Best of TCT- Just listen for hooters to know it's really Spring...

From April 2009

Snow on the blooming redbud tree is not that uncommon in the Southeast.





The air was filled with the sounds of yard work this weekend in my neighborhood. I even noticed one of the neighbors planting annuals around her mailbox...a task she most assuredly will repeat next month. Like many others this weekend, she fell victim to the Calender Spring/Actual Spring trick bag. What? That's right...the Calender Spring/Actual Spring trick bag. Trust me, it got me one year too.

The calender tells people the vernal equinox (aka Spring) happens most years on March 20, as it did this year. Days and nights are of relatively equal length as the sun travels around our planet's equator. Despite the mystical sooth sayings of a certain pudgy rodent in upstate Pennsylvania six weeks earlier, the exit of cold weather is much more orderly, predictable. Everyone in the South knows cold weather hasn't officially ceased until each of the 'mini-winters' have run course because there is a big difference between the season called Winter ending and cold weather ending.

There are three distinct phases, generally speaking, that precedes the departure of cold weather in the Southeast. Granted, this isn't new stuff...Farmers' Almanac has been printing it since 1818 with far more accuracy than that witchcrafty groundhog in PA...and farmers use the phases to determine when certain crops should be planted. The indicator for the arrival of each phase is the blooming of certain plants.

We are currently experiencing Redbud winter here. Although it was a nice toasty 74 degrees on Saturday, the blooming of the Eastern Redbud tree has brought with it a cold snap that calls for a chance of snow just a mere 4 days removed from warmer temperatures. After another brief warming spell, dogwood trees will bloom and with that another cold snap usually around 3 or 4 days long. Last to arrive will be blackberry winter...somewhere around the first of May. The distinct brier can be seen blooming all along Southeastern roadways with promises of fruit for cobblers and pies by July 4th...making the last of the cold spells a little more bearable.

Now when I was but a young lad in the times before central air conditioning (at least at our house), I knew when I heard the hoot of the Hoot Owl outside my window after sunset it would soon be time to raise the windows at night and take off the white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt during the day.

Of course, I now know that scientifically speaking there are no Hoot Owls, just the native Barred and Common Barn Owls, and the louder hoots are timed to their mating cycles. Still, even though Spring officially started March 20, for me cold weather isn't truly gone until the owls have made their presence known...a happier time for us all.

So for this boy from the Southeast, forget the lessons in horticulture related weather...warm temperatures and hooters go hand in hand for me.

Take it for what it's worth.

Actually, I don't even own a pair of overalls...

An early inspiration for Tony C Today.







I've been known to poke a little fun at my own southern culture from time to time on this blog...

Yes. It's true. Now that doesn't mean I'm not proud to be from the South, or God's country as we like to refer to it here. Having lived a number of different places outside the South in my life, I completely understand why people from other parts of the country are moving here in droves. What does surprise me though is the apparent disappointment that occurs when carperbag...I'm mean people not from the South arrive and find it's not what they completely expected.

Let me elaborate please...

While it's true people in the South are overall generally resistant to change, we do actually have electricity and running water in our homes. Shocking to some...I'm sure. We actually graduated from the wood-stove heated log cabin some years back (although we keep a few around for purely historical reference and as hunting lodges), and the outhouse is a distant memory. Southerners now commonly use the porcelain throne like most other Americans...though if we're outside, we still often pee in the backyard so not to track dirt in on the rug going in the house. Makes perfect sense to us.

Not only do we have shopping malls, they actually contain stores like Gap, Abercrombie and Pottery Barn. Granted Sears and J.C. Penney's are usually mall anchors, but we don't just go there for the catalog anymore. Wait...that's my second outhouse reference in only my second overall point. Oh well. Bathroom humor is funny wherever you live...except maybe Antarctica.

Southerners think much faster than we talk. Is that such a bad thing?  We also coined the phrase shoot first and ask questions later...so don't say you haven't been warned.

Not everyone from the South listens to Elvis music and goes to a Baptist church. Okay. So maybe I do both, but I have plenty of Episcopalian friends that listen to Coldplay...or what's his name...Usher! No. We're typically not very good liars either, because living here is hot enough...and hell is rumored to much hotter!

That's just a few of the stereotypical ideas people who move to the South are often disappointed or even confused not to find when they arrive...explaining why we're often now referred to as the Newer South.

Just a quick history review, the New South was post Civil War...the Newer South is post Hee Haw.

