Low Hanging Fruit

In Bubbie’s view, if we only pick the low hanging fruit we get something that is easy, and maybe for a short time sweet. But it’s assured ripeness will too soon begin to rot and make us sick. It’s tangy, sour aroma will fill our nostrils and steal our breath and our bellies will boil with acid. Have no doubt that when the serpent tempted Eve she reached for the lowest hanging fruit on the tree. But if she had climbed the tree to the top, scaling it’s rough bark and squirming through it’s twisted branches in a quest to find the reddest apple on the tree, it would have taken time and effort and she would have weighed the value of that expense against the worthiness of her goal. It would have afforded her the time to think things through. She would have come to realize that the entire endeavor was not worth it. In coming to her senses, she would have felt the call of love in her spirit for Adam and remembered that he deserved her respect. It would have all made perfect sense and she would have climbed back down and rightfully turned down the serpents suggestion.

Don’t grab for the low hanging fruit just because you can. The consequences will not only make you ill but it will poison all those associated with you; they don’t deserve that. Instead, make the extra effort and act out of love and respect.

What Is Friendship?

One of Uncle Bubba’s best friends, one that he’s known from when they was just pups, recently asked Bubbie what he thought it meant to be a friend. Doesn’t it seem that when we gain more and more life experiences, the simplest things can get complicated in our thinking? When this happens, Uncle Bubba told me, he usually thinks about what he learned in kindergarten. It’s become a cliche that everything we need to know about life we learned in kindergarten, but there are reasons things are cliche.

Bubbie’s reply to his friend was this: “You can like someone and be friendly to them and even enjoy their company, yet that doesn’t mean that you are friends. Friends do several things constantly: they are compatible, act amiably, loyally, and reciprocate. Most friendships take time to develop and the more history 2 people create and as trust evolves, the friendship grows (or doesn’t if the before mentioned don’t come into play).”

If we take a moment to look at his assessment, let’s think about compatibility. Initially we gravitate to people because we feel or find things that we have in common. We bring different perspectives to commonalities, but we have more than passing interests in the things we have a passion for or enjoy doing. When we meet others with common interests we feel a compatibility with them. We existing together in harmony.

Compatibility can be a double edged sword because of another cliche: misery loves company. How often do we hang out with people that love to commiserate about our self-imposed problems? But does that make a true friendship? In Bubbie’s view, amiability is necessary for a long and lasting friendship. Commiserating is fine as a means of short term therapy, but being amiable, being friendly and pleasant is an act of giving one’s best. When we care for someone, don’t we want them to feel our friendship as pleasant? Uncle Bubba does.

So we have common interests, likes and dislikes. We have pleasant interactions and feelings; and in Bubbie’s view, we need actions because a friendship is an activity. Friends share experiences and build history and in doing so they reciprocate, they give and take mutually. They are both amiable, and true friends also take an interest in things of which they aren’t compatible. Friends gladly share, they gladly give.

Uncle Bubba said that he knows that friendship has many more facets, but he wanted to pare it down to simple kindergarten-like terms. How long a friendship lasts depends upon the length of time compatibility, amiability, and reciprocation exists. We choose how long we want to remain loyal to the friendship. Amiability is fickle because of emotions; we all have good days and bad. Compatibility can fade as we develop as people, and without compatibility a friendship will be snuffed out as a candle. But be not discouraged because we can choose to find new compatible things in old friends. True friends look for opportunities to renew their friendship.

In Bubbie’s final view, so many folks are in our lives for a reason and a season. Perhaps we need something from them, maybe they need something from us. Some friendships last a lifetime and others fade away, so choose your friends wisely.

What’s Wrong With This Photo?

Uncle Bubba saw this story on the news this morning of Police Officer Jesse Hartnett being released from Penn Presbyterian Medical Center, 15 days after he was seriously injured when he was ambushed and shot in West Philadelphia by a man claiming allegiance to the Islamic State. Instantly something struck Bubbie when he saw this photo:



It’s the rod sticking out of his arm holding his arm together... he’s not healed! This is the state of our healthcare system where hospitals are all about turnover and clearing a bed to rush the next patient through, and not about healing and wellness. Its a factory approach to generate revenue, not a means of caring for the patience. So this seriously injured man will have to convalesce at home where he does not have professional care, and the burden of his recovery is rests on his wife and family. Obviously this is the way that our supposed best healthcare in the world has evolved to keep thriving under new, the Affordable Care Act. In Bubbie’s view, we should be demanding better treatment for that amount of money that we are required by law to invest.

It’s All Over Now

Uncle Bubba and I were chatting after dinner one evening when he casually asked, “Have you noticed that everything has changed since they took down the rebel flag from public places?”
I shook my head “No” before realizing that he was being facetiously sarcastic when as he continued.
“Yessir, racism is over.”

Did you know that the flag that everyone has equated to hate is not the confederate flag? Of course not, not if you only listened to “the news”. Hold onto your hat but all of the flap over the rebel flag was wildly inaccurate. The rebel flag here:

is actually a version of the Virginia battle flag. It was used by Robert E. Lee when he realized that the first version of the Confederate flag

was too similar to the American flag and too difficult to discern in the chaos of battle. So he used a square battle flag while fighting the North on the battle fields. A square flag: symbolically, shape is a critical component. What else is there for a flag as a symbol but shape and color?

This is why the rectangular rebel flag is not the Virginia battle flag, though many people equate the rebel flag as representative of the south. At the same time that the battle flag was being utilized, a second Confederate flag was designed.

However this design had a major flaw. When it was hanging limp it often looked like a white flag of surrender. So a vertical red stripe was added to the end of the flag.

But now that the Confederate flag was established, it was futile because the war was coming to an end and as we all know, the Confederacy was defeated by the Union. To the victors go the spoils and the Union’s next actions fated America’s divisiveness. Isn’t that odd being that they were calling themselves the Union? In short, they divided the confiscated properties of the South and in time, fashioned history to reflect greatly on the North.

