We went to a tractor parade, also known as The Cotton Gin Festival, a few weekends ago. I watched approximately one hundred and twenty-four shiny tractors roll down the middle of Main Street with happy farmers at the wheel, their families tucked in wooden wagons/trailers being pulled behind. We ate barbecue and funnel cakes and perused crafts made out of old Mason jars and heard gospel music and saw people playing banjos like their lives depended on it. It was quintessential Americana and I can't deny that I loved it a little bit.
I had Sam on my hip while the parade went by and I watched him as he watched those tractors with an "all my dreams are coming true" look on his face. Well, maybe that's overstating it, but he was kind of entranced. I'm pretty sure I witnessed his mind being blown by that motorcade of tractors puttering by for a half an hour. Seemingly, every farmer within fifty miles showed up to proudly ride his vintage tractor through town. They probably also came for the boiled peanuts and the handknit afghans.
Now, I kind of want a tractor. A big red one with a comfy seat and an umbrella cover to keep the sun off my delicate (read: pale), southern complexion.
I also want a lifetime supply of funnel cakes. Covered in powdered sugar, if you please.
And that was our uber southern Saturday.
Here's to tractor parades, buckets of sweet tea, Mason jar crafts, funnel cakes, and boiled peanuts.