"Weekends with Dad meant going to a pickin’ at somebody’s house in the woods. Nicky and Sparrow’s, Walt and Judith’s, Mike and Angie’s, or Woodie and Dot’s. We’d chug down dirt roads in Dad’s rusty old blue ’63 Impala until we pulled up in somebody’s yard, then we’d pile out: Dad, Susan, Bronwyn, Josh, Charlie the Dog, and I. The adults went one way and the kids went the other. We all headed straight for what looked like the most fun. For the adults that was pickin’ circle and a fruit jar. For the kids it was old barns, bamboo patches, good climbing trees, beaver ponds, and creeks. We only saw the adults when we were hungry or it was time to leave. We kids ran in packs like wild dogs, sometimes our packs included wild dogs. Within a few hours the kids were shoeless, shirtless and covered in dirt. That’s the only way Woodie Long ever saw us, so he called us “the children of the dirt.” I’m pretty sure he was jealous.

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Kids loved Woodie. He was one of us. We were always glad to see him, but EVERYONE was happy when Potter and Suzette rolled up in their VW Van. Kids, Hippies, Outlaws, Inlaws, Old Timers, Pickers…everyone. They were the King and Queen of the Piney Woods Pickins. They were literally larger than life. BIG FUN personified…..times two! Rosey cheeks, twinkling eyes, big smiles and full of laughter, like a young Mr. and Mrs. Claus after a