Keeping Up with the Jones...or Dwayne and Darryl

Cassville, as you all know by now, is an unincorporated area. For those of you who don't know what that means, it essentially means we are not a city with its own government. We fall under the auspices of the city of Cartersville, much to the sorrow of Cassville natives. We'd rather be tied to a place that is more our speed, like Kingston or White. You know, places that only have one blinking red light, all the cops are nicknamed "June Bug" or "Doc" and being out past 10:00 is late. Nope. We are stuck with Cartersville. According to the State of Georgia, we are recognized only for our historical significance and that is the only reason we are on the map. My friends from college, mostly suburban Atlantans, called my home "The Area." This is a good description. When you can sit down in the middle of the street for an hour and not get hit by a car or a wayward Bush Hog, you live in an "Area."

**Sidenote for the uneducated: A Bush Hog is like a giant lawnmower for pastures that is utilized by attaching it to the back of a tractor. It is an expensive piece of equipment. Several men in Cassville own a Bush Hog and this elevates them to a prominent status amongst the populace. You can often see them meandering down Cassville Road with their orange triangle stuck to their tractor seat. Also, "bushhogging" is an accepted verb in Cassville and the rural South, Merriam-Webster just doesn't know it yet. Further, do NOT ask to borrow anyone's Bush Hog, the answer is a resounding "no." Thanks! (this sidenote was brought to you by Natural Light, the beer of choice in Cassville, Georgia since 1986 - when Bartow County stopped being dry)

Speaking of prominent status, Cassville has an upper echelon that very few know about. I'm not talking about the subdivisions that were built during the 90's population boom. Nobody from Cassville recognizes these places and any mention of them brings out the same disgust as "Atlanter" (see earlier post). Unfortunately, my parents moved to one of these subdivisions after I went to college, so I had to endure wisecracks from the benches. "Ooooh, movin on up I see!" with the sarcastic tone. It was all good though, I would pay them back by telling everyone they drink decaffeinated coffee. (which was erroneous, as we NEVER kept decaf, ever.) No, the upper echelon did not populate the cul-de-sacs of the world. They lived out "in God's country," as they put it. Basically, the further out you lived, the better you were. There were several other requirements to be seen as prominent:

1) You must own a horse trailer. Hell, you don't even have to OWN a horse. You just gotta have the trailer. I swear I have never seen more empty horse trailers than on Cassville Road on a Saturday. All you have to do is get some hay, some dirt, and maybe a dung pile or two and spread it out in the floor. You'll be hearing  "he's got it made!" in no time. You also need a pair of Justin's, at least one pair of Wranglers (with a dip can ring) and be sure, for the love of Dale Earnhardt, to have a bridle laying in the passenger seat.

2) You must have a spare truck somewhere on your property to haul trash and/or drive around on a Sunday. A mid 90's Ford Ranger or S-10 with 300,000 miles will do. That way, you can make remarks like "I was gonna drive the 350 but hell, I figured I'd take the little truck out, ya know, just to keep her warmed up." You must also have, at a minimum, three four-wheelers. One of them must permanently reside in the back of one of your trucks. You gotta be ready, you never know when you'll get the call...."Meet us over at the power lines, Jody's drunk and gonna take his Daddy's 4x4 out muddin'!"

3) You must go to Panama and Gatlinburg once a year and stay for a week. No, I'm not talking about the country in Central America with the canal. I'm talking Panama By God City. However, you must leave off the word "city." That let's people know you've been there before and are experienced in the ways of the Redneck Riviera (kind of like how people say they are going to a "Dave" concert when referring to The Dave Matthews Band.) This way you can smugly say, "Hell, we was gonna go to Lake Weiss, but I told Momma we ought to just get us a timeshare down at Panama. That way she get her one of them Joe's Crab Shack shirts she wants."
Gatlinburg goes without saying. Take the whole family. Go to the countless rod runs and bike weeks. Go to Dollywood and get an airbrushed t-shirt with lightning and wolves howling over a canyon that says "Shane N' Tonya 2011." Nothing speaks higher of you than a purple unicorn flying over a moonlit lake with "Rebel Girl" in cursive under the collar. People will mutter, "I bet they ate at Longhorn's every night, you KNOW they got money."

**Optional: A trip to Cherokee, North Carolina is high on the list of the upper echelon. Since we are all 1/32 Cherokee anyway (as everyone in north Georgia claims to be), you are free to go up there and blow your hard earned money in the slot machines at a casino called "Lone Wolf" or some other name that invokes your native pride.

For those of us who cannot attain this status, we can only try our best to keep up. My advice....start out slow and don't get too carried away. Buy a small 10 foot trailer and drag it behind your truck and get the feel for it before you spend the dough. You don't want to look foolish pulling $8,000 worth of emptiness around the store. Take a short trip to Gatlinburg or maybe break yourself in by going to Maggie Valley, the minor league of mountain extravaganzas. Keeping up with the Dwaynes and Darryls can get dangerous and you don't want to overdo it. You could end up living in a trailer park with no airbrushed t-shirts and forced to take the kids to Lake Winnepesaukah.....and that just won't do.