Anyway ... You know how when you go on a camping trip, there is always something you forget. And when you get back, there is always something you have lost.

Second day into the BamaJam camping adventure and the husband realizes he has no socks. We get Max O, the photographer at the paper, to make a swing by the house on the way. MY coworker goes out to our house to get MY husband’s socks.

Anything to keep the husband happy. And he is.

When we get back home about mid-day, and after unpacking, mowing, doing a load of wash and getting ready to come into work, I realize I have lost my brush.

I search the camper, the bags, the kitchen. I backtrack my steps and try a few more places in the RV.

“I have lost my round hairbrush,” I tell the husband. “Have you seen it?”

Heavy, heavy with sarcasm comes the response.

“No, baby, I am sooo sorry, but I have not seen your round hair brush. Did you look in the camper?”

“Of course I looked in the camper. I looked twice in the camper. I looked on the ground to and from the camper. I looked in the dirty clothes, in the bathroom, in the garage. I looked everywhere I have been since I last saw it. I looked places I haven’t been. I looked everywhere. Yes, I looked in the camper.”

Let me point out my aggravation. When HE forgot HIS socks, I made a call to MY co-worker and we got HIM some socks, by george. But my round hairbrush comes up lost and it is not quite so important. It is laughable, he thinks, how seriously I am searching.

“Maybe you left it at BamaJam,” he says from the recliner, the remote in hand and the air blowing 68 cold degrees in his face.

“I’m going to work,” I say.

“Bye, baby.” There is still some laughter in his voice.

“Oh, baby,” he adds. “Are you gonna put up the lawn mower?”

“I thought you were gonna finish the yard?” I ask.

“It’s just too hot,” he says, yawning as I head out the door. “Would you bring me something to eat?”

Got packed up and rode around, talked to some cleanup people—the moms (mostly) of Enterprise High School basketball players—who did the deed to raise funds for the basketball program. There was trash a plenty—mostly beer cans and water bottles, but not near as bad as you might think.

We took our time riding around and made as much noise as we could going back to our little spot in the woods on the corner of the campgrounds. It is payback, you understand. You were loud LAST night, now it’s our turn. Most of the folks already out or packing up at 9 were, uh, us older fans. The kids hung in, including the two in the tent that snuck in right by our trailer hitch sometime Friday night. I can’t recall where they were from. A 10 license plate and an Auburn shirt.

Finally had to rouse them. Gotta go!!

Headed straight to Ozark on Highway 27. What a great motorcycle ridin’ road. No traffic at all. Went straight to Inland and dumped the .... you know. Think of that movie, was it Christmas Vacation with Randy Quaid where he dumped the _____er in the city drain. Well, the husband wasn’t in his robe, but the Wards be lookin’ rough this morning.

The dirty deed done, we pulled into Braxton Bend in Dothan a little after 10:30 and started unloading. Packing up is not fun. Unpacking is less so.

The new kitty, Chloe, was happy to see us. Her pooper needed dumping too..... and things looked pretty much like we left them. Husband is busy with all kinds of outside tasks. I’ve done a load of wash, but had to mow under the clothes line before I could get to it.

Yeah, didn’t expect all that rain while we were gone. NOT!  I know, who hangs clothes out anymore? Well, I do. I am sure most neighborhoods, including mine, prohibit it, but show me some green. I am preserving electricity. Today, only, I worship the sun which I have spent three days cursing, as my tank tops and underwear flap in the breeze. BREEZE?! That’s humidity.

So I get outside to the mower and what happens? I get in fire ants. I go the whole weekend in Ethiopia without a bite and in my own back yard I am attacked like a small dog. In my own back yard.

Alright. This party is over. Hittin’ the oh-my-god-how-wonderful-is-this showers. Then, I go to work and type obituaries. Somebody remind me how much I like doing this, please. Today, I need reminding.

Cya

People are funny. Intoxicated and otherwise. The things we complain about—hey, I know I mean me too—things that bother us. I have often found it is the little aggravations.

How many times over the last few months have I started a sentence to the husband, “You know, it really bothers me when you ....”

His answer: “Why don’t you make a list of the things that don’t bother you. That would be easier.”

I couldn’t think of any. It has become a standing joke between us, but the husband, who’s name is Mark, is actually a pretty good guy. And he has been a good sport about all this blogging stuff. Me picking on him, beating him up as he calls it. I admit it. I have been harsh. There’s love between the lines. I assure you.

