Two weeks ago while sitting in the passenger seat on a ride through Waycross, Georgia, I grabbed the steering wheel in an attempt to “help” my boyfriend avoid what I thought was an armadillo sauntering down the center of the road. I almost killed every being involved. Only after what can loosely be described as a karate chop to my forearm (to break my kung-fu grip on the wheel) did Albert, the hero, get us back on the road. The dust settled and we all survived. It was actually a turtle.
And so went my early summer 2010 road trip from DC to Tallahassee and back to see Radical Face. A three-day journey for the not-so-faint of heart, ripe with sleepless days and sweaty foreheads, Wafflehouse eats and BBQ, the highlight, of course, being amazing music in the middle of a swampy forest – a venue unlike any I’ve visited to date. Extraordinary is an understatement.
It’s difficult to find words eloquent enough to describe the experience – the actual show, I mean. It was a sensory overload. Lights (or lack thereof), a boiled-down wooden stage no more than six inches off the ground adorned with white wilted flowers from the wedding that took place the day before, an orchestra of crickets and airborne critters, the music, the smells – humid air left a pleasant tasty stain in the back of my throat. It was perfect. Everything fit together perfectly. I could laud the artists involved, but I won’t. I can think of fewer things more boring than a fan waxing on about how great a show was. It was. That’s all I’ll say. It was truly a “you had to be there” kind of moment.
The kindness of strangers, however? This is something I can go on about.
This show wasn’t publicized to high heaven. The hosts (a couple of visual artists from the Tallahassee area) found someone to sponsor space at a co-op. The one caveat: all folks involved were expected to respect the land and the facilities built upon it. Guests were asked for nothing. Free. I mentioned a wedding the day before. There were white chairs sprinkled across the grounds not yet retrieved by the bridal party. All present were kindly welcomed to use them, provided they were returned to their original resting place. I find it all so comforting that a group of people, strangers, including other musicians who mingled with everyone, can come together respectfully with no monetary exchanges involved and have a magnificent night. Take that, Ticketmaster.
I don’t want to chalk this up to southern hospitality, but the gracious and kind nature of those whose paths I crossed on this journey seem exponential to those encountered on, say a regular long Abby weekend in the northeast. We were given a fantastic recommendation from a restaurateur whose soul food place, sadly, was closing up when we arrived for dinner. She didn’t have to walk outside and talk with Albert and me about other places in the hood, but she did. At the eatery we ended up visiting (her suggestion – amazing food PLUS the chef had a Godspeed tattoo), a local family overheard us talking about having to kill time and chimed in (and apologized for doing so! I know…can you believe it?!), suggesting places to visit, despite the fact that it was a Sunday in a pretty dead town.
Fearing your finger pointing and cries of “lowbrow!” this brings to mind an advertisement. I think it’s for insurance or a bank. Needless to say – because you know exactly the advert I am talking about. Don’t tell me you don’t watch television because I know you do. It’s the one where a man picks up a dropped toy and hands it back to the baby in a stroller, sparking a chain reaction of kind acts? This trip inspired me. It made me want to be a little better, a little nicer and tolerant. Perhaps the heat and sweat of the south I cried about before slows folks down just enough for them to have time to consider the consequences of their actions…. a little more than those of us in the north. Or maybe it’s just dumb luck and I ran into the right people at the right time. No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.
Hem – “Half Acre” [stream only] (off Rabbit Songs)
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Happy weekend.
[Abby’s Road is a Knox Road feature published every other Friday.]
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