I’ve been embroidering hats for days now. That’s basically all I do. Answer emails and embroider. Which isn’t a bad gig, all considered. I think I’ve embroidered this RTMG logo close to 1000 times. In fact, I’m sure of it.
One question I always get asked by people when I go somewhere: where are you from? And, the follow-up question: so what’s Arkansas like? Well, in my opinion, it’s one of the most beautiful places on Earth (our corner of the state, at least). I mean, I’m probably just slightly biased, seeing how it’s been my home for 23 years now. But, I’m pretty sure there’s some truth to my statement.
There are two pictures of Arkansas that I can paint though. My best option is the quaint, quiet Southern charm. Like the fact that every Sunday, my grandpa stands up at the pulpit to preach at our small Baptist church.
Or, the fact that I am part of the 6th generation in our family to go to that small Baptist church. Or that we currently have farm fresh eggs in our fridge. That my parents were taught by the same teachers that taught me in school. That our family farm is over 100 years old. That we live in a place with a stretch of blue skies and fields with cows grazing in them. That’s the Arkansas that I like to tell people about.
But, what about hillbillies and do you wear shoes? Well, there’s that Arkansas too. Like the fact that there’s currently a piece of exercise equipment on the front porch (very temporarily, but still: exercise equipment outside = the ultimate redneck). Or, that I saw this guy in traffic the other day.
Or the fact that my mom was driving home from work last week and saw a drunk driver. On a horse. Apparently, a woman had a little too much to drink and decided to saddle up and head to town. Later, driving by, there was a wreck. I guess she got confused on which way she was going and ran into a car that was driving slowly by. A drunken horse wreck. Yep, I guess that’s Arkansas too.
When I came by this wreck, I saw one of the guys on the local fire department directing traffic. And I said: I hope he’s at church on Sunday (because in Arkansas, you go to church with everyone in town) so that I can get the whole story. But, lo and behold, who showed up on the front porch on Saturday morning? The same guy. Because in Arkansas, people stop by for a visit without telling you they’re coming. I love that about small towns. No need to call and see if you’ll be home. You’ll be there. So, I got all the details I needed about the drunk lady on the horse. Lesson learned: don’t drink and ride. Oh, Arkansas, I gotta love ya!