As Uncle Bubba points out, more rebel flags have been seen since this controversy began, and probably more sold. They are flying on poles in the back of pickup trucks, and hanging off of house and in the front yards of Americans, once free to express whatever they want. In Bubbie’s view, ignorance has been to often confused with racism.

Hill or E-mail

There are approximately 2 million federal employees. Two million people that know that using federal email for personal correspondence is not allowed as well as using personal email accounts for federal operations. Each employee is also notified in writing that any official email written from a personal account that is the property of the federal government and they are not allowed to delete without permission. They also received an official email reminder of email communication policies shortly after the story broke about Hillary Clinton using her personal email for official communications.

It’s been well documented that Hillary Clinton has not complied with the Federal Records Act (not to mention the Standards of Ethical Conduct for Employees of the Executive Branch and Homeland Security’s laws on cyber security), however, little has been mentioned that she could not break the rules without others being complicit in it. Have any other these people been penalized or disciplined? Being that they are public servants we have the right to know. The only defense for Hillary Clinton and the people around her that enabled her to break the rules is that they are stupid, too ignorant to know the rules, or liars.

As Mrs. Clinton aims to climb to the top of the Hill and buy a presidential election, she is obviously a person whose actions indicate that she believes that there are those to whom the rules don’t apply and she is one of those special people. That makes her dangerous because a president should be self assured, forceful, but respectful. What government do we have when the highest office doesn’t respect the the rules, the Constitution?

This also doesn’t say much for Mrs. Clinton’s democratic opponent Bernie Sanders. In his debate comment about moving past Clinton’s email issue to talk about the important things shows his ignorance of the importance of staying within the rules and his lack of respect for Constitutional authority.

In Bubbie’s view, Hillary Clinton knowingly broke the rules by using her personal email for official use and in doing so, broke the law. Any of the 2 million federal employees could be fired, fined, and sent to jail for doing as much.

An Act Of War

I was sitting with Uncle Bubba at the coffee shop this afternoon when the press conference regarding the attack on the Chattanooga recruitment center came on the TV in the corner. The chairman from the Homeland Security Committee was offering observations and fielding questions from McDill AFB in Tampa. However the observations and questions avoided or evaded what Bubbie thought were the most plain observations and the simplest solutions. There was talk of the possibility of terrorist connections and the difficulty of filtering, tracking, and heading off the communications of ISIS to the terrorists in hiding here in the United States. But as Uncle Bubba pointed out, there was no mention of how and why we have allowed these terrorists to exist and thrive in our country.
“We would not have to labor against the untenable task of stopping communications if there were no one here to communicate with!” exclaimed Bubbie. “We have mixed up the ideals of tolerance in the wake of gay marriage and the argument over who is, or who may not be a racist with the rightful, honorable defense of this country. We need to be able to take a stand in our defense of our homeland and identify the enemies without worrying about offending the progressive fringes of our society. My God, we are giving an award of courage to transgender, self-centered, greedy fool while our soldiers and our sons and daughters are giving their lives for the freedom to do so. We are fighting over the display of the confederate flag when in this country one has the right of free speech and the right to express it, no matter how offensive. And if others don’t like it, too bad because that’s freedom. If I’m offensive then I have to suffer the consequences but do not censor me! And how can we all be walking around with guns in our pockets and our service personnel are allowed to be carrying? Does that make any sense to you?”

I nodded knowingly as Bubbie fought to restrain his voice. I could see in his eyes that the pained passion of his heart was bubbling over and he couldn’t contain himself. Shortly there after there was another press conference in Chattanooga given buy the police and the FBI. They stated that they were investigating the killing of 4 Marines on US soil as possibly being an act of terror.
“Really?” asked Bubbie facetiously. “Did they really say that this may be an act of terror and are trying to determine that? That’s the problem with this entire situation, no one has enough balls to tell the truth. This is an act of war! Our military personnel were killed on our own soil. But they can’t say that because then they would have to back it up. They would have to act and act fast and they aren’t prepared; its obvious.” Bubbie slid down in his chair a bit and his voice quieted. He looked into the black surface of his coffee cup. “No sir, it’s better to avoid that. They’ll never get reelected if they take a hard stand on anything.” The sarcasm dripped from his lips, “Heaven forbid they offend someone.” In Bubbie’s view,  if we don’t stand up for our country then our government won’t stand up for us. We should let our outrage be heard in mass because the only way to make change happen is through a long and sustained noise.

Your Mother’s a Horse

The Duke stopped by Uncle Bubba’s and invited him to ride with him to the ranch in the morning. He was in possession of a mare that was ready to be bred and was going to take her to the stud ranch. It’s been a long time since the two had spent some time together so Bubbie gladly accepted the invite. The next morning he beat the cock to the crow and downed a couple cups of hot coffee before filling a travel mug and heading out the door. He was standing roadside when The Duke pulled up and Bubbie piled into the cab. It was still dark as they rode the hour trip up to the ranch and along the way we passed an old white car that had a decal on the back window. As they got close and made out the writing it hilariously said, “White Cracker”.

“White Cracker! The Duke laughed.
“Is there any other kind?” laughed Bubbie.
They could see by his license plate that he was from Dixie County. They were both amazed that someone from there had strayed so far away.
“Dixie County, that explains a lot.” chided The Duke, “I guarantee that he only has one tooth in his head.”



On they rode to the ranch as the sky began to lighten as somewhere in the east beyond the endless thick stanchion of trees, the sun was considering to peer over the horizon. By the time they reached the gate at The Duke’s ranch it was light enough to see some hazy detail in the leafy trees through the mist upon the pasture. Through the truck window, Uncle Bubba watched a wild turkey strut and duck into the shadows of a hedge row, hoping to be unnoticed. They drove through the gate to the barn to hitch the livestock trailer to The Duke’s pickup truck. With a couple dull clanks of metal on metal it was quickly attached and they hopped back into the truck and drove up the lane to the pasture, stopping to load the mare into the livestock trailer. The Duke’s dogs ran from the porch of the ranch house to excitedly greet their master and his friend. They barked and jumped but the men acted as if they hardly noticed; The Duke was on a mission. He made a beeline for the pasture and walked the mare out while Uncle Bubba opened the trailer gate and she walked peacefully up into the trailer. The Duke wrapped her harness around a side rail for her safety. Now it was time to get her to the stud farm. The metal trailer clanged as they drove back out the dirt lane and the mare whinnied.

