At a Winery in Trump Country
My first traveling visit of the COVID Pandemic occurred this past month (May 2021).
It was a big damned deal, especially because I had a violent cough from newly-discovered South Texas mold allergies. Mold counts in the air had swelled after an epic amount of rain fell over the spring. When I got on the plane to fly to Atlanta, I had one of my coughing fits that required an inhaler to quell. And I felt like Patient Zero or Typhoid Mary whilst hacking and choking on that plane, with all those leery people staring at me. So that was (not) fun.
Several days into the visit -- to see a friend I'd known since we lived and worked in Little Rock, Arkansas, together, and who now lived in Decatur, an Atlanta suburb -- we headed north of town to visit a winery. (Who knew Georgia had wineries? Not this adopted Texan.)
Speaking of Texas, any time it came up in conversation, my friend was not amused. She carries what I would call a surprisingly common, virulent state-wide revulsion by Arkansans for Texas, a kind of viral infection of hatred for Texas. I was never sure how this infection got acquired. She's not the only one of my friends who has it; I myself had it most of my life, but after a year or so of living in Texas, that revulsive mindset was eradicated. Now, I embrace my new, big-old-braggadocio home state. My friend took on a bodily tension and a weird smirk any time Texas came up. I didn’t poke at that much; I could enjoy Texas without her condemnation and judgment. But she most seemed to resent the sense of pride most Texans have for their state. Well, at least they can point to real things that are Texan and known for being Texan. Their bragging rights need no introduction, do they? If they do, here are some: Texas Primer on the Texas Brag
When we got to the Feather's Edge winery, we sat down with a bottle of rosé and some cheese and cherries, and listened to some passable local country musicians. The wine was good, and the label was charming.
But the location ... not-so-much.
I've written previously about “outside the perimeter” around Atlanta (ITP and OTP Atlanta Style), and this winery was well outside it, so we saw plenty of Trump 2020 signs still up, which irritated me and stirred a sense of despair if I thought about it at all. There were also plenty of “my god this and that” signs, too.
It made me #grateful to live in a CATHOLIC city in Texas, not an evangelical one ... because non-evangelical religions don't need to preen and posture and point as much as the Americana ones do. In those random Trumpian displays and reminders of all the judgy types lurking in the surrounding countryside (and with glimmers of the coming disclosures of Trump's election racketeering), I was deeply and honestly glad to be from elsewhere, where the wackadoodlery was a little less vocal and a little less sure of themselves.
It reminded me that mature minds are much better at enduring uncertainty than less mature ones.
My favorite kind of knowledge is the provisional kind.
