(AKA: what every Hollywood movie makes Texas out to be)
Preface: Kjersti and I went to the Smithville Jamboree the other night with a few friends who, in fact, grew up in Smithville.
Some of you may be thinking, Smithville?! Of course, the town where they filmed Hope Floats! However, the realistic chance that that thought even skimmed the surface of your mind is doubtful. The only people in the world who know that Hope Floats was filmed in Smithville, are the folks from Smithville holding onto that achievement for dear life.
“Well howdy there, I’m Joy, and you’re?”
“Oh hi, I’m Kasey”
“You ain’t from Smithville are ya? I woulda recognized ya. You mighta heard of Smithville because Hope Floats was filmed here, didya know?”
“Yes, so I’ve heard.”
Basically that about wraps up the extent of the dialogue for the night. Feel free to replace Joy for Bud, Cletus, or Angel and there you go.
Anyways, when we showed up to our buddy’s house he explained to us how big this Jamboree was and how we could meet at the shuttle stop and it would pick us up. And by meet, he meant walk 50 yards around the corner to his old high school (Go Tigers!) and ride the short bus the next 50 yards to the event of the season. Smithville High School: complete with two sets of bleachers, four lane track, and a “No Solisitors” sign to boot (that’s not a spelling error-Texans are just that, Texans-making it completely acceptable to change the alphabet if Coach Buck sees fit).
After the initial shuttle driver shafted us because his shuttle was “too full” (Texas Lingo: “too full” translates to: “Yankees…how dare you pile onto this shuttle without an oversized, rhinestone-embossed belt buckle and a matching one for your baby?!”) we caught the next one with the friendlier bus driver who very pleasantly welcomed us on his shuttle. How fortuitous that we were able to catch the driver who suffered from slight mental confusion and visual impairment (Which has only been linked 98% with the over consumption of moonshine).
Following the crowd of eager Smithville Natives, I stopped a moment to take a deep breath of that hot, smoky, Texas air. After a few seconds however, I made the moral decision that breathing, although necessary, would have to be kept to a minimum because I knew in my heart I was justifying the second-hand high from the group of teenagers behind me. Although, after I realized it was the teenagers with a few of their teachers and the local sheriff I felt better about it, but that is neither here nor there.
We danced, ate, (incidentally, you can fry anything imaginable…snickers, oreos, baby formula: sky’s the limit!) sang, and danced some more. I learned about “Arm-a-dill-a-hunin” (Armadillo hunting), passam trats (Opossum traps), not to mention a certain kind of wood that ferments alcohol…(Mom, Dad, how could you let me go through life so sheltered?).
Did I mention Aaron Watson performed? Probably not considering 95% of the individuals reading this only know of one Aaron and he’s probably never even thought the words, “breaker breaker” (Love you cuz). Either way, he was great, Smithville was great, and all I can say is that I’ve already began to prepare for next year.
-Platinum Blonde Hair dye: check (if I use it now by about this time next year my roots will be Smithville-ready)
-Flannel button-up from a box labeled “FREE”: still en route
-An obscenely high tolerance to any of the following: Lonestar, Natural Light, OR Keystone: Will keep you posted
Oh it’s gonna be good
*tumbleweeds, pregnant women smoking, and everything else you could ever dream of