“She doesn’t sound happy back there.” Bubbie mentioned.
“She's in heat.” replied The Duke, “She’s crazy in the head."

They only had to ride for maybe 10 minutes before arriving at the stud ranch. The automated ranch gate was open as they arrived, they were expecting The Duke. They drove through the open gates flanked by white brick pillars as the gate closed behind them. The property is cross fenced, cordoned off into green corrals and pastures with majestic oak trees dotting the landscape. They passed a corral that restrained a little high strung stallion.

“That’s the teaser.” The Duke said, “You know he’s got to be one mean dude because he never gets any. His job is to tease the mares to get them ready for the real deal.”

The little stallion was trotting excitedly along the fence line as the trailer rattled past. He'd stop abruptly and he shook his mane before darting off on another lap around the corral. The Duke pulled up in front of the small, white painted cinder block breeding barn and they off loaded the chestnut colored mare. As the slight hispanic ranch-hand took the harness in hand, The Duke asked if she needed to be walked by the teaser to get her ready.

“No need for that, she’s ready.” the smiling ranch-hand quipped as the mare leaned forward to jettison a powerful stream of urine on the dew covered grass.

She was hotter than a firecracker and was also staring at the large black stallion standing majestically across the small barn, who was watching her intently.

They led her into the barn and stood her behind a short, dark green stanchion to prep her. They washed her and wrapped her tail as the stallion handler said, “The safest place to stand is behind this wall over here.” pointing to a similar stanchion on the opposite side of the barn. Uncle Bubba and The Duke walked behind the short wall as they led the mare out into the center of the barn. The stallion “checked” the mare from across the barn by lifting its nose into the air and curling his upper lip. He was becoming excitedly impatient. One ranch-hand placed a ring attached to a stick in the mare’s nose while another tied a rope around one of her front legs. The stallion handler allowed him to approached as they pulled her leg up to raise her hoof off of the soft barn floor. This prevented her from kicking him off as he mounted her, which they quickly dropped once he was astride her back. He bit her on the back of her neck as the business end prodded her.

Uncle Bubba laughed as he missed and the handler literally handled him, quickly grabbing his long black stallion-hood to point him in the right erection direction for mare injection. The two muscled animals awkwardly danced as the mare quickly tired of her predicament. They circled and approached the stanchion where Uncle Bubba and The Duke had taken cover. That short wall suddenly felt a little too short to Bubbie as the huge haunches of the black stallion backed up towards them.

The Duke bellowed, “That’s the same way I do it!”
The stallion handler shot back, “And you’re done just about as fast.”
Laughter broke the tension and just that quick the stallion dismounted.

Moments later ranch-hands had the mare’s tail unwrapped and she was walked back out of the barn and led back into the livestock trailer. The Duke followed the stallion handler out the back of the barn towards the corrals as they led the stallion back to his stable. Inside he was unharnessed and his black mane flew in the wind as he galloped with pride and victory around his corral. The Duke and the handler spoke of the odds of success and such. Then it was time to get the mare back to his ranch. The dogs barked excitedly and circled the truck as they pulled in. The mare was walked back to her corral and just like that it was all over; all but the waiting to see if the breeding was successful. She may be a mama soon.

In Bubbie’s view this horse racing business is risky. The handlers risk injury during the breeding. The owners risk money in attempting to breed a winner. The trainers and jockeys risk injury as well. And the gamblers risk losing greenback dollars. But the chance of winning is dang sure exciting!

Selma

Uncle Bubba told me his thoughts on race with the lingering aura of MLK Day and February being African American history month. He mentioned that he’d been to Selma, AL many years ago and found it to be the saddest town he may have ever seen, or maybe more accurately, felt. He remembered driving west across U.S. Route 80 from Montgomery. He pulled into a gas station on the righthand shoulder of the access road at the approach to the Edmund Pettus Bridge that traverses the Alabama River. It was just to rest and get his bearings. There were some old brick establishments and storefronts that lined both sides of the highway, most of them vacant, and some less than reputable looking folks hanging around the area. In taking in his assessment of his surroundings he was suddenly surprised to see three placard monuments almost hidden behind the listing brick pillars of a large “Welcome to Historic Selma” sign at the edge of the road. Their black and golden bronze busts staring lifelessly back at him appeared oddly out of place against the weedy sandlot where they stood.

He pondered walking over to them from where he had parked his car, but had second thoughts in separating himself so far from it, not knowing the area. So he drove the 150 feet over to the monuments and looked out at them through his window. They commemorate the leaders of the 1965 Selma-Montgomery march and recalls in particular the reference to Bloody Sunday. It struck him again how odd that these formal looking monuments were in such an inconspicuous and informal place. 


Uncle Bubba pulled back up onto U.S. Route 80 and drove over the bridge into downtown Selma. He drove slowly along the first 5 or 6 blocks of two and three story gothic brick buildings, it’s not unlike any other old Alabama town. Bubbie is accustomed to being in areas of the deep South where he is in the minority as a white man among African Americans, so his drive through the area didn’t phase him in that regard. But the condition of so many of the old brick buildings with modern facades were seeming to crumble under their own weight, the dried mortar pinched out and missing; he wondered what held the bricks in place. Years of patchwork and paint could not disguise its age. He reiterated that it had been many years ago since he had been there and things may be very different today; especially with the influx of interest due to the movie "Selma”. It is not without understanding that the 20,000 people that call Selma their home take pride in it as any community in America and do their best to take good care and make improvements.

Like any old community there are grand examples of the area’s affluence in architecture; grand victorian homes and manicured lawns. There are also rows of small, plain, brick apartments that are most likely for the poverty level residents. As he drove past ancient churches and homes the buildings grew more industrious and even more unkempt. 

