Gay Georgia
A long, crowded flight brought me to Atlanta, where my mom and Curtis picked me up. Mom was thrilled to have me back, and spent a lot of time reminescing as is her habit.
Saturday we drive to the Gay fair.
Seriously, there's a Gay fair, held in Gay, Georgia, a cotton town just south of Newnan. It's a big one, with vendors and food and lots of antiques. Mom made a beeline to the sausage bisquit booth, and we chomped down freshly-made bisquits filled with spicy sausage, egg and cheese. Mm-mm-mm!
Our cousin Alicia and her partner Angie met us there with their daughter and a friend, who enjoyed the bouncing house, climbing wall and train ride. Curtis and I wandered on as Mom lingered on the frilly things.
We spent a while watching the blacksmith pound out a horseshoe, using century-old equipment. Old wagons full of raw, fresh-picked cotton were scattered between the old buildings. Curtis showed me how he used to pick each puff from its thorny pod, and how much it hurt after a while. Mom told the story of how her father had told each of his kids that if they picked a hundred lbs. of cotton, they'd get a quarter, and if not, they'd get a whippin'. Aunt Betty usually got the quarter, Mom usually got the whippin'.
Curtis and I tried out the BBQ platter at one of the vendors, devouring the juicy shredded meat with tangy vinegar-based BBQ sauce, dipping our cornbread in the savory Brunswick stew. Mighty fine eatin'!
Of course, the crowd was full of DILFs, thick-limbed young guys and crusty coots that would have snousle drooling. Bubbas of all sizes and shapes, accompanied by their wide-hipped wives with really big hair. Clusters of them hid out in the shade as their wives shopped the vendors. It was like a huge outdoor department store.
Back home that evening, Mom fed us again! Black beans and rice with sausages roasted in a dutch oven. I crawled into bed stuffed to my tonsils, but happy about the fun day.
Saturday we drive to the Gay fair.
Seriously, there's a Gay fair, held in Gay, Georgia, a cotton town just south of Newnan. It's a big one, with vendors and food and lots of antiques. Mom made a beeline to the sausage bisquit booth, and we chomped down freshly-made bisquits filled with spicy sausage, egg and cheese. Mm-mm-mm!
Our cousin Alicia and her partner Angie met us there with their daughter and a friend, who enjoyed the bouncing house, climbing wall and train ride. Curtis and I wandered on as Mom lingered on the frilly things.
We spent a while watching the blacksmith pound out a horseshoe, using century-old equipment. Old wagons full of raw, fresh-picked cotton were scattered between the old buildings. Curtis showed me how he used to pick each puff from its thorny pod, and how much it hurt after a while. Mom told the story of how her father had told each of his kids that if they picked a hundred lbs. of cotton, they'd get a quarter, and if not, they'd get a whippin'. Aunt Betty usually got the quarter, Mom usually got the whippin'.
Curtis and I tried out the BBQ platter at one of the vendors, devouring the juicy shredded meat with tangy vinegar-based BBQ sauce, dipping our cornbread in the savory Brunswick stew. Mighty fine eatin'!
Of course, the crowd was full of DILFs, thick-limbed young guys and crusty coots that would have snousle drooling. Bubbas of all sizes and shapes, accompanied by their wide-hipped wives with really big hair. Clusters of them hid out in the shade as their wives shopped the vendors. It was like a huge outdoor department store.
Back home that evening, Mom fed us again! Black beans and rice with sausages roasted in a dutch oven. I crawled into bed stuffed to my tonsils, but happy about the fun day.