Merrill Mountain
The South is a lot of things. It is diverse, beautiful, brutal, and kind. But, there are moments where you can see with clear eyes the inherent utopia in the Southern way. It is there. One of those moments happened this week at a Memorial Day gathering of old friends at a farm on a mountain outside of Guntersville, a beautiful place, God’s country. My wife and I were on the last leg of our overlanding trip across the state and I found what I’d always been looking for, which, as it usually is, was right in front of me.
Jerry is a machinist who owns a successful engraving business in Huntsville, Alabama. I’ve know him for almost 25 years and I met him in a moment when I was shaking off the trauma of my childhood. He is my model for masculinity and I admire him very much. I met him through his son, Jason, whom I’ve talked about in other places. Jerry is the type of person who is so influential, but quietly in his own loud opinionated way. People seek out his advice and his counsel, his friendship, and really his care.
He built a passive solar house on his farm that my wife, Robyn, absolutely fell in love with. It’s really cool and creative and has an open air column in the center for air and heat circulation. The farm is 90 acres and covers much of the east side of Merrill Mountain. He shares the property with his children and Al, a friend of close to 60 years. and his wife, Lynn . Al and his wife are Black.
Jerry’s politics can most accurately be described as Fordist liberal. Tax and spend, welfare state, education, etc, an approach that is rapidly making a comeback. His wife, Kay is a Trump supporter, mostly because of abortion. Kay is a devout Christian, while Jerry hates church, well not hates exactly, but not for him.
We arrived the night before Memorial Day and talked about life and family and politics with Jerry while Kay was at work. I told Jerry that my father had killed himself. I knew the next day would be all work because if you go to Jerry’s farm, you will work. So we woke up early and helped Jerry and Kay get ready for the get together. People began arriving and the men worked outside lifting heavy shit and the women cooked. I went into the kitchen mostly because you get the greatest nuggets listening to women in the kitchen.
Lynn was clearly in charge. I haven’t been in many Black women’s kitchens in my life, but there was something definitely different about her kitchen as opposed to the one’s that I’m used to. There was a slight awkwardness about it; no so much uncomfortable, but kinda like “ok, I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but I like it.” Robyn was just vibing and it was clear that she was comfortable in a Black woman’s kitchen. This may seem like a great antiracist accomplishment, but it’s really because of privilege. She’s Vanderbilt educated in anthropology and knows how to read a room, especially a room of Black women in the South. Kay popped in from working outside and said she didn’t like vinegar in the potato salad. Yes, race was there, but it was something different. It was worthy of celebration, not divisiveness. Was there power? Of course, there always is, but that power was rooted not in political ideologies or being right; it was rooted in the bonds of relationships forged not over days, weeks, months, or even years, but over a lifetime.
Jerry pulled me aside to ask if I was alright about my father. I told him that I was estranged from my family because I would not live the rest of my life sweeping that man’s evil deeds under the rug. Jerry told me, “you can’t choose your parents, but you can choose to not be them.” A year of counseling, and Jerry brings peace to my soul in 13 words.
We ate and I DJ’d playing Gary Clark, Jr. Both Al and Jerry asked me who it was at separate moments and I think they said that it reminded them of the same artist, though I’m not sure that I remember that correctly. Can you imagine the power in that friendship, a Black and white boomer who’ve been friends since they were nine years old? Can you imagine what they’ve seen together and what they’ve experienced together? It’s a treasure and it’s fucking rare as chicken’s teeth.
The family that Jerry and Kay and Al and Lynn have built together is what the South could be. There are Trump supporters, white liberals, Black people, and even a dyed in the wool revolutionary, but none of that shit matters. All that matters is the relationships forged over decades of life and death, of being there for each other no matter what the odds or obstacles. That my friends is the utopia of the Southern way, and I never wanted to leave.