In Bubbie’s view, so much of Selma’s color palette, the prominent red of dirt and brick against the green grass and trees mask the underlying tones of history. He expressed how he perceived that Southerns were violent in their zealous objections to their treatment after the Civil War. Their possessions were burned and destroyed, their land was divided up and given to others; 40 acres and a mule. They and generations after extracted the ugliness of their rage on Blacks and they have been vilified for it. Uncle Bubba spoke of, now in Ferguson, Missouri and elsewhere across the country, how, in his opinion, African Americans are behaving in much the same way. They react to their perceived injustice with violence; so much like the white man they so despise. 

Uncle Bubba sees differences in people. He honors other cultures in accepting their legitimacy to exist. Some he understands, some he doesn’t. Some he condones, some he doesn’t. He reckons that he’s pretty much like most people. In Bubbie’s view, the things that separate us, the cultural divides, the moral convictions, the expositions and actions are the things that prevent us from peaceful coexistence; everyone is right, or at least they think so. Pressure for peace is still pressure. It compresses energy that builds and builds until a volatile reaction happens. Peace only comes from release. Coexistence only comes from respectful acceptance from all parties. As I left Uncle Bubba told me that, in his opinion, no one truly wants equality because it’s human nature to compete, to strive for dominance; what people want is equal opportunity, and to be left alone.

Gas Station Guru

The Bull lumbered through Uncle Bubba’s door, his head low and his shoulders hunched over; he might not have been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders but he had some big chunks of Texas and Oklahoma precariously balanced up there. He lamented how somethings that he though might be a good experience had turned into a stressful deal, not overwhelmingly, but enough to bring him down. Uncle Bubba suggested that they fire up the Harleys and go for a ride. There’s nothing like getting a few miles under your seat to clear the mind. Minutes later they rumbled up the road and disappeared beyond the tree lined curves in the road. They rode out beyond the edge of town and glided along the rolling countryside. They eventually made a stop at a gas station located at a cross road between nothing and nowhere. There’s only a blinking light to slow traffic but only because the intersection is located on a slight rise that limits a driver’s view passing the little store front and gas pumps at 60 mph.

As the Bull and Bubbie entered the store they were routinely greeted by a balding man of east Asian or middle eastern decent. The Bull had stopped in there to specifically ask if he, or anyone else knew of property for sale in the area. At first the store owner was a little busy but the Bull is a very engaging and gregarious man, he waited for the store owner to finish his task before convivially addressing him, warming him up and leading him to his ultimate question. The store owner initially dismissed the Bull by pointing him to some real estate catalogs in a rack by the register. But he quickly redressed his response when he perceived the Bull’s ernest interest. He joked that his little business was located in “Downtown Redneck” and expounded on how redneck his neighbors are. “If you want to be around rednecks, this is the place to be.” Uncle Bubba looked at the Bull and thought it funny; should they be honored or insulted to not look like rednecks? After the pregnant pause the store owner regathered his thoughts and came forth with his projections of some major developments around the intersection that he predicted would start sooner than later. He offered advice to the Bull, to get on the bus early and stay on the bus for the entire trip: in other words, buy land now and wait for the property values to increase once the proposed developments takes place. The Bull thanked him for his advice and they turned to leave but the store owner felt compelled to add some words of wisdom before they departed. He said, “Whatever you do, do what you think you should and never listen to anyone else. I was a stockbroker in New York and I used to teach economics and I always told my customers and students this. God is with you so you’ll be OK.” The Bull and Uncle Bubba shook his hand and thanked him again for his time. They walked out to their bikes and stood there for a few reflective moments looking over the beautiful green and brown countryside residing peacefully under the blue winter sky. They fired up the hawgs and rolled out of the gas station, paused at the curb to check for oncoming traffic and then leaned the bikes to the west and opened up the throttle. They ran through the gears but the gas station guru’s words still rattled around in Uncle Bubba’s head. In Bubbie’s view, that ol’ boy’s wisdom may not have been original but it came from his heart.

The Longest Weekend

Here we all are coming out of the Forth of July weekend of America’s 237 year of independence; how does that not make y’all think of the current state of our freedom? Remember the Bill of Rights? They were awesome. Anyway, it’s been the longest dang weekend! Uncle Bubba’s weekend started the weekend before and rolled all week long. He and Sweet Pea had a stroke of good fortune befall them recently; their friend Bull purchased the house next door. Uncle Bubba and the Bull have been buddies now for some time, having been introduced through their other compadre the Duke. The Duke and Bull have been friends and business associates for years and have a long history of good times. So it’s a bonus for Uncle Bubba to have two good friends close by; well, on occasion. Bull is from Texas and still resides there as well. He bought the place next to Bubbie and Sweet Pea as a second “vacation” home. The plan for the past 2 weeks was for Bull to show up and they’d get busy making his new house into a Bull abode. They spoke of working some and playing some; this was actually an edict rung down from The Duke. Uncle Bubba took a little time to survey the house and property prior to Bull’s arrival and assessed that there was just too much work that needed to be accomplished before Bull started “moving in”. Bull agreed after his arrival and self perusal. Still, they rolled up their t-shirt sleeves and got busy tearing out the old, starting with the yard. The previous owners who had resided there some 46 years or more were old and hadn’t been able to keep up on the overgrowth of vegetation. The homegrown wrecking crew got busy and discarded three heaping 16 ft. trailer loads in the dump that resulted in Bull happily finding a much bigger yard than he had originally witnessed. It increased his view of the river by 10 fold. The sunny summer days were hot and humid reaching nearly 100 in the afternoons so the general rule, also directed by The Duke was to work hard for 30 minutes and then jump into the river to cool off, drink a cold beer, and then get back to work. Hey, it got done in a hurry so don’t knock it until ya try it.

Bull & The Duke

Mixed among the seemingly endless hours in the cool, clear river waters the “boys" spent a fair piece on their Harley’s taking short trips here and there and back again. One morning they dashed off to the Duke’s ranch to complete a couple chores before speeding back to town so the Uncle Bubba could make his dentist appointment. Oral hygiene is essential around these parts where they invented the toothbrush; that’s because most people round here only have one tooth. But not Bubbie; he has a fine set of choppers.

