How Does This Keep Happening?

How does this keep happening to me??!? How can I have so many days in my life that are out of the ballpark, they're so good? Sorry - it seems like I'm getting more than my fair share. If it makes you feel any better, I feel fortunate beyond any measure of reason or belief that this is how my life has turned out.

I woke before sunrise this morning, cocooned by the same sound of light drizzle pattering on a metal roof that had lulled me to sleep the night before. I burrowed deeper into in my soft luxury sheets under a fuzzy blanket (damn that was a good bed) and had just started to fall back asleep when I became vaguely conscious of the fact that the wind had begun to rise rapidly and the rain had thickened to a downpour. It was soon literally blowing a gale (with me safe in my nest!), the air making that wonderful forlorn whistle and roar. The cool front that had dusted Austin and other unlikely cities with snow in the past few days had finally arrived in Georgia and was making its presence ostentatiously known. I felt like the heroine in a Hammer Horror Dracula movie - huddled up in a mahogany four poster bed in a large Victorian bed chamber, the wind howling outside, the windows peppered by driving rain. Unfortunately, the thunder/lightning effect guy was out sick, so I had to do without, but the speed of the wind made up for it. I intermittently hopped out from under the covers and ran over to the window to see if I could spot any funnel clouds dropping down from the darkened horizon and was rewarded on one of these missions by the cinematic sight of a pert beige umbrella rolling slowly down the street like a tumbleweed.

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I had asked Walker (the congenial proprietor of the Sign of the Dove) to serve me breakfast at 8:30, so I eventually forced myself out of bed, dressed hurriedly/efficiently and floated in a lady-like manner down the grand staircase to the lovely dining area, all the while pretending I was Edith Wharton. Yeah...that's it...now I was an Edwardian heiress, visiting relatives at their country estate in Byoona-Vis-ta. That's how y'all say it over heah - BYOONA Vista. I guess I can't make fun of them since I say San Jacinta.
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Walker had prepared a delicious breakfast and kept my cup filled with good hot coffee as the wind gusted steadily outside. He poured himself a cup and sat down to chat and the two of us whiled away what I'd guess was a good hour, just talking about all sorts of things like the demise of hitchhiking and the complex nature of racism in the South. Walker is a convivial and interesting fellow and I really enjoyed talking with him.

Around 10ish (so civilized, the ish hours) Dr. John Rogers, the intrepid gentleman that would be taking me on a tour of Pasaquan (http://www.pasaquan.com/) arrived to fetch me, just as a few breaks in the clouds began to open up and let through an occasional beam of radiant sunlight.

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After a short drive out into the country (including a detour we were forced to take because of downed power lines) we pulled up to the gate and I could feel the knot of awe and joy beginning to throb in the middle of my chest. I had looked at pictures of Pasaquan for years, sensing that it was something very special and amazing, but had not able to glean exactly what that was from the images I'd seen. And now, finally, I know why. Pasaquan is quite simply a place that has to be experienced to be understood. Small pieces of the gestalt captured through a camera lens do little good in helping to understand the immensity of beauty and passion of the place. It abounds in humor, spirituality, cleverness and order. It exudes respect and affection. It's so many things, and as you can probably see, I'm completely in love with the place.

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Part of my ardor, I'm sure, came from the absolutely extraordinary tour that my guide John provided. John Rogers leads a board or preservationists that have been working diligently to fund the restoration and insure the survival of Pasaquan. John was born and raised in Buena Vista and served for many years as a rare specimen of a dying breed: what he called a "horse and buggy" doctor - a doctor that could pull a toenail, deliver a baby or do an appendectomy, and drive to your farm to do it. John practiced for what I believe he told me was 42 years and just recently retired. Now he's generously giving his time to Pasaquan, securing grants, stringing bead curtains and toting pink-haired tourists around.

There is much written about Pasaquan and it's wacky, wonderful creator, St. EOM (Roadside American has good thumbnail description: http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/2981) so I won't try and reinvent the weirdo wheel here. The salient details are that a fellow named Eddie Owens Martin (EOM) produced this hauntingly beautiful compound of buildings and walls on a rural Georgia farmstead over a period of almost 30 years, and left not only an extraordinary monument, but more interestingly in a way, a legend even larger than the four acre compound his castle sits on. Eddie was a fortune teller, a drag queen, a confidant of the aliens and a damn snappy dresser. He loved a hex, grew his own marijuana and could charge $20 a pop to tell fortunes in Greenwich Village in the 50s with a line around the block. My tour guide John was in high school when he first met St. EOM and regaled me with all sorts of marvelous and entertaining tales about Eddie as we sauntered about the house and grounds. One picture he put in my mind that I particularly liked was the thought of Eddie all decked out in one of his outrageous pre-Funkadelic Funkadelic costumes walking the downtown Saturday streets of Buena Vista and moving easily and happily amidst the throngs of sharecroppers that had come to town to do their trading. If that's not larger than life, I don't know what is.

