit on the flat between his, OBD’s and my lodge. About that time Forrest Bruton came by for howdys. And I made another mistake. I bet Forrest a beer that he couldn’t get his brother-in-law, Glenn, to dig the fire pit for us.
The first part of that mistake was to bet a Bruton that he couldn’t do something; anything.
I could have bet him a nickel that he couldn’t dig the pit using his brother-in-law and Glenn would have had a sore head.
The second part was to make the stakes a beer. I bet a Bruton a beer, the young Bruton, no less.
The third part was the brother-in-law. Have y’all ever had to stop somebody from digging a hole?
I had to. But before I was successful we had a fire pit. Pit bein’ the operative word.
We had to buy a step ladder to get our fire laid and lit.
But it was a fine pit after all.
And that was Saturday.
Sunday was a different kettle.
It started out beautiful. A light westerly breeze was keeping the heat down and the flags was a flutterin’. The sun was shining and we were ready for some good times. Along about dark we packed up the wagon and headed for Joey’s for the pickin’.
What happened next was just a little…
Southeastern Breeze
TilleyHawk was yellin’
as she was hangin’ on;
“Beardog,won’t you tell me
When will this damned storm be gone?”
The lightin’ flashed
and the thunder roared
And Road Kill’s lodge
weren’t there no more
Tater cried; “Hey Papa!
Is that Jupiter or Mars?”
Skipper said, “ain’t neither child. That’s Venus.
but why am I seein’ stars?
Joyce gather up the youngin’
Damn all this bad luck
We came to a primitive ronnyvoo
But tonight we’ll sleep in the truck.”
It had all started quietly
Just singing ‘round the fire
Mickey, Gerald, Joey
And Bennie, made up the choir
Just a little picking and singin’
When someone stuck their head right in
And said; “Fellers you better get to your lodges
The party’s ‘bout to begin”
We packed all our plunder in the wagon
and with Mickey in the rear
We headed for our lodgein’s
With just 400 pounds of gear
Guitars, chairs and whisky
And other sundry gear
A’trudgin’ through the darkness
with only 3 cases left of beer
Now TilleyHawk was grumblein’
She didn’t think this much sport
Not after what she’d heard
on the last weather report.
“They is a big blow a comin’
They’re won’t be much left to see.
In a canvas square on bald, grass nob
That’s just where I want to be?”
So Mick and me pushed and pulled the wagon
A lookin’ at the blue black sky
We knew the pickin’ was over
But we sorta wondered why
We saw the lightin’ and heard the thunder
A way off thatta way
It seemed to be going ‘round us
We both said, “We shoulda stayed to play”
“Ain’t nothing to this little blow
we ain’t been through before”
But lookin’ at that deep dark sky
We didn’t know what was in store.
About the time we made the tent
And were feelin’ rather smug
The west wind gave the tent ropes
Just the slightest little tug
Mickey looked at me then
And said, “Brother, I don’t know,
But if I ain’t mistaken,
I think we’re fixin’ to have a blow”
“You might be right” I told him
“You mind grabbin’ that end of the fly?”
“And I think that was a hooter,
that just went rollin’ by?”
Mickey said, “Ain’t this a fine spring breeze”
As he fluttered in the wind
“I think it’s a might more brisk
Then other places that I’ve have been”
“I don’t mind the rain or wind,
or the hail stones on my hand.
I would just like to turn loose long enough
To get reach my baccer can”
A way off in the distance
About ten feet or so
I heard OBD a hollerin’
“Y’all think the wind’s gonna blow?”
“If it ain’t, I’ll let go of this pole
and then I’ll sit on down.
As soon as I can get Betty Lee
to pull me to the ground.
Off to our left, Rob Brekke and his mom
Were huddled in their tent
And Uncle Dave woulda been alright
If he knew were his lodge had went
A little way up the hill
Was Mitch, Mandy, Tom and Sharon
And when the wind quit blowin’
Their camp looked a little barren
We worried about Anna in her tent
When her flap she wouldn’t untie
“I’ll stay right here all snug and warm
My one pole’s high and dry”
The harp of Erin, we all saw flyin’
Flappin’ green and gold
Halligan and Betty stayed warm and dry
While we were wet and cold
The storm raged on and came and went
Late into the night
The camp looked like a battled zone
With the dawn’s early light
Through wind, rain and hail
Everybody came out alright
Been doing this 30 years
But I never seen such a night
We left sweet home Alabama
Looking for fun things to do
And traveled up to Tennessee
And got blowed at the Rendezvous
We walked around the site the next day and saw folks pickin’ up the pieces. Folks helpin’ folks everywhere. Over by Fort Downing , Frannie and Leroy had folks bumping into each other trying to get a tent back up and trade goods sorted out.
I heard someone sing the lines;
“It’s a damn good life, full of toil and strife, we Buckskinners undergo.
But we don’t give a damn, when the storm is done, how hard the wind did blow…”
The rest of the voo was just the same normal, boring stuff. There was the usual screaming transvestite in the commons. I once saw toilet paper fall from the sky. You could hear nightly singin’ and pickin’ all over the camp. The smells of good cooking and the sounds of revelry.
I heard over and again folks all over camp saying, “Well, we lost this and that was destroyed, but we’re not hurt and that’s what counts”
As the singer had said, the storm was done and we didn’t give a damn how hard the wind had blown.
This is the spirit of the rendezvous.
This is the spirit that made this land.
This spirit brought pioneers across countless miles of ocean to try and make a life in unknown lands.
The spirit of those pioneers.
The spirit of the LongHunters.
Of the Minutemen.
The Mountain men.
This is the spirit that says, “You never fail until you quit” and quitting is not an option.
This spirit made them put one foot in front of the other, till they reached those “far blue mountains” and from “sea to shining sea”. And it made folks like Leroy and Frannie put up their torn and patched marquee and hang up their mud stained wears and smile and say, “we’re open for business,”
Y’all take care of each other.
Watch yer back trail