Hello. A view from the kitchen table...pretty yellow flowers growing...oh wait, that's a yard full of dandelions...how pretty! Hello Robin Redbreast!

Our journey to the Beale Street Music Festival in Memphis was quite an experience. It opened my eyes to a BIG festival, southern hospitality and mud. The festival fills Tom Lee Park which runs along the banks of the Mississippi River. Three massive stages and a big-ass tent played host to some of the top artists of today along with several veterans. I am involved with our local fest, Saturday in the Park, so I have an understanding of the effort that goes into producing such an event. As we strolled slack-jawed through the 33 acres of the Beale Street Festival, I took notice of things like staging, beer sales and clean up. The producers of this event are dealing with numbers that make their situation a lot tougher than ours. They have 4 stages compared to 2, 60 bands compared to 10, 115,000 fans compared to 25,000 and 3 days compared to 1 great day. Now I have a different perspective on our festival.

The people in Memphis must have missed the "southern hospitality" class. From the waitstaff in the bars to the people we bumped into at the park, they appear to have lost their personality in the Civil War. Maybe they treat foreigners worse than the home-boys. Have you ever noticed that a southern accent can make someone sound, well...stupid? What makes a person talk this way? As we tried to communicate with these folks, I wondered how people of European decent developed a language like this. I think a lot of the people who settled the South were of French descent. Mix French with African tongue and you have a lazy language that is very difficult to understand.

It began to rain about 11:00 pm Friday night and stopped Monday morning. Needless to say, this turned the park/river bottom into a sea of mud. This didn't slow the large crowd down at all. They all ate, drank and rocked-out like it was 80 degrees and sunny. I have never seen anything like it. Apparently these southern folk don't mind wallowing in mud while they enjoy their music. If the same circumstances were taking place 300 miles north, the park would have been near empty. But, when in Memphis, do as the Memphiseans.