At any rate, Bull was on a mission from day one to get a plate full of delicious grouper, which isn’t as easy as it once was in restaurants; the fishing limits have been restricted lately to give nature some relief and to replenish the population. But one fine day Bubbie and the Bull jumped on the bike’s and opened them up down the coast to a bar & grill where they were able to score some fried grouper. Bull was satisfied in that it was a good start and more would come. As they swung from their bar stools and walked out to their hawgs Bull paused and then said to Bubbie, “I can’t believe that this is going to be a part of my life!”
“What do ya mean gonna be? Bubbie asked, “You’re living it now.”
Bull smiled and said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Day after day they swam and rode. They ate some great meals and in the evenings they sat around and played cards, listened to music, and talked. Uncle Bubba’s friend Crash joined them and the two of them played guitars and sang some favorite songs; some they practiced and some they fielded as requests and amazingly managed to pluck out. The charcoal grills burned with smokey goodness wafting on the air. Friends drifted in and hung around; some even danced. Their children splashed in the water and were chased like greased pigs at the fair as the adults tried to get the objectionable, squirming tykes slathered in sunscreen. There was no bigger kid there than Bull. The previous owner left a water pump and several lengths of 1 1/2” hose behind that he had used to clean out the algae in the swimming hole. It works as an enormous, underwater pressure washer and Bull was on the dumb end of that thing incessantly. He even referred to it as addicting. It has so much power that if one lost their footing it could propel them effortlessly thru the water; even Bull who is a Texas sized man. But he enjoyed it and had the swimming hole sparkling clear in a few days time.

The Bull and the pump.

Yessir, it’s been the longest weekend; Sweet Pea called it "the boy’s week” but to hear Uncle Bubba describe it, they lost track of the days for all of the fun they were having. In Bubbie’s view, what’s one extended week of the men having fun when the rest of the year around here is equivalent to “Girl’s Night Out”.

Cumberland Island Or Bust

Uncle Bubba was sipping on a cup of hot coffee while watching a Sunday morning news story about Cumberland Island off the coast of Georgia. It was a soft piece told in a romantic and nostalgic tone of how the rich enjoyed it during the gilded age, from the 1880’s, blah, blah, blah. Long story short, the Carnegie’s bought most of the island and built mansions on it so they could vacation and party with their rich friends and family. OK, it was their right; Uncle Bubba likes to throw a good party as much as anyone. Eventually, as times changed and their fortunes declined the ancestors donated the property to the parks service. The hair on Bubbie’s neck stood up when the reporter, in an offended tone, asked the park ranger if they let the properties just disintegrate over time. The ranger respectfully replied that they use their funding to save what they can. In Bubbie’s view, if the doggone rich Carnegie's wanted to save their own mess they would; why are we paying for it? And why is letting the island return to nature bad; isn’t that the ultimate beauty?

The Watermelon Patch

The Duke called to ask if Uncle Bubba would go over to his river house and measure the bench seat in his outdoor shower. The wooden seat is rotting out and he wants to cut a new one. He has a thick piece of cypress in the barn but needs to know the measurements. It sounded as though the Duke was slightly out of breath, which is not so unusual, so Bubbie asked what he was doing. He excitedly told him that they were starting to pick watermelons today. It’s a new venture for the Duke and the first time as he planted quite a few acres. The Duke’s enthusiasm peaked Uncle Bubba’s interest so he rode up to Williston to check things out. It was so cool! Though Uncle Bubba had seen them do it many times from afar, he learned a lot and felt oddly privileged to get up close and personal.

He rolled up on the watermelon patch and there was heavy action. Parked pickup trucks lined the weedy roadside near the sandy road entrance to the field and just beyond the barbed wire fence were white beehive boxes stacked in the high grass. He could see the Duke’s pickup truck out near the middle of the field and he was standing next to it under his cowboy hat talking to the workers. The Duke saw Uncle Bubba pull up; he waved and hopped into his truck and headed towards the entrance. He pulled up aside Bubbie’s truck and rolled down his window to say that one of the work trucks just knocked over one of the bee boxes and the bees were swarming. He told Bubbie to hurriedly follow him thru the field to the back to get away from the bees. They pulled into the patch on the dirt road and Bubbie could easily see rows and rows of green melons crowning among the lush green plants, as well as three rows of black men cutting, picking and loading onto 2 old yeller school buses.

It’s not usual to see these watermelon buses on the roads this time of year; they chop the sides and tops out of them, remove all of the seats and throw carpet over the cut edges for padding and to protect them, and more importantly the fruit from getting cut. They walk in single file rows next to the bus and pick the melons fire brigade style. With the minimum melon weight of 17 lb., one can easily imagine how heavy they are to be bending over, picking up each melon and hand tossing it to the next man in line until they toss it to the men in the bus who stack them.

There is another crew of sweating, hunched over black men that walk ahead of the pickers and they cut the fruit from the vines. They look for the best melons and when found, a quick slice from their sharp 4 inch blade slips through the vine detaching the melon. They know how to select the correct melons based on size and “the break”. The break is when the rind separates into the green and white colored stripes. The whiter the stripes the more ripe the melon. When they cut a melon free, they flip it over so that the yellowish colored rind that was on the ground is sunny side up. Then the pickers know that it has been cut.

It’s hard work man, and no shade from the ol’ Florida sun. But nothing that this white man wouldn’t do if he was so inclined. One does what they have to do and are qualified to do to make a living. They’ll work this field for 3 1/2 weeks before it’s depleted. They’ll make pass after pass over those weeks to get the ripest fruit, leaving the rest to ripen for picking later. Uncle Bubba and the Duke talked about the things the Duke has learned since undertaking this venture. From clearing the field that he had been using as a pasture to the planting. It takes one seeded plant, the male plant to pollinate 4 seedless (female) plants. So the field is planted by hand placing one male plant between 3 or 4 female plants. The Duke took Uncle Bubba out to the wooded area beyond the field to show him the boulders and rock pile that they amassed in clearing the field. They stood in the cool shade for a while and discussed the politics that interfere with and inhibit the small farmers ability to make a decent living. While by the rock pile they kept a watchful eye and a harkened ear for rattlesnakes; they like the cracks and crevasses in between the rocks and rocks are pretty rare in Florida.

