Good Fences

When young Bubbie was still wet behind the ears he used to grab his daddy's old boat cushion and wade through the tall grass spooking the grasshoppers and dodging the honey bees, venturing out to the ol' charcoal gray split rail fence. With his arm through one of the straps of the cushion, he'd grab each of the weathered, rough and grainy rails and pull himself up. They felt hard as iron, like petrified wood as he climbed high, destined for the top rail. He had his favorite, one with a flat spot near the cross posts where he could precariously balance the boat cushion while he straddled the rail with his little legs and poked his small feet into the straps. Now, mounted on the saddle of his mighty stead, his hands holding the reigns, a short piece of rope tied to the cross posts, he could ride any range. Maybe today he'd punch the doagies grazing aimlessly on the other side of the fence, paying him no mind. Or he might have to save the day of course, chasing away the bad guys.

Now Uncle Bubba is a grown man, mature, life worn, road weary. But as he drives the back country roads of America he passes many old wooden split rail fences and they can at any moment make him smile. Uncle Bubba recalls that even as a young pup he admired the creators of fences; though he never recalls ever seeing anyone build one, they just seem to have always been there, as natural as trees. Yet the work and effort it must have taken to lay them straight and set the posts and rails had to be one of thankless dedication. As straight and true as it's creator could construct, these wooden jigsaw puzzles served a function, built sturdy enough to deter the livestock yet, maybe unexpectedly, esthetically pleasing to one's neighbor. Uncle Bubba has had some experience over the years of building and mending fences. Not the magnificent creations of old but of steel and wire; and in his mind, short cuts as so much of life today is about. Even so it's hard tedious work. But in Bubbie's view, when finished there is a sense of pride and accomplishment that one knows will go virtually unnoticed on the landscape. And he smiles.

FAME!

Yesterday Sweet Pea and Uncle Bubba drove up Hwy 65 through Birmingham to head to northern Alabama. They were escaping Montgomery for a few days to visit Huntsville in the northeast corner of the state. Just north of Birmingham Uncle Bubba decided to crank the wheel hard to the left and detour to the northwest corner of the state to visit Muscle Shoals; in particular Fame Recording Studios. They have been an integral part of American popular music from the late 1950s to the present. Artists who recorded there included Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, Tom Jones, Duane Allman, The Allman Brothers Band, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bobbie Gentry, Mac Davis, Paul Anka, Etta James, Andy Williams, The Osmonds, Waylon Jennings, Travis Tritt and many others.

Muscle Shoals is a small town just south of the larger city of Florence. They were surprised when they happened to spy the studio at how inconspicuous it was, swallowed up in a busy intersection of CVS, Walgreens, gas stations and every imaginable fast food restaurant. Oh those awful chain stores, a cancer on the American landscape. Anyway, they pull the old Ford into CVS parking lot to access the small studio parking lot. Uncle Bubba excitedly jumped out with my camera and started taking pictures! He couldn't believe he was actually standing in a place that he had heard of all of his life, since he was a pup. This remote place that seemed like a lifetime away from where he grew up. A place that he tried to imagine but could never appreciate because he didn't know where it was, what the landscape and the environment was, what the air smelled like. On this beautifully sunny day, after taking the obligatory pictures outside, Bubbie walked up to the front door to see if they'd let him in and guess what; he and Sweet Pea sashayed right in to the very small reception area fortified by two glassed, cluttered but empty offices on either side and an ancient sectional couch and coffee table. No one was there to greet them but they could hear people in the building so they waited and looked at the many pictures of famous people and gold records that lined the paneled walls. A man came hurriedly down some stairs and, seemingly preoccupied asked if he could help the enamored gawkers. Bubbie asked if he could look around and take some pictures. He said, "Sure, feel free." and walked out the door. Then a receptionist named Suzanne showed up and took them right into the studios! Uncle Bubba couldn't believe it! There are 2 studios, A and B. A is much nicer than B.

Studio A

But with the decor, the smells of wood and carpet and whatever, the sound (that muffled sound-proof air), you'd swear that you stepped into a time capsule and it was 1970! There they were; where all of the magic had happened; where the mystical sounds that came out of our radio speakers for all these years had originated. There were instruments set up; pianos, organs, drums, amplifiers and microphones. Each room had high ceilings and a large semi mirrored window that hid the control rooms. It was incredible. Bubbie and Sweet Pea stayed for a good while and just soaked it all in... he wished he could have stayed for days, even weeks, but he didn't want to overstay their welcome. As they left and drove over the Tennessee River and across the rolling countryside to Huntsville, Bubbie's head was buzzing with dizzy pleasure. He still can't believe that he did it; it feels so great. And thank God that he had Sweet Pea by his side to share it all with. In Bubbie's view, many great adventures are always on the horizon but he thinks that this day will stay with him for a long, long time.

Final Four... Say What?!

Uncle Bubba was watching the Final Four of men's college basketball last night. You know, the March Madness tournament, oh yeah, it's now April but that's another story. So while Duke is playing West Virginia in the later game and the CBS commentators are interviewing Brad Stevens, the winning coach and player Gordon Hayward from Butler University. If you haven't seen coach Stevens, he's a white, youthful looking 33 years old. Gordon Hayward is white as well. CBS Commentator Gregory Anthony, who by the way is black, prefaces his comments with what should be an innocuous statement of casual observance when he says, "You two look like brothers." Say what?! He didn't just say that! What; does he think all white guys look the same? If that had been a white man speaking to two black men, he'd have been fired by the time they came back from commercial! He'd be offering an apology to Reverend Al Sharpton on his way to rehab!

In Bubbie's view, who cares. We've become too politically correct, but if you start a fight you'd better be willing to finish it. Don't accuse others for things unless you're willing to take equal responsibility.