I love the South
Just got back from a long weekend at home in Buford, Georgia.
Air Trannie was delayed as usual so I arrived at the home stead, Hathaway at 1:30am.
Mother was in her nightgown (yes women in the South wear nightgowns not pajamas) and had a 3 course meal set out for me. Our Basset Hound Buford was eager to see me and ran a couple of laps around me before passing out on the floor again. Dad was asleep on the couch and nodded in and out of conversation.
There really isn’t anything like waking up at home. I pull back the covers and see Canadian Geese flying past the lake and here the distant whirr of motor boats zizzing about. I lay about for as long as possible staring at the lake until Buford storms in my room and leaps onto the bed- ears akimbo.
Besides QT time with mom and dad, a gossip filled lunch with my sister I spent an evening with friends and a day with my aunt on her farm.
Friends & co. had a great dinner and then went to Model T's a trannie bar where they dress in the parking lot and perform lots of bad songs as expected. We order a margarita and the old time bartender asks, "Would you like salt on your rim? I've heard it stings."
I thought I was going to fall out.
Then the trannies revved up and each comes out doing a little ditty and then gives a toast to the crowd.
Two that stand out are:
"Here's to the future, here's to the past, let's raise our glasses to a great piece of ass!"
"Men are like floor tiles, once you lay one you can walk all over him"
The last performer of the night had a peculiar bulge and I am not talking about in the panty part. Eyeing her fishnet clad legs we notice a giant ankle bracelet ala Martha Stewart. Hey, the show must go on.
The best part of the weekend was at my Aunts.
I try to ride every time I go home but sometimes there is just not enough time in the weekend. She saddles up my favorite Quarter horse, Clyde and asks if I would like a little adventure. Music to my ears!
Her redneck neighbor has been baiting deer (meaning he lays down food in front of his hunting platform so the deer comes to eat and he shoots- so illegal) and she is afraid it is on her property. We venture off into the depths of her 150 acres looking for evidence. Not long after we head off we find a cleared field full of apples, corn and salt licks next to a hunting post. Bingo. But this is on his land so the best we can do is call the game warden.
We then explore further and wind up in what seems like Lord of the Rings territory: deep emerald green gorges, steep hills and lots of ferns and grand dame orange spiders. Not used to riding in the thick of things I forget that a horse may see a space between two trees and he thinks he can fit through, but he forgets about my knees. I spend half the trip with hands off the reigns pushing away vines, holding onto trees and ducking under spider webs. Of course I, Cator Sparks, would wear a Rod Keenan straw hat through the entangling world that is the Georgia forest. There were a couple of times I had to think quick- save the hat or save my face? The hat always won the war since I had already lost one Keenan hat this year, I couldn’t go back empty handed this time. Especially since this one was borrowed. A mélange of twigs, webs and leaves weaved about our hats and hair as we rode along. I should have taken pictures for inspiration for the next hat collection.
By the time we find all of the pink ribbons designating her land we realize we have no idea where we are. All I can think of is the redneck with the bow and arrow and flashbacks of Deliverance. Those thoughts quickly disappear as I look around and enjoy the fact that I am miles away from nightlife, crack heads and fashionistas. It is just me and my horse shuffling along trying to find a way back home. After we try getting home past a well and her horse Tater, gets caught in a briar patch, we realize the only way is back up the hill. So on this note I give Clyde a heft pat, lean down and hold onto my Western saddle as he bounds up the hill at a speedy gallop. Oh yes, and I hold onto my hat.
Arriving back to the farm I don’t want to stop. Can I please keep on riding into the sunset? Well if my loins were not pulsating and my throat didn’t itch for a G&T I would have, but we dismounted, washed our boys off and sent them out to graze. They were thoroughly over us. With that we headed inside, Uncle Jim poured us a cocktail and we chatted until it was time for my flight.
I headed back to the Yankee territory a bit buzzed with Dolly blaring as the sun set. The son of the South is eagerly awaiting the holiday season to shine again.