Uncle Bubba’s belly was talking to him as it was long past noon. He left the patch and drove over to Frog’s Barbecue for some jumbo pulled pork sammiches, freedom fries, and sweet iced tea. He got them to go and met the Duke over at the packing plant. They sat on a tailgate under a large hickory tree and gorged themselves on the spice barbecue under the watchful gaze of a polite but slobbering red bloodhound. The packing plant is where the rattletrap melon buses deliver the fresh picked melons to be boxed and shipped up the east coast. The buses are backed in the loading dock and the melons are hand placed on a conveyor. The workers separate the melons into the proper boxes based on them being seeded and seedless. As you may know, the more round seedless melons look distinctively different than the seeded that are longer. As the packers load the melons in the boxes, they slap a barcode stick on each one.

At 750 lbs per box, that’s a load! By the way, shortly after Uncle Bubba had arrived at the watermelon patch, the Duke proudly grabbed one from the field and handed it to Bubbie. Uncle Bubba was very thankful and honored to receive one of the inaugural melons. It don’t get no fresher than that! Good times!

SOUTHERN HOROSCOPE

WHAT'S YOUR SOUTHERN SIGN?

Some of us Southerners are pretty skeptical of horoscopes and the people that read them. If we are to ever fully understand all the star signs and the people they represent, we need symbols that all true Southerners understand: See the list below...

OKRA (Dec 22 - Jan 20) Are tough on the outside but tender on the inside. Okras have tremendous influence. An older Okra can look back over his life and see the seeds of his influence everywhere. You can do something good each day if you try.

CHITLIN (Jan 21 - Feb 19) Chitlins come from humble backgrounds. A Chitlin, however, will make something of himself if he is motivated and has lots of seasoning. In dealing with Chitlins, be careful they may surprise you. They can erupt like Vesuvius. Chitlins are best with Catfish and Okra.

BOLL WEEVIL (Feb 20 - March 20) You have an overwhelming curiosity. You're unsatisfied with the surface of things, and you feel the need to bore deep into the interior of everything. Needless to say, you are very intense and driven as if you had some inner hunger. You love to stay busy and tend to work too much. Nobody in their right mind is going to marry you, so don't worry about it.

MOON PIE (March 21 - April 20) You're the type that spends a lot of time on the front porch. A cinch to recognize the physical appearance of Moon Pies. Big and round are the key words here. You should marry anybody who you can get remotely interested in the idea. It's not going to be easy. You always have a big smile and are happy. This might be the year to think about aerobics. Maybe not.

POSSUM (April 21 - May 21) When confronted with life's difficulties, possums have a marked tendency to withdraw and develop a don't-bother-me-about-it attitude. Sometimes you become so withdrawn, people actually think you're dead. This strategy is probably not psychologically healthy but seems to work for you! . You are a rare breed. Most folks love to watch you work and play. You are a night person and mind your own

business.

CRAWFISH (May 22 - June 21) Crawfish is a water sign. If you work in an office, you're hanging around the water cooler. Crawfish prefer the beach to the mountains, the pool to the golf course, and the bathtub to the living room. You tend not to be particularly attractive physically, but you have very, very good heads.

COLLARDS (June 22 - July 23) Collards have a genius for communication. They love to get in the melting pot of life and share their essence with the essence of those around them. Collards make good social workers, psychologists, and baseball managers. As far as your personal life goes, if you are Collards, stay away from Crawfish. It just won't work. Save yourself a lot of heartache.

CATFISH (July 24 - Aug 23) Catfish are traditionalists in matters of the heart, although one's whiskers may cause problems for loved ones. You Catfish are never easy people to understand. You run fast. You work and play hard. Even though you prefer the muddy bottoms to the clear surface of life, you are liked by most. Above all else, Catfish should stay away from Moon Pies.

GRITS (Aug 24 - Sept 23) Your highest aim is to be with others like yourself. You like to huddle together with a big crowd of other Grits. You love to travel though, so maybe you should think about joining a club. Where do you like to go? Anywhere they have cheese, gravy, bacon, butter, or eggs and a good time. If you can go somewhere where they have all these things, that serves you well. You are pure in heart.

BOILED PEANUTS (Sept 24 - Oct 23) You have a passionate desire to help your fellow man. Unfortunately, those who know you best, your friends and loved ones, may find that your personality is much too salty, and their criticism will affect you deeply because you are really much softer than you appear. You should go right ahead and marry anybody you want to because in a certain way, yours is a charmed life. On the road of life, you can be sure that people will always pull over and stop for you.

BUTTER BEAN (Oct 24 - Nov 22) Always invite a Butter Bean to a party because Butter Beans get along well with everybody. You, as a Butter Bean, should be proud. You've grown on the vine of life, and you feel at home no matter what the setting. You can sit next to anybody. However, you, too, shouldn't have anything to do with Moon Pies.

ARMADILLO (Nov 23 - Dec 21) You have a tendency to develop a tough exterior, but you are actually quite gentle and kind inside. A good evening for you? Old friends, a fire, some roots, fruit, worms, and insects. You are a throw back. You're not concerned with today's fashions and trends. You're not concerned with anything about today. You're almost prehistoric in your interests and behavior patterns. You probably want to marry another Armadillo, but a Possum is another somewhat kinky mating possibility.

