I didn’t have a blog post in me yesterday, despite having had a great day at The 78th Annual Yellville Turkey Trot, our third time attending the festival. We enjoyed an inspiring small-town-America parade — longer, more enthusiastic and just cooler than the processions anywhere else we’ve lived — browsed the vendors, and rubbed elbows with friends and neighbors.
What I’ll remember most, I think, were bright and fascinating conversations with perfect strangers.
Like the fella who sat down next to me on the wall outside the courthouse, leaned forward on his walking cane, and proceeded to unwind the history of the Turkey Trot. He had cred on the matter, too, seeing that this was his 68th time at the festival.
(Well, that and the fact that his father organized the first Trot in 1946.)
As we talked, a couple of our neighbors from up on Hall Mountain stopped to say hello. They presented us with a fresh funnel cake, dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with strawberry jam — just because. And just delicious.
A little later, while waiting for the parade to step off, I struck up a conversation with an older gentleman in a Panama hat. He pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket, lit it and wove tale after tale about this community and its people.
I was struck by his ease and quiet confidence. Yellville has been his home since 1950.
Deb and I dropped by the Marion County Heritage Society booth and re-connected with the woman who’d made us feel so very welcome here two years ago. She remembered us.
We bumped into the proprietors of Crooked Creek Pub, our friends Paul and LouAnn. We drank fresh-squeezed lemonade and ate fried-chicken-on-a-stick.
Before we left, we flopped on the wall again to collect ourselves. At one point I raised my phone to take a picture. I saw two boys approaching on the sidewalk, so I waited for them to pass in front of me.
The younger of the two — he couldn’t’ve been older than ten, if that — stopped and held his arm out in front of the other boy. The kid made eye contact with me.
He showed me common courtesy. Unprompted by adult supervision, the boy displayed manners and respect. I smiled at him and took my picture.
That sort of thing happens a lot in this culture. It’s really something special.
We love it here.
Casselberry, Florida is a bedroom community of roughly 28,000, situated north of Orlando. It’s one of those typical modern American cities that truly doesn’t produce anything — Casselberry is only a jurisdiction, a place on the map. People live there.
The most recent hurricane, with inland tornadoes preceding it, damaged homes and businesses in the town. Though other places fared worse, there’s cleanup to be done and repairs to be made.
A couple of days ago, the City of Casselberry posted this reminder to residents on its official Facebook page:
“You must get a permit before starting your repairs.”
To say that the post wasn’t well received would be an understatement. The city was lambasted for being tone-deaf, for lacking compassion, for using misfortune as an excuse to collect fees — pretty much what you’d expect.
That reaction misses the point.
The City of Casselberry didn’t make a mistake — this is government doing what government does. Residents wanted a city that’d take care of them, keep them “safe,” make rules, maintain order, and so on. They got what they wished for.
And I’m willing to bet that most folks objecting on social media, wherever they live, are no less compliant in their own communities.
We can’t insist that government (in its current incarnations, at all levels) conduct itself properly when we’ve outsourced our autonomy and sacrificed our Liberty. It won’t change until we refuse to comply.
Fuck permits. Be ungovernable.
Rather than giving you a blow-by-blow of what was a pretty ordinary Sunday in our American Life, here are a few images from the last 24 hours.
I call this one, “Chemtrails Over Turkey Trot.” (Captured late yesterday from The Mountain.)
I was late putting the Ranger to bed last night.
On our way to the laundromat this morning, we saw ten whitetails before we even got to the county road. These three were grazing with three more in a neighbor’s field, just down The Mountain from our homestead.
Here we see the neighbor boy, watching his grandfather demonstrate that it doesn’t take a 35-ton hydraulic splitter to dispatch a 24-inch round of white oak.
We made a purchase at Tractor Supply today.
Y’know, just to have on hand, in case we ever get cattle. Or hogs. Or something.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB