Saturday, April 12, 2014, Baldwin County Strawberry Festival
Hi, again, Folks,
Well, we’re here at the Baldwin County Strawberry Festival. Got here early. Already the sun is beaming down, but a nice breeze is flowing through. Right now, the crowds are comparatively thin and the big draw is the car show. I say comparatively thin, because the large tract of field for parking spaces is already nearly full with more cars lined up. Traffic is at a standstill on the highway. We got here just in time. People tell us the crowds pack the sidewalks and open spaces by lunch time and are unbelievable by two or three in the afternoon.
Venders are already lined up in hedges of pavilions and food stalls in a large loop around the park and down crowded avenues. We’ve passed a really persistent barker twice for the games of chance. His stall is the one with the back wall filled with balloons and handy darts for folks to try their skill. But with all the food and shiny stuff for sale there are plenty enough tempters willing to separate us from our money. So we do a fast reconnaissance all around and in and out to catch the lay of the land, chat up a couple of friendlies, and mosey on over to the car show. (Shiny stuff).
Boy, you can really hear some man-talk at a car show. Trips down memory lane, showing off knowledge about cars that a man doesn’t get to talk about much anymore, competing for top billing on who can identify each oldie correctly, the year, the stuff that makes it go vroom-vroom . . . you get the picture. I love it. There is electricity in the air. People are communicating, laughing, having fun. There are few cell phones in evidence except for use as a camera and some die-hard teens.
Me, holding up a car and wearing my favorite Minion tee.
Now I’ll treat you antique car enthusiasts to what we saw at the car show. And at the end you can have some strawberry shortcake. (A picture, of course — sorry, Jo Ann).
This black Duster took us down memory lane. When I met Mike, the new had not rubbed off of his white ’73 340 Duster. That was one proud, lead-foot Georgia boy. I was a waitress at Shoney’s then. He had to show me his driver’s license before I would believe his name was Mike Smith, and he had to take me home to meet his Mom and Dad before I would fully believe that he was a nice, unmarried railroad man. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.
Sister Katie with her first favorite of the day.
Sister Katie with her next favorite of the day.
Hey! Don’t this look like ‘Mater?
Keepin’ this car spit shined. Yeah. He’s proud of it.
And HEEEERE’s your strawberry shortcake. Enjoy.