Holiday Hangover

It’s been a while since I’ve visited with Uncle Bubba. Life often gets in the way of so many things that we’d much rather being doing; doesn’t it? Fortunately, we have the power to change that and we can get back to where we’d rather be with a little desire and determination. So I took a ride out the long dirt road to Uncle Bubba’s and Sweet Pea’s home in the country. As is routine they invited me in and the aroma the floated on the air was intoxicating as always with Sweet Pea’s cooking. On this winter’s afternoon she had a pork roast simmering in ginger ale, honey, dijon mustard and spices in a crock pot. We all took a seat at the kitchen table and visited; catching up on the lost days since we were last all together. The holidays have just past and the lethargic hangover is coming over us as the blah malaise of the winter days fold into one another. After all of the anticipation of the new year and new beginnings, it seems that we’re still waiting in less than enthusiastic baited anticipation.
“But for how long?” Bubbie asks. “I reckon that at some point we realize that it’s up to us; we have to get up and make things happen.”
That’s sage advice that we all know but often have to be reminded of. It always seems to be a little more poignant to me coming from a reasonable, plain and prudent person like Uncle Bubba.

As we sat in their cozy home and talked my thoughts kept returning to the event; sitting with good folks and visiting. It seems to be a lost, or if not lost, a waning custom. For one thing it takes time. One has to slow down and be committed to making the effort to get together and engage in undistracted and polite conversation. It’s nice; enjoyable even. And I always come away from each experience feeling as if I’ve gained something. Bubbie and I have talked about this very thing time and again and I recall him saying, “A lazy man don’t roast any game, but the diligent feast on the riches of the hunt.” It’s a paraphrased verse from the bible; Proverbs 12:27. It’s also the one of the off key statements of candor that Bubbie makes that sticks with you. Obviously it’s his way of saying don’t be lazy. Sure, easier said than done; but always worth it.

I must admit that I came to this visit because I recently found out that a dear friend of mine had passed away while I was out of town. Few people knew of it. One of Kenny's last wishes was that he didn’t want to raise a fuss so his wife kept it low key. I only found out about his passing by chance when my wife ran into his wife in the grocery store. She returned home and delivered the sad news. Why is it that we only get a clear picture of the important things in life when some tragic event pops up? For me it’s the people in my life, my relationships that mean the most. We’re always going to stop in a visit this person and invite over that person, but it seems that we seldom do. We have too many “me” things to look after but as soon as we get those things done and out of the way we’ll make time for others. Yeah right. I reckon that’s backwards folks and I’m as guilty as you. We don’t know when someone’s passing or even our own will come. Maybe that’s the point, that if we bury our heads in our own crap we won’t have to think about it. So how’s that working out for ya? Me? Not so good. I’ve found out over and over again that I usually get what I need much faster if I’m helping others. Something I heard Zig Ziglar preach countless times much later in my life. But too soon I fall back on old narcissistic habits and the cycle goes ‘round again. But I can promise that I will never stop trying to get on a new cycle and stay on it.

In talking to Sweet Pea and Uncle Bubba, he mentioned that he was recently chatting with someone about trying too hard. The person was worn out from trying and getting very little in the way of progress. This person was sure that if she just hung in there and kept trying that sooner or later she’d get the result that she was after.
“True enough.” said Bubbie, “But sometimes we have to learn to let go. Sometimes we have to realize that we’ve hit a wall and it’s time to take a new path. Didja ever notice that y’all often get what ya wanted as soon as y’all stopped looking for it?”
I had to admit that it was true. How many times have my keys turned up after I’ve torn the house apart 3 times without finding them. Then after I’ve given up and got focused on other things, I find them by chance in the most inconspicuous place. Or like they say, you never find your true love until you’ve stopped looking for them. In Bubbie’s view it’s because you have to give the Universe a chance to breathe. So here I go. I’m bucking the system and making things happen. I am determined to start new beginnings while fostering my relationships. No sir, no hangover here. It’s time to feast on the riches of the hunt.

Bass Fishing Jersey Style

Uncle Bubba has been plumb bumfuzzled with the state of New Jersey. Much of the little state is not the industrial, urban cesspool that he always imagined it to be. West and central Jersey, away from the shore is rural but crowded. He has driven many miles inside of the state and explored many parks and wildlife management areas and has had a difficult time trying to find a place where he can be alone. You couldn't swing a dead cat without hittin' one of 'em. The folks here are nice enough, even quite friendly; but there seems to be so doggone many of them. Bubbie and many of his friends call 'em Yankees, and rightfully so. But there's something that transcends Yankees and Rebs, something that sadly shines an ugly light on all of us and reflects back onto our society; it's littering. Uncle Bubba has spent a fair amount of time in many states of this land and has found a common thread the is insidious and disturbing. He has had to wade through garbage to get to the water's edge to cast a fishing line. The cretins that leave their trash where they stand are nothing but immoral. They are the antithesis of a sportsman. How can one spend time in nature, enjoying it's beauty, it's bounty only to leave it some much worse off than when they arrived and rob the next person of the same wondrous experience that they have enjoyed? I mean, maybe the wheels still turning, but the hamster's dead.

 











Here is a photo of a six pack of empty beers. When Bubbie's see this scene, which he has more times than you can shake a stick at, he always wonders why the natural idiot that carries it in full can't carry it out when it's empty, i.e. LIGHTER!




In Bubbie's view, for a state that is taking in the neighborhood of $250 million in taxpayers' money to cleanup from Super Storm Sandy, you'd think that they'd take a little more pride in their homegrown trashing of their state.

Guns

Uncle Bubba has heard some stupid arguments in his day, but the one that's been going 'round lately has got to take the cake. In the debate over gun ownership, the anti-gun argument is, "what's the big deal about registering firearms, you have to register your car." Really? Why do you have to register your car?

In a supposed free society there seems to Bubbie that there's only two reasons to register anything, the first being money and the second to allow the government to track you. When you own something the government wants their piece. You pay taxes when you purchase it and then a registration fee, and/or renewal fees. If you are a live and let live, free, honest citizen of the United States; why do you need to be tracked? In Bubbie's view, while thinking of the list of things that y'all must register, ask yourself why?

