Entering Conecuh County. That’s what the little green sign reads, off Highway 31. I’m heading north, passing through a small sliver of the county. I love Alabama.
A few weeks ago, I was driving to Birmingham, I listened to an audio book. The narrator spoke with an accent like a New Jersey paperboy. He pronounced Conecuh as “Koh-NEE-queue.”
That hurt.
Now entering Butler County. Wingard’s Produce Stand. B&H Cafe. Dollar General. There’s the McKenzie water tower.
And God said, “Let there be kudzu.” I also love kudzu.
I once planted some in my backyard in hopes that one day it would swallow my house. Everything looks better when swallowed in kudzu.
Georgiana is eight miles away. If you’re keeping score, I also love Georgiana. I’ve visited the Hank Williams boyhood home in Georgiana too many times.
Anyone who knows me knows I also love Hank Senior. But then who doesn’t? My affection goes back to childhood. My father’s workbench. A radio. Hank, blaring from a small speaker while he changed the oil in our corral of Fords.
My favorite part
of the Hank museum tour is the underside of the house. A tour guide named Miss Margaret told me Hank used to practice his guitar there.
“It was cool down there,” said Miss Margaret. “He’d sit on an old car bench-seat to avoid the heat.”
Miss Margaret. I loved her, too. I didn’t know much about her except that when I met her she was elderly. Half her face was paralyzed. Her accent sounded like a Camellia garden on the Fourth of July. I remember wishing she would adopt me.
Georgiana also has Kendall’s Barbecue joint. Love it.
Although “Love” is a weak word for Kendall’s. I would tell you more about this place, but someone wrote me an ugly letter once, saying:
“You talk about Alabama barbecue TOO MUCH! I'm from Texas originally before I moved to Alabama… I…