“Pretty good?” he reads over my shoulder. “A pretty good guy?”

OK, we don’t wanna go overboard.

“Honey,” I explain. “I can’t make you sound that good or I’ll be fighting off the rival women.”

These seems to satisfy him.

Wanted to share a few tid-bits with you.

I am always amazed at the things people will tell a newspaper reporter. I was interviewing folks about how much money they spent on the weekend and one guy from Florida calculated thus and such:

“Sixty dollars for gas, $120 for a ticket ....,” he is counting on his fingers .... “Fifty dollars for beer, $120 for pot, $50 for food ....”

Wait. Did he say pot?

I look at his fellow campers who are from all over. Cousins and the cousin’s girlfriend from Albeeny.

“Uh, he’s not with us,” they say by way of explanation. “We just met him.”

“He just walked up before you did,” the cousin offers.

“We don’t know him.”

There were, I heard, about 18 arrests for drugs. I smelled a little weed on occasion as I passed through the Alternative Stage crowd.

Last night during the Bocephus show .... I just have to wonder what the two guys behind us will tell their friends who couldn’t come. I assure you, their recollections are clouded. One dude kept calling for his mother and his favorite word of the night was the F bomb. Even when Hank was talking, he F-ed this and F-ed that.

There was an injury. “My F-in’ toe! My F-in’ toe! It’s broke!”

As the night drug on, he leaned over to the girl in the bunch, seated quietly in a chair and said sternly:

“You gotta find you F-in’ sister-in-law. We got two beers left! Two!”

He held up a peace sign, then changed it to an 11.

“Two!” he persisted.

No response.

“Hank! Woooooo!”

Hank Jr. was phenomenol. He laughed and smiled and cut up and sang and sang and sang. He looked like he was having the time of his life. And why not, this is his sweet home Alabama, too.

OK, the Wards are packed up as best we can --can’t hook up the camper with tents in the way—and we are headin’ up to the action to see what’s going on… if there is clean-up or pack up, and maybe I can get a BamaJam shirt. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any tank tops. I like to collect these over T-shirts. I won’t wear a T. But the tanks I love..... Maybe in brown. Chocolate brown.

Cya when I get back.

Hank Jr. and his bad, bad ways ... R-O-C-K-S!

It’s midnight. He played a long set. About an hour and a half. Started early. Big crowd. Sleepy and tired.

Hank did say he is playing 20 shows this year. This was number 18. Said he can play where he wants to. His people give him a list and he checks off where he will play.

“I wanted to be in Enterprise, Alabama!” he screams to the delight of the crowd. “I don’t wanna go to Cleveland!”

He played some Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis and Waylon Jennings too. He also gave shout outs to Banks, Alabama, and Troy University girls. We had a few other young ladies down front giving shout outs of their own too. The video cameras caught their flashes and flashed it on the big screen.

Lots of traffic.... Just got a text from Peggy. Her and the hubby are headed back to Dothan. There’s a road block at Highway 27 and Shell Field Road. State troopers had two handcuffed. Text your driving and drinking friends. Tell ‘em to stay put or find a driver.... There’s avoiding jail and then there’s saving lives.

Goodnight, rowdy friends. We are settling down .... for the night.

Cya

Is that an appropriate response for the Lynyrd Skynyrd performance me and 100,000 of my closest new friends just saw?

It hardly begins to explain what I cannot.

I leaned over during the show and told the husband if Ronnie Van Zant’s little brother had asked us to go to Washington and demand changes, we would have. Had he asked us to go to Saudi Arabia and demand more oil, we would have. Vote independent? Sure. He had that much of a grip on this crowd.

We stood ready. I told the husband I was sure I wanted a rebel flag in the front yard now. I was sure of it, I tell you.

LS put on an outstanding hour-and-a-half show that was shoulder to shoulder. The crowd went wild and sang along with “Sweet Home Alabama,” “Tuesday’s Gone,” and “Simple Man,” which the band dedicated to the troops.

A half dozen rebel flags flapped in the breeze as Van Zant took a big flag on stage and wrapped his microphone stand with it. I am telling ya, it was a Southern moment of pride, with cigarette lighters glowing in the dark.

For a moment, I was back in the ‘70s doing those things we did in the ‘70s and with little regrets or apologies. We were young again and looking for a good time. For that, we thank the band.

