The Kudzu Cocoon

I love Texas.  

But if I drive 2 and half hours east, I'm home.  In the kudzu cocoon.  

I grew up in it, and whenever I get back, I get that peaceful easy feeling.  

If you don't know what kudzu is or have never seen it, it's a glorious thing.  It was brought to the U.S. as a plant to help with erosion on farms in the South.  It was thought it could also be a food crop for livestock.

What folks didn't know was how invasive and fast growing this plant could be.  In the humid, hot summers kudzu can grow a foot a day.   It got a bit out of hand with the farmers, and now it covers the Southeast.  

Here's where kudzu grows.  Pretty much the same map as the SEC.  (Somewhat explains why the heck Mizzou is in THE conference.)

You can see kudzu on the interstate.  But to really appreciate kudzu and the sweet, sweet South, you need to get on a highway outside city limits.  SR 141, SH 157, Highway 441, Great River Road. 

Driving down these roads you'll not only see miles of vines, but you'll see, hear, smell and taste what makes the South so special.

You'll drive thru small towns and across rivers, many named by Native Americans.  Tishimongo, Solgohachia, Withlacoochee, Dahlonega, Opelousas, Natchez, Kiawah and Ooltewah.  

You'll see so many churches so close together that if you drive slowly with your windows down on a Wednesday evening during prayer meeting you could hear Amazing Grace sung non-stop for an hour.

You'll discover the largest industry in the South.  Used cars.  Hundreds and thousands of them parked in grass lots.  In every little town.  Out in the county outside town limits.   If you can't find a good used F-150 in a mile or so, you're too darn picky.  

If a meat and three kind of cafe makes sense to you, this is where the best are hiding.  H&H Soul Food, Ramsey's Diner, Bully's, Franke's Cafeteria, The Busy Bee Cafe (that was once destroyed by a tornado so powerful that someone found one of their menus 70 miles away), Arnold's Country Kitchen or Earley's Kitchen.

You'll find some delightful and unusual attractions to visit along the way.  The National Bird Dog Museum, the Double Decker Arts Festival, Christ of the Ozarks, Bourbon Manor, Front Street and the Gatlinburg Space Needle.  And if you find yourself wandering around Jackson, Mississippi during late March, don't miss Hal's St. Paddy's Parade starring the Sweet Potato Queens.  

Speaking of tasty things, the South invented barbecue.  Which means slow smoked meat as opposed to grilling over charcoal.  There's lots of hot debate about which is the best, so ideally you'd try them all.  Different techniques.  Different meats.  Different sauces.  All served with pride and love.  At places like Fresh Air, Scott's, Moonlite Inn, The Ridgewood, Jenkins, Archibald's or Shiver's.  

Best of all will be the people you'll meet along the way.  Some with sun-stained necks from working on their farm when they get off from their job at the factory.  State troopers, bank tellers, cashiers at the local convenience store who knows everyone in town and acts as the visitors bureau if their town of 136 could afford such a thing, high school kids in loud pickups, the waitress at the local cafe who won't let your iced tea glass get below half full.  Sweet people who are friendly and welcoming by nature and are happy to help anyone who needs it.  

The people have their own way of talking.  Listen carefully and you can hear the precious local accents that are as different from Southern Louisiana to South Georgia as they can be.  But, it's all the same language just expressed differently.  And, they might say things that strike you as odd if you didn't grow up there.  "How's your mama and them?"  "Bless your heart." "I'm full as a tick."  "Like a cow pissing on a flat rock."  "I'm worn slap out."  "Well, I'll swanee."   

Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco.   Stephen Vincent Benet wrote, "Bury my heart at Wounded Knee".  Joe Diffie sang "Prop Me Up Against the Jukebox When I Die".  

As for me, let me spend as many days as I can with my people.  My food.  My music.  My land.

In the kudzu cocoon.