By the way, hee haw is onomatopoeia for the sound a donkey makes, but very few people actually own farm animals of any kind here...although my cousin does own a llama.  Bet now I've really blown your mind...

You say tomato...I say let's eat!

We just screamed past the Vernal Equinox...and already I'm thinking about tomatoes.

Spring has sprung and brought a wave of nice weather here in the Southeast. I watched my unacclimated neighbors whom hail from the North busy about their yards planting flowers and such this weekend. For the record, that's about as nice as you'll ever hear a sentence around these parts that contains a reference to both people from the North and the word hail/hell...which is homophonic to us. But that's a different post all together.

Alas, the indigenous know better! Digging a hole and sticking in a begonia can only mean one thing in March...you'll be buying another begonia in May. Despite the lunatic rantings of native Al Gore, Southerners know the reality of the Calendar Spring/Actual Spring trick bag. I blogged about the progressive indicators a few years back (with a sly reference to hooters...I mean..hoot owls), and the trust we hold for the Farmers' Almanac. Southerners don't put a lot of stock into that prognosticating rodent above the Mason-Dixon line either. The idolatry of an overgrown squirrel is just odd to us. The only good that's ever come from a groundhog is the fact they are the major reason grandma needed a 6.5 quart slow-cooker. Pudgy varmints. But...I'm way off subject!

Yes, I truly do love homegrown tomatoes. Summer comes closely associated with the divinely inspired combination of white bread, sliced red tomato, mayo and a sprinkle of salt. Kosher if you're fancy. I'd bet a tomato sandwich was one of the first meals Eve presented to Adam after his busy day of naming animals in the Garden of Eden...and men have been stupid for the fairer sex ever since. As a matter of fact, the Bible doesn't actually say an apple came from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. (egad!) Could it have actually been a tomato that thrust mankind into the harshness of a brutal world?! That would mean the Garden of Eden was in South America because everyone knows that's where the tomato originated (despite what the Italians say). What's that? Tomatoes don't grow on trees you say?

Then explain this------>

Now I've gone and opened a theological discussion completely off subject! (sigh)

So as tempted as I may be, this old boy knows better than to haul down to the local garden shop and pick up a few Beefmaster or Floramerica plants to get an early jump on growing season. Nope. Here in USDA Plant Hardiness Zone 6B, we don't stick annuals in the ground a minute before Mother's Day...unless you're wealthy enough to own your own greenhouse. Wow. There's a thought.

Now I know one of the first thing I'm doing after I win the lottery...

There are no complaint boxes...so just stop complaining.

July always brings the familiar to my little home town nestled in the mountains of East Tennessee...the Fourth parade down Center Street, fun on any one of the numerous surrounding lakes, the first ripe local tomatoes arriving, and of course, FunFest.

I'm sure those of you not from my little home town are wondering- What the heck is a FunFest? In most simple terms, FunFest is a community celebration about just being a community.

Now if that sounds a little too Beijing socialist or red communist to you, the definition of community is more akin to family and much less about government and sociological ideas when it comes to FunFest.

People from all aspects of the demographic scale come together, have fun and celebrate at the nine day event. Believe it or not, the three-decades running annual festival isn't centered around making money or the opportunity...well...there is ample opportunity...to participate. The headline concert this year was the Zac Brown Band, and tickets were just $15 inside the local high school's football stadium. Of course, you could do like me and my family and just sit outside the stadium and hear the music just as good.

Now believe me, I wasn't trying to get out of paying $15 to hear a band I couldn't name a single hit for. Plenty of people were excited about the concert, and tickets were sold out days before the Saturday night performance. I was just adhering to our family tradition of laying a tarp out along the main road (which is closed) and in front of the Taste of Tri-Cities smorgasbord of food vendors, sitting around with family and friends talking and having a good time, visiting with the number of other family and friends also gathered, eating, laughing and waiting for the event- ending fireworks display that closes the door on another year. It's just what we do...and I thank God we have the opportunity.

There are races and sporting competitions of every kind, a parade, dances for the young and elderly, an free outdoor movie for the whole family, pageants, smaller block parties, dinner shows, a morning and evening with a dozen or more hot-air balloons launching, a community medallion hunt, a food vending area for local restaurants, and all-in-all just a lot of good, wholesome fun with family and neighbors.