Air Trannie was delayed as usual so I arrived at the home stead, Hathaway at 1:30am.
Mother was in her nightgown (yes women in the South wear nightgowns not pajamas) and had a 3 course meal set out for me. Our Basset Hound Buford was eager to see me and ran a couple of laps around me before passing out on the floor again. Dad was asleep on the couch and nodded in and out of conversation.
There really isn’t anything like waking up at home. I pull back the covers and see Canadian Geese flying past the lake and here the distant whirr of motor boats zizzing about. I lay about for as long as possible staring at the lake until Buford storms in my room and leaps onto the bed- ears akimbo.
Besides QT time with mom and dad, a gossip filled lunch with my sister I spent an evening with friends and a day with my aunt on her farm.
Friends & co. had a great dinner and then went to Model T's a trannie bar where they dress in the parking lot and perform lots of bad songs as expected. We order a margarita and the old time bartender asks, "Would you like salt on your rim? I've heard it stings."
I thought I was going to fall out.
Then the trannies revved up and each comes out doing a little ditty and then gives a toast to the crowd.
Two that stand out are:
"Here's to the future, here's to the past, let's raise our glasses to a great piece of ass!"
"Men are like floor tiles, once you lay one you can walk all over him"
The last performer of the night had a peculiar bulge and I am not talking about in the panty part. Eyeing her fishnet clad legs we notice a giant ankle bracelet ala Martha Stewart. Hey, the show must go on.
The best part of the weekend was at my Aunts.
I try to ride every time I go home but sometimes there is just not enough time in the weekend. She saddles up my favorite Quarter horse, Clyde and asks if I would like a little adventure. Music to my ears!
Her redneck neighbor has been baiting deer (meaning he lays down food in front of his hunting platform so the deer comes to eat and he shoots- so illegal) and she is afraid it is on her property. We venture off into the depths of her 150 acres looking for evidence. Not long after we head off we find a cleared field full of apples, corn and salt licks next to a hunting post. Bingo. But this is on his land so the best we can do is call the game warden.
We then explore further and wind up in what seems like Lord of the Rings territory: deep emerald green gorges, steep hills and lots of ferns and grand dame orange spiders. Not used to riding in the thick of things I forget that a horse may see a space between two trees and he thinks he can fit through, but he forgets about my knees. I spend half the trip with hands off the reigns pushing away vines, holding onto trees and ducking under spider webs. Of course I, Cator Sparks, would wear a Rod Keenan straw hat through the entangling world that is the Georgia forest. There were a couple of times I had to think quick- save the hat or save my face? The hat always won the war since I had already lost one Keenan hat this year, I couldn’t go back empty handed this time. Especially since this one was borrowed. A mélange of twigs, webs and leaves weaved about our hats and hair as we rode along. I should have taken pictures for inspiration for the next hat collection.
By the time we find all of the pink ribbons designating her land we realize we have no idea where we are. All I can think of is the redneck with the bow and arrow and flashbacks of Deliverance. Those thoughts quickly disappear as I look around and enjoy the fact that I am miles away from nightlife, crack heads and fashionistas. It is just me and my horse shuffling along trying to find a way back home. After we try getting home past a well and her horse Tater, gets caught in a briar patch, we realize the only way is back up the hill. So on this note I give Clyde a heft pat, lean down and hold onto my Western saddle as he bounds up the hill at a speedy gallop. Oh yes, and I hold onto my hat.
Arriving back to the farm I don’t want to stop. Can I please keep on riding into the sunset? Well if my loins were not pulsating and my throat didn’t itch for a G&T I would have, but we dismounted, washed our boys off and sent them out to graze. They were thoroughly over us. With that we headed inside, Uncle Jim poured us a cocktail and we chatted until it was time for my flight.
I headed back to the Yankee territory a bit buzzed with Dolly blaring as the sun set. The son of the South is eagerly awaiting the holiday season to shine again.