Johnny Bullard
Guest Columnist
Around the banks of the Suwannee, I saw my first goldenrod in bloom today as my brother and I took a Sunday afternoon drive in the Flatwoods of home. I mentioned funeral food this past week in my column. This week, I will mention some other uniqueness that makes us uniquely who we are as a people in this part of the world.
I just referred to one as "riding around." I believe as many business deals have been settled, family conferences held, and confidences have been shared in the cab of a pickup truck as anywhere. On most Sunday afternoons, my brother and I enjoy 45 minutes to an hour in the cab of his pickup. We roll back the curtain of time while listening to George Jones and Tammy Wynette, Conway and Loretta. Porter and Dolly, and Kenny and Dolly. We talk and laugh and sometimes share poignant memories, too. Conversations often begin with, "Do you remember?" Our trips often lead us to cemeteries where loved ones rest beneath the sandy soil of home and, God willing, where I will rest sooner rather than later.
Riding around. In this part of the world, it's a part of the fabric of life. As I was having my "ears lowered" on Friday, that's a haircut for those who need interpretation, I said to the sweet lady who is a dear friend and who cuts my hair, "Folks up north go to a mental therapist, but in the South, we tell a lot to our hairdressers." The truth. My paternal great-uncle, the late J. Fred Jones, was a political and economic Power broker in Columbia County for many years. He was a big man, had his suits custom made, had a chauffeur and always drove a royal blue Fleetwood Cadillac back when a Cadillac was a Cadillac.
He told me once, chomping on his cigar, that he always "took care" of the barbers and beauticians before a big political race because they talk to everyone. He wasn't wrong. The fabric that always held our Republic together was God, family and faith. To quote a line of dialogue from Lillian Hellman's "The Little Foxes," in most Southern families, "Trouble brings us together." There's no love like the love of a close-knit Southern family, and there's nothing that can sever it quite like greed. I have seen it so many times.
My advice, and it's not worth much, is to stay close to those you can ride in a pickup with Share confidence and try and keep your family together. It's not always easy, but it's easier to swallow pride and forgive than to hold grudges. My issue is this still. I don't hold grudges, but I am blessed with a good memory. That blessing is a sword with two edges.
In the end, remember the lyrics of Hank Williams's song, "I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive," "No matter how much we struggle and strive, we won't get out of this world alive." One more piece of advice: Be good to your hairdresser. Tip them once in a while. They are more than a service provider. Don't forget that. Get in the cab of that pickup and talk it over with a friend or "the friend." It's good for what ails you, and if that doesn't do the trick, make an appointment with your hairdresser. Tell them you want them, you want a shampoo and cut. Those hands massaging your scalp under warm water can make troubles better, trust me.
From the Eight Mile Still on the Woodpecker Route north of White Springs, I wish you a good week.