Even though the local temperatures soared into the upper 90's most of last week, people still flocked to events and had a great time. Most of the ticket is picked up by local businesses, and hoards of volunteers come out each year to take care of everything from traffic control to litter pick-up. Normally, my local town boast a population just north of 50K, but FunFest sees the city swell to over double that number as area communities join in on the event or some who have moved away return to vacation and catch up. It's a win-win situation for both residence and businesses of our friendly little town.

FunFest originated from an idea to unite the increasingly divided community of 1980 that was at odds over a number of political and social issues, and it has blossomed to success beyond all expectations from those plans 30 years ago. There are still a lot of things to gripe and moan about in the world these days. I'm just glad for at least one night each summer as FunFest comes to a close...all that seems a million miles away from my little home town.

Who's laughing at Al Gore now...

The Weather Channel has surpassed the Food Network and Speed Channel in viewership these past few months in the South...and that's darn near sacrilege round these parts!

One of the great pleasures about living in the Appalachian Mountains is the four distinct season of each calender year. After living in Hawaii for over 3 years, I started to miss the change in seasons that required more than just wearing a shirt or not wearing a shirt as the only gauge of differing. That applied to guys only of course...well, at least in most places.

(What's all this cold, white stuff?! Is this the Twilight Zone of something?!)

Coming back to East Tennessee that first fall was like a warm, blanketing hug from a relative you don't see very often when you visit. Cool crisp air, beautifully colored trees and layered clothing woke back up the hillbilly in me rather quickly.

Still...I nearly froze to death that first winter back.

Now that 20 years have past since my return, I've completely acclimatized to unpredictable springs, hot muggy summers, transitioning autumns and typically mild winters. I distinctly remember how unpredictable Spring can be because I left for Hawaii in April 1987 leaving behind better that a foot of snow. There was another big Spring snow in 1996 with over a foot and maybe one more since then that I can't quite pinpoint the year...but things like that just don't happen too often in the South...and that's a good thing because we lose our freakin' minds over the white stuff.

2010 has so far been a banner year in terms of snow fall. Now I know my Yankee...excuse me...Northern readers can't quite understand the big deal we make about a little snow. But there's a psychological phenomenon in the South know as White Panic (and no, there's no racial connotations associated, so stop stereotyping...it's just wrong).

At the first hint of a dusting in the long-range weather forecast...White Panic spreads. First, grocery stores are emptied of milk, bread and sandwich meats as people prepare for the oncoming natural disaster. Local hardware chains quickly sell out of generators, kerosene heaters and the half dozen or so snow shovels they stocked. Salt is again traded as a commodity on open markets as if the East India Trading Company were back in business on the high seas. That's the initial phase.

As the impending blizzard draws near, most all productive work not associated with storm preparation comes to a grinding halt. In most every building of business or industry, faces can be seen pressed against glass...posted as sentries to give warning of the first flake sighting. Most schools are closed as a precautionary measure because the safety of the children is vastly more important than the school calendar running into mid-June. White Panic is reaching a pinnacle stage.

SNOW! Immediately the skills required to differentiate when to press the gas pedal and the brake pedal are lost by large numbers of people...even those not yet driving or with no intention of driving in the near future. Workers area wide take to cars like pilots scrambling for cockpits during an air alert drill. The race for home/safety results in both gridlock and fender benders of biblical proportions (well, if there had been cars in the Bible). White Panic is now at fever pitch! Local economies shut down...lives hang in the balance.

Massive power outages result in a near simultaneous sliding of thermostats to the far right of the dial. White Panic creates a mindset that if electricity should be lost, better to start with a higher temperature inside, so it takes longer for the house to cool and hypothermia to take hold. Quilts and blankets from bridal and baby showers long past are pulled out of packaging to prepare for extra sources of warmth. Most people are overcome with deep regret for passing on the fireplace option while housebuilding. The finger pointing begins as tempers flare.

Teenagers are affected by White Panic in a more unique way as walls close in and claustrophobia runs unchecked. Power outages create a condition known as White Panic Zombie as teenagers sit in front of blank flat screens with gaming remotes in hand and thumbs clicking away...their minds incapable of grasping the lack of actual game action. Some are found by light switches caught in a loop of flipping on and off, again and again, incoherently frozen as the proverbial and literal light bulbs refuse to come on.

White Panic isn't pretty. Typically, Southerners only have to deal with the phenomenon once every 7 or 8 years. Sledding has been banned in a lot of communities in an effort to discourage snow wishes or dreams of white winter wonderlands. I'll bet you won't find an athlete in this years Winter Olympics from the South...we don't even watch the Winter Olympics is fear of spreading unnecessary panic if someone confused a scene from Vancouver with the local news. Yes, we remember Orson Wells and the War of the Worlds radio story...and we're not taking chances!

