Media & news

Getting to know people and talking about their interests is one of the most enjoyable things in a job and in life itself. Through the years, I have gotten to know one of our employees very well and have enjoyed numerous talks about rural Alabama, farm life, and, our common passion, bird hunting.

John Dean, Senior Video and Multimedia Coordinator, has been with PowerSouth almost three decades, and we have shared a number of stories. He grew up in south Alabama and has been an observer of human traits and behavior for years. This month, I offer two of John’s stories. They say a lot about a rural lifestyle and a slower and less stressful life than we currently live. I hope you enjoy them.

June

I hate June. It’s the longest month of the year. I know it only has 30 days, but it seems to last forever.

Plans for next bird season are as far away as memories of the last. Here in south Alabama the heat has arrived, just in time to meet the humidity. Both hang around the upper 90s. Diamondbacks, cottonmouths, copperheads and timber rattlers – everyone seems to have a story about a snake they’ve just seen, making training in the field not much of an option, even in the mornings. So many places that could provide a quick swim for the dogs also have a pair of eyes at the water’s surface, watching. So the dogs just wait.

They can’t tell stories about past seasons. They can’t join in conversations about plans for the coming year. They can’t read upland hunting magazines or watch hunting shows. Delmar Smith, Bill Tarrant and Gene Hill mean nothing to them. And so, they just wait. I’m pretty sure they hate June, too.

Peanut Rows

When I was young I heard my parents and grandparents mark time by observing changes around them. I didn’t really understand why they did that. We had calendars. We all knew what month and season it was. Why did they seem so excited when they noticed something that happens every year? As I’ve gotten older I’ve begun to understand. I catch myself doing the same thing now, pointing out the little signs that are evidence that things are about to change.

Always, my favorite example has been peanut rows. I would be riding up County Road 57, standing on the seat of Papa’s white 1964 Chevy step-side pickup, slightly behind his shoulder for safety, of course, and he would point out the window and say, “Look, the peanut rows are filling up.” Or, while riding with my family, dad driving, mom would point out to my sister and me how the peanut rows were starting to close in. We didn’t understand the excitement in her voice. Mom not only grew up on a farm, but she had worked at the Soil Conservation Office helping farmers with their peanut allotments, so she noticed agricultural things that most ladies might not have.

For those of us who live along the Gulf Coast, the dog days of summer are oppressive. The dogs want to play, and we want to play with them. But between the heat, humidity, mosquitoes, and snakes, there’s very little incentive to go outside. The summers are long. Pop-up thunderstorms are common. And have I mentioned the humidity? So often, we will head out with the dogs, a handful of retrieving dummies and a fair amount of enthusiasm. Within a few minutes, we’re headed back inside with tongues dragging, the dogs’ and mine.

The other day I noticed the peanut rows were getting closer together. You know that time of year when the weather first turns cool, how young dogs have a little extra spring in their legs, a little longer gait, and their ears sit higher on their head? That’s how I get when I see the peanut rows starting to fill up. It is visual evidence that, soon, things will change.

There will be the smell of freshly dug green peanuts in the air, a smell that only lasts for a few weeks and you have to experience it to appreciate it. College football will start soon, along with dove shoots, pumpkin pie, slightly cooler weather, boiled peanuts, the sound of the high school band practicing in the distance, the race at Talladega, and the walk from my truck into work without breaking a sweat. Bucks will run around sporting their newest set of antlers. In the late afternoon, you might faintly hear a quail calling in the distance.

Those are the instruments that play the prelude to autumn. Unless you are one of those nutty beach people who like to sit in the white sand, eyes squinted from the glare of the sun while being baked in hot, salty air, the season after August is the happiest time of year.

So plan your fall well. But, you better hurry; the peanut rows are filling up.

I hope you have a good month.