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That's John above, showing me around the fabulous cosmic wheel building. If you stand in front of the cosmic wheels and let your focus go, they pop out of the wall all 3-D on you! The colors and intricacy of the wheels are just delicious. John led me on a thorough tour of the entire property and all it's attendant rooms and buildings, patiently explaining and showing and pointing things out. When we were done, he set me loose to take some pictures and I have to say I'm pretty disappointed with the results. Fortunately, much better photographers have documented the place far more compellingly and in a freshly painted state. And now I know that Eddie, who was so fond of hexes, must surely have cast a spell to veil the true majesty of the place in images and this dire curse was not, alas, destined to be broken by the likes of me. At least not this trip. I'll upload a much larger set of images to my gallery if you're interested in seeing more.

A few notable items: if you look closely at this image, you'll see that the snake on the left only has half a head and several of the medallions below are missing. John told me that at first they thought a vandal had been at work, but soon discovered that lightning had hit the tree above and connected with the wall, exploding the head off the snake and the medallions off the wall. Eddie has such a strong presence about the place that things like this seem nothing less than intentional and certainly not out of the norm.

I feel confident that Eddie and I would have gotten along like a house afire because how could I help but love a man that made a housing for his propane tank that looked like this!

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There's a recurring motif that pops up all around Pasaquan of figures sporting curious criss-crossed jumpsuits (set off by their tall pointy hair). St. EOM was told that these suits allowed the wearers to levitate, using an intricate system of pressure point activation. Apparently, Eddie worked to fashion his own suit, and when asked if it allowed him to levitate, he answered with a smile something on the order of, "No, but I sure do feel lighter!" This is a painting Eddie did of a Pasaquanian modeling his suit. Be sure not to miss this fella's groovy pointy top helmet.

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You would think that would be enough for one wonderful day, wouldn't you? I should be able to just check that off my list. Well there were still many more wonderful surprises in store, so why don't we just get right to it?

John drove me back to the B & B and we parted after a round of fond farewells. In my absence, Walker (that's Walker, pictured at left) had thoughtfully prepared a map for me showing how to head toward my next destination through Plains, Georgia, the home of Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter. Walker was a navigator in the U.S. service, so you can image what a wonderful map it was! He pointed out all the things to look for and told me if I were hungry to stop at a little place called Mom's Cafe for some delicious soul food. THAT made my radar go off, let me tell you! I bid Walker adieu and regained the Georgia blacktop headed south.

It was a beautiful afternoon for a drive, stormy, dramatic. The light was lovely. It didn't take me long to get to Plains, nor did it take long for me to locate Mom's (right after, I SWEAR, I saw a tractor pulling a trailer heaped high with peanuts right through the center of town!). As soon as I walked in, I knew I had found road trip diner nirvana.

After an excruciating bout of deciding what to pick, Brenda served me up a plate of fried chicken, turnip greens, mashed potatoes and gravy, and what I found out (after having to ask, somewhat ashamed) was "flat cornbread." The beverage choice was less ambiguous: sweet tea, of course. I snagged a bottle of sport pepper sauce on my way to the table to douse the greens with and selected a table directly adjacent to the signed portraits of Jimmy and Rosalynn. As you might have guessed by now, my meal was sublime. Turnip greens are my favorites and these were cooked just perfectly. The mashed potatoes and gravy were so creamy they tasted like they had cream cheese mixed in and the cornbread was really tasty. The chicken was out of this world.

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Because my mother does not regularly access the internet, I can say here that Mom's Kitchen's fried chicken was the best I've ever had - it was perfection. I asked the gentleman puttering around the dining room if the person that fried the chicken was still there (it was pretty late for lunch) and he told me he'd go and check. He returned with a charming and modest young girl named Kim who shyly took credit for frying up the chicken. I asked her if I could give her a hug because that was the best damn chicken I ever ate. She laughed and agreed to let me show my appreciation, even though I'm sure she thought it a bit strange. Hats off to Kim! I just know I'll dream about that chicken for many years to come. Mmmmmm.

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I lovingly finished off my meal, blew kisses to the girls in the kitchen on my way out and hopped back in the car with a tiny food-begotten tear in my eye and proceeded to high tail it south to a little town called Thomasville, not very far north of the border with Florida. It was there that I would find the home of what I consider to be one of the best cheeses I've ever put in my mouth: Sweet Grass Dairy's Green Hill (http://sweetgrassdairy.com/detail?number=23). I first stopped by the dairy, and upon the advice of the ultrafriendly Clay Wehner who I stumbled upon, I stopped to pet the goats on the way back out to go to the cheese store next door. And what fabulous goats! They looked and acted like pet show goats! They were immaculately clean and well mannered. I tendered two small strawberries that I had found neglected in the car, thinking they would delight in the flavor of the delicious berries, but when I stuck my hand through the fence, it was my ball chain bracelets that started a feeding frenzy!

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They nibbled delicately at the shiny beads and it tickled my wrist and made me laugh. I thanked the goats for their admirable contributions to the halls of superior cheesedom and then hurried next door to enjoy the exquisite pleasure of tasting all the other cheeses that Sweet Grass produces, and boy were they ever delicious. I really love Sweet Grass's business and really hope they meet with continued and protracted success. I picked four different cheeses to take with me and left carrying a large brown bag filled with assorted gourmet delights (they even had Limonata!). I had finally gotten a foodie fix and it caused a warm cheesy glow to radiate from inside me. Just the thing to carry me until I arrived some hours later in Jacksonville, Florida where I decided to spend the night.

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Whew! What a day! I undoubtedly have the life of Riley. I went to sleep, dreaming of mermaids.