But it was the band who thanked us, the fans. “Thanks for keeping the music alive all these years!” Van Zant said.

LS is one of those great, classic Southern rock bands that has transcended generational lines. The husband and I commented on the number of young people in the crowd. Twenty-something year olds who were not alive for the original Skynyrd, yet they have kept the music alive.

My teenaged daughter is always amazed when I know a song she knows. Then I tell her that band was around back then or the song is a remake. As teens are prone to do, she argues the point.

Back to the present: The band left the stage at 9 and came back in a flash for what ended up being a 30-minute encore of “Free Bird.” The song turned into a memorial for former band members who died 30 years ago in a plane crash in Mississippi.

People are moved. Having a great time and getting’ ready for Hank.

Wish you were here jamin’ with us!!

As I like to put it, I am passionate about my work. The husband often thinks I am a little bit whacked.

Anyway, thanks for listening. I am about to head back out and interview folks for a man on the street story for tomorrow’s print edition. I am not looking forward to it because it’s 96 degrees out there. I wish I could remember if I have had a shower today. I feel so sticky and dirty and, uh ... buggy.

Whitney from the paper came out Friday and is headin’ back this way. She is the guru of all things Internet and she’s posting photos and video, from the Main Stage field, amid the fans. Her 5-year-old daughter curled up in a chair last night. The child slept through ZZ Top, but it was a long night, after a long, hot day for everybody.

That’s one of the great things here. The evenings are so pleasant and cool. The dust remains but you can’t see it so well. And the dust is on the roads, not around the entertainment. I have found if you tilt your head just so, late at night the dust takes on a surreal look. You might mistake it for fog or a mist. Think tropics… Think hard. OK, go stand under the mister and think tropics. OK, go get one of those non-alcoholic Pina Colada’s in a coconut nut head, stand under the mister, and think tropics.

(The husband got one yesterday. Ridiculous. Grown 6-foot, 6-inch man walking around with a coconut monkey head lookin’ thing. With a straw. Like he’s sucking it’s brains out.)

I just met Peggy and Paul at the main gate. Peggy is the one who’s been getting all those great interviews with the entertainers this week. Ricky Skaggs, even! Anyway, we are all snapping at each other too. We are hot and irritable, I tell you. Ready to settle down for a little light listening. Oh, wait. This is LYNYRD SKYNYRD NIGHT!!!

City editor Kendall is over here too somewhere. And Max O the photographer is back. Yesterday he walked ALL THE WAY from the stages to our trailer. A long, long walk. He’s young, though. Max has taken on this assignment with great enthusiasm. It’s not quite what the WWE is to our new reporter, Greg, but Max loves to shoot concerts after dark. Plenty of that here.

OK, a few more folks to interview, then the work, work part of this gig is over ... for today anyway. Will tell you about the shows later on.

Miss you and wish you were here.

Get it all out there. Tell somebody how you feel, express yourself to them directly, then get on with what you got to do.

Twice this week Ronnie has been pissed at me .... ok, not really pissed .... but he has chatted with me about coverage. Today the issue is the ticket story on today’s front page of the Eagle. Ronnie has not seen today’s paper, mind you, but is going on what he has been told. And people have been telling him that I am killing him, hammering him on the front page.

As a news reporter, I work for a news organization whose goal it is to report. When I find an issue that people complain about, or they jump up and down about ... that dear readers, is news. Yesterday, besides the heat, there was an issue, a general grumbling about having to buy drink and beverage tickets. In other words, a beer is 5 tickets, or $3.13. Vendors don’t take cash. They take tickets.

I quoted people complaining. I quoted Billy Graham talking about it. I quoted people who said, what’s the big deal, but perhaps because the headline read “Ticket system causes stir,” WHICH IS ACCURATE, then I am giving negative publicity.

Ronnie and I went back to his motor home and talked about it.

We both raised our voices, but we both talk loud anyway. It was intense. But that is a NICE motor home.

“Have you seen the blog? Have you read the stories?” I asked.

No. He’s been pretty busy, uh, putting on the event of the year down here in Coffee County which will most likely draw 100,000 people. He and many of his right-hand people are surviving on less than 4 hours of sleep each night. Who has time to look at the paper or go online.