The cliche of the snowball in hell is not as popular in the South as other places for a couple of reasons. First, hell is a bad word. Second, snowballs are synonymous with that bad word down here. With snow in today's forecast...I'm sure there are a few other bad words flying around everywhere because this will be our fourth snow in less than two months!

This global warming thing is killing us down South...we just weren't prepared.

Support bacteria...they're the only culture some people have.

My teenager has been playing on a competitive soccer team now for about 5 years. As for me, I never played the game much less understood the concept of running around for over an hour to win or lose 1-0 and never legally hitting anyone...but then again, I spent my teenage years banging my head into other teenagers playing the football spelled with two o's.

Point goes to the current day teenager.

Playing on a travelling team has allowed us to play in soccer tournaments in other cities and take in the 'best of' what the host town offers. This past weekend was a revisit to the city of Asheville, North Carolina. Our prior visit a year ago was somewhat limited by an eleven month old in tow, so this year Mrs. Tony C wanted to experience the cultured downtown area on a weekend evening and expose our girls to a taste of the artsy side.

Now, I know some of you are trying to wrap your head around the words North Carolina, cultured, and artsy all in the same sentence, but downtown Asheville has really emerged as a mixing grounds of artist, musicians, locals and tourist...at least according to a visitor website I looked up.





Mrs. Tony C (reading from tourist brochure): Asheville skipped the urban renewal process that stripped the character from many down towns...

Tony C: Sounds eclectic (eye roll).

Mrs. Tony C: I'll bet the buildings are really old and beautiful. Didn't you always want to be an architect?

Tony C: Actually that's George Costanza...I wanted to be an astronaut...

Mrs. Tony C: Astronaut...architect...whatever. Sounds like an excellent place to expose the girls to a different cultural environment.

Tony C: So is a NASCAR race, but...

Mrs. Tony C: Tony! Don't start! We have an obligation in the educational process of our girls. We'll go downtown after the second game and walk around. I heard there's a great pizza place called the Mellow Mushroom downtown....sound okay?

Tony C: Sounds fantastically stoner...

Mrs. Tony C: Tony!


Point goes to Mrs. Tony C.


After conducting a drive-by to check out the downtown scene, I found a relatively close parking spot because it was still early. Navigating the 'renewed' streets of the downtown area was quite interesting and using the GPS on my Blackberry was no help. Finding our dining destination would require my innate sense of navigation....good thing I was along.

So we wondered around aimlessly in the downtown area while I tried to orient my internal compass for over an hour. Along the way, our girls were definitely exposed to a new cultural experience that included new vocabulary words, public marijuana smoking, three exposed breast, an impromptu phallic sculpture, and a crack ho...well...okay, I didn't actually see the crack, but she left no doubt about the ho part.


Point goes to Mrs. Tony C. (for educational experience).


Teenager: Is that art dad? (Pointing at street performer painted white head to toe)

Tony C: That's performance art dear.

Teenager: Is that art? (Pointing to sculpture of old junk parts)

Mrs. Tony C: That's welding metal art.

Tony C: A.K.A. lowbrow... (Hateful glance from Mrs. Tony C)

Teenager: A.K.A? What's that? Hey...is that art?

Tony C: A.K.A...also known as...and no, that's a lady breastfeeding...don't stare.

It was about this time I gave up on my internal GPS and asked directions from a lady with more facial piercings than I would have believed humanly possible. We were actually only a block or so away from the Mellow Mushroom...which turned out to be a pretty good place to eat. I was just a little paranoid about the green on top of our pizza, but turns out it was actually just oregano.


Point to Mrs. Tony C.


The walk back to the car was a pretty quick pace...especially when stuffed with pizza and soda. The near two-year old was completely worn out from a day in the sun, as was the teenager from a day on the field. I suddenly realized there were very few other people with strollers...very few...and all of them had the same look of astonishment I'm sure that adorned mine and my wife's face. Just before leaving the happening downtown area, we crossed one last performing artist. A well proportioned young lady in only a golden bodysuit and bright, white wig frozen in place.

Tony C: Remember what that's called?

Teenager: Performing art?

Tony C: Yes it is...let's give her a dollar and see what she does.

Mrs. Tony C: Tony! (real hateful glare)

Tony C: Second thought, let's get to the car before it gets dark...


Shut out once again.