Vehicles
Owning dogs and cats
Owning livestock
Getting married
Having a baby
Going fishing
Going boating
Owning a corporation
Owning land
Being a lobbyist

Dysfunction Junction What's Your Function

Uncle Bubba sips his coffee and gazes out the window of a diner. It sits at the corner of a busy intersection in Toms River New Jersey. The brilliant sunshine does little to warm the cold air as it reflects off of the diner's chrome exterior. Uncle Bubba can feel the cold on his left arm and shoulder that's nearest the window. It's oversized pane of glass is nearly as transparent to temperature as it is to its view. There's a "plink" as Bubbie rests his coffee cup back down on upon its saucer. Like a well timed miniature diner bell it seemed natural that the waitress then approaches to take his order. She's pleasant and plays her role perfectly and he thought that she must because she's undoubtedly practiced it thousands of times. As she parts to go place his order they are genuinely smiling at each other.

Bubbie turns his attention back to the scenes outside the diner. The traffic passes hurriedly, the far lane hidden by an ever present and continual concrete barrier. They also use chain-link fencing to divide the roadways and one cannot turn left from the left lane in many cases. You have to turn right from the right lane and enter what they call a "jug handle" which is a side road, like an exit ramp on a major highway. This poses an irritating dilemma for a driver that is not from the area because one must know prior to reaching an intersection if they need to be in the left lane to turn left, or three lanes over to turn right from the right lane to turn left. If you see a sign that says "All Turns" with an arrow to the right, then you know that you have to use a jug handle to turn left but beware, it may be before the intersection or right after meaning that you must drive thru the intersection that you want to turn left at before entering the jug handle and circling back around.

If that isn't frustrating enough, a jug handle may be next to a driveway of a plaza or even another, separate road intersection so in the bustle of trying to maneuver in traffic and not get in a wreck, you may inadvertently miss the jug handle turn and wind up heading off in a direction that is opposite of where you want to be heading. If this is the case, then good luck making it back to your original intersection to get back on track. Bubbie is sure that to the locals, this is nothing. But to the uninitiated and unfamiliar it's a dysfunctional and confusing affair. Being a visitor, Uncle Bubba realizes that it's their way and as odd as it all seems, it's not going to change. In Bubbie's view, it just reinforces his happiness to live in the south where many of the roads may be dirt and gravel but they lead to where a body wants to go.

The Pope of New Jersey

Uncle Bubba has been working in New Jersey where the mornings are clear and cold and it seems as thought the wind never stops blowing. On the way to work he stops at a McDonalds to get coffee and there's no drive thru so he parks and leaves the warm comfort of his cozy carseat and walks in. One particular cold morning, as he walked back out to his vehicle with hot coffee in hand, he noticed white smoke coming from a chimney that looked similar in shape to the one at the Vatican and he laughingly thought, "Hey, they must have elected a new pope!" Little did he know that that day they had!

Another Freakin Walmart?!

If you like Walmart, you probably won't like what Uncle Bubba told me about recently. In the small town that Uncle Bubba lives in, there used to be a small Walmart store. It was built in the early '90s and it accommodated the size of the community; it didn't sell groceries but it did have a decent fishing and outdoor sporting department. About a half mile away was a nice grocery store. It was very conveniently located and carried good quality items at very reasonable prices. Both places were always busy and most folks in the town seemed to be contented with the local options that each place offered. The people that worked at each store were regular, steady people from the same community so going to the store was as much a social affair as shopping; you knew the cashiers and the people that worked in various departments and the high school students that worked there after school. Each of these stores were in plaza's with other retail businesses and restaurants doing business right along side of the big chain stores.

Then the Walmart Corporation decided that they needed to build a new store 5 miles away from the little old Walmart store near the center of town. This new store isn't an enormous super center but it does sell groceries. Of course building the new store on the edge of town left the old store building in the center of town vacant. It's a depressing eyesore, and now several of the other business that shared the plaza have given up and gone out of business now that the customer traffic has disappeared. Now the previously mentioned, nice grocery store has closed. To quote one of the former employees, "Once the new Walmart opened our business just died." So now there is another vacancy of a big storefront and another big, empty parking lot that's left a scar on the community. And worse, those regular, steady people that live in the community are out of work.

Now that the new Walmart store is on the edge of town, what used to be a two mile round trip is now a ten mile round trip. As with any Walmart shopping experience, one never truly gets what one wants but has to settle for what Walmart offers. In Bubbie's view, we've done it to ourselves. Walmart may spread like a virus across every landscape but we've infected ourselves with our own bad behavior. All we had to do, and have to do is stop shopping there, which may mean that you won't be able to wear your pajamas to the store.

Yeah... don't think we'll ever get those people on board.

On The Road Again

Uncle Bubba is on the road again. He's traveling for work. He got called out on another job assignment out of town. This job that he has is a job that he never really wanted at this point in life, he just kind of fell into it. It's very early in the morning, he was up quite a few hours before dawn. It's still dark. As he drives along the countryside on the two-lane byways, every so often he passes a little house; the moonlight and headlights reveal it in the purple shadows, maybe a night light is on shining dimly through a curtained window. He imagines the folks inside still fast asleep; wrapped in the comfort of their own little universe. He wishes he was still home fast asleep, at least still lying next to Sweet Pea, holding her tight. But he's on the road because he's a man. For centuries, being a man meant living a life of virtue and excellence. Uncle Bubba is of that lineage. Sure, he'd like to get away from this job, it's his intention, but for now he has a job to do; primarily it all leads back to taking care of Sweet Pea. He desires getting a new job that affords him the ability to stay home and not be on the road for weeks and months at a time; to live in his home and be there every night, to enjoy his home and his family and friends on the weekends. What good is his Harley or his fishing boat if he's not even home to use them? Most importantly, he is no longer willing to compromise his commitment to spending every moment with his wife, Sweet Pea. As they say, no one ever gets to the end of their life with regrets of not having spent more time at work and less time with the one they love. This job has served him in these unstable times in America. It pays the bills and has benefits. And to be vested into those benefits he has to keep working a few more months. And it's like Bubbie to see things through. It's important to him to get to the end and say that he did it. He's come this far. Bubbie is a man and to be a man is to be a person that sees things thru to the end. It takes courage, it takes strength. In Bubbie's view, hopefully one day someone that really enjoys being on the road drives by Bubbie's home in the middle of the night and the night light will glow in the window, and Uncle Bubba will be contentedly sleeping next to Sweet Pea holding her close.