Anyway, we talked it out and got over it. I shared with him my question of the day, provided by Debbie T. from Wiregrass Live: On a scale of 1-10, rate BamaJam. The lowest score so far, an 8. Second question, how likely are you to come back next year? The lowest score so far, a 9.5.

We high-fived it a few times as I congratulated him on the success. And this is it, folks. A successful festival. And we parted intact—as reporter and developer. Not friends but in our separate roles that must not be crossed. We are interviewer and successful businessman who is interviewed.

To maintain that status, the Eagle news staff does not accept free tickets to BamaJam. We buy our own.

I’m sorry I have to vent so on this, but its countless, the number of times someone says, well, the story just “makes it sound like, blah, blah, blah.” Key words here would be “makes it sound like.” Read the words, please, and don’t read anything else. The facts are there.

And it is never a journalist’s job to take a personal interest in many things. I am the reporter, writing what I see and recording what people tell me. That’s all I can do, folks.

Now get your butts out here tonight! This is THE event of the year, I tell you!!!

Cya

Because of the weather and some earlier confusion, the dehydration and heat stroke risk, Ronnie Gilley just told me there is a new rule.

Bring in your water ... as much as possible. As much as you want.

It might tick off the vendors, who are selling it he says, but Ronnie wants to be sure everybody is hydrated. “If the vendors get mad, they don’t have to come back next year.”

“I’ve got 81,000 people out here,” he said an hour ago, referring to Friday night’s tally. “I want everybody to have water.”

So much so that staffers are driving around on carts loaded up with water on ice and they are giving it away to anybody who wants it. So, look for the mule vehicles or ask somebody ... hey, where’s the free water?

There are misters ... poles with sprinklers on top, to the far side of the saloon, and there are misters near the Kids Zone areas. They also have one of those things you can slide through that has water running through it. I think that is probably for kids, but what the hey!

We have our chairs moved out front for tonight’s shows. It was fast filling up two hours ago even though nobody started playing on the main stage until 4:15.

This is the biggest, hottest (IN MANY WAYS) event of the year!! Come on out…

Cya

BamaJam is a music and arts festival and the quality of the music here leads one to believe this is not Coffee County, Alabama. Can you image? ZZ Top, Hank Jr., Trace Adkins, Miranda Lambert, Ralph Stanley, Ricky Skaggs, Randy Owen, Old Crow Medicine Show, Gov’t Mule IN A FIELD IN COFFEE COUNTY!?

It is the reason to be here,obviously. I do find it, uh, oddly interesting, that when we returned to the campgrounds around 11:30 last night, there are folks sitting around in camp like they been here all day. Yes, you can hear the music from here, but not when all three stages are going at once and then, a half mile across a field, you do miss the experience. THE experience.

Whatever.

Anyway, wanted to report that this new band, Houston County, is pretty good. Unfortunately, the sound system failed them. The music was good, but theirs was the only act I heard in two days, where the sound was not right. It was some sort of connection problem and the lead singer’s vocals was a wash-out. So much so that he sang the song again, but the sound was still not 100 percent.

Ronnie Gilley, the man himself, then took to the stage with them and did an Elvis impersonation, without the sideburns, but he did give out a few brightly colored scarves to some pretty girls and there were plenty of those down front. And he wore the big, funky glasses. I thought to see the white, studded jumpsuit, but to no avail..... Ronnie in a jumpsuit? ha! Wait .... any man in a jumpsuit? Any man but Elvis in a jumpsuit?

Anyway, he also sang his single out on Bandit Records, “Shortcut Home.” It was obvious the dreamer of all that is BamaJam and Country Crossing, had a good time.

It was unlucky about the sound failure for Houston County, but the Gilley folks will see to it that this new group has plenty of other opportunities to be heard. Got a shot of a little girl with a sign that read, “Houston County is my dad.” There is a real family feel over here. And I hear only two arrests for underage drinking. That’s pretty good.

Tracy Lawrence and Trace Adkins put on a good show last night too. I saw Lawrence play at the Dothan Civic Center about three years ago, right after “Paint me a Birmingham” came out. You know what, I don’t think I heard that last night, but I was blogging on site, with TECHNOLOGICAL problems (that could be solved with a more current computer I am sure), and didn’t RELAX for the show. Type A, what can I say.

And to my friend, Janet in Ozark, who wanted to know about Trace. Yes, honey, the man can wear a pair of jeans. Yes! Yes! Yes! “Be donkey, donk.”

ZZ TOP is beyond description. I have never seen the band but my gosh, these guys have been around since I was in high school. Say they were 30ish then, and I’ve been out of school 32 years. They gotta be 60 and rockin’ like the years have been nothing but fun. The lead singer also told a few entertaining tales as an intro to every song. The crowd love it.

I was glad to have the binoculars. It was cool to see the guys close up. I kept wondering if their beards were real and what they REALLY look like. The husband said “Of course they are real,” and was once-again aggravated that he married a journalist.

ZZ Top front men wore these cool black caps, turned backwards with shiny shades on top. The Texas boys in black are just so dang cooool!!! I have never seen them in concert before. They also had an awesome light and video show.

Music continues today closing out with Rowdy Friends of Hank Jr. tonight.

Campers are still coming in and those in today are getting premium spots. That’s right, the late comers get the woods. That’s backwards, but oh well. I understand, they wanted to fill in the bulk of the campground first.

OK, had one crappy cup of coffee..... WHO BOUGHT THE FOLGERS?

“It’s gourmet Folgers,” the husband says.

Gourmet and Folgers do not go together.

And then I have my mocha Java Monster. I reach for my ice cold diet Coke and what do I find? What do I find? No ice cold diet Coke. Seems the HUSBAND, aka Media Assistant who is walking around here wearing my press pass like he is SOMEBODY, and enjoying the heck out of it, ... the assistant forgot to restock the fridge last night.

“Forgot?” he says. “You are the one who drinks them!! Am I the inventory keeper? Do I look like I am in charge of stocking? Am I the stock boy?” Am I the stock boy?”

“Are you or are you not the media assistant?” I ask.

Silent standoff.

“Do you want me to strip you of your badge?”

His answer is unpublishable.

DC in the freezer ... I hope I hope I don’t forget it!! Or there’s gonna be trouble and I’m gonna have to find a way to blame the husband.

Note of explanation: Since I quit drinking two years ago, and my beverage of choice was beer in a can, I have substituted diet Coke in a can as my wild party drink! Must be in a can. No bottles. No cups of ice. It is a mental game, I guess. Or else I am just addicted to aluminum.

OK, the husband is reading the morning paper on oil prices and just said somebody needs to be shot .... can you say Revolution??? His business is transportation. He ain’t jamin’. He fumin’.

Cya

Pack up and go home? Kill him? Make life miserable for him? Ok, some things are within reason.

I have thought to maybe round up just 1 percent of all the grasshoppers in the campground and blend them with his morning protein powder drink. More protein, right? Right personal trainer Joe?  I am thinking something like locusts and the plague. Something biblical and justified. Anyway, I wonder if, as more people have moved into the campgrounds, man has shifted the pests toward the woods. That is, over our way.

I know you wish I’d shut up already about it. The grasshoppers. It’s just nothing you can imagine. I’d like to ask for a miracle and see the grasshoppers turned into ice or water.

Normally when the husband and I camp, we are on a pure vacation or we have the Harley in the back and there will be riding involved. Florida is usually also involved. We opted to leave the bike at home this time and it was just as well.... I got too much to do and the elements are not that conducive to riding.

The husband just mumbled something about how I need to try and have more fun today and if we HAD the bike then we could relax a bit. There’s something about the sun and the wind and the open road. Can anybody scream “Free bird?!”

Closely confined quarters sure has a way of bringing a couple closer.

“Did you bring your ‘pills?’” the husband asks.

Mean, ugly look.

“Did you TAKE them?” he persists.

“Why don’t you go meet some new friends,” I instruct.

He lights up another cigarette. He’s been smoking a lot the last two days. I hope all the smokers are careful.... this field could go up like a fat lighter house.

I open the camper door to ask him if “fat lighter” is indeed the right word. If that’s what you use to make fires with. He is visiting with the newest neighbor who set up shortly before midnight last night. The couple from Columbus, Ga., slept in a tent.

“Hey, baby! Cousin here!” he yells excitedly, pointing to a short guy in a red T-shirt.

“Trey Ward,” he says. “Cousin Ward!”

That’s nice baby. They are comparing Dodge trucks. Talking engines and things under the hood and gas mileage and such.

I duck back inside.

“Be sure and close that door,” I hear just before the door slams.

Yep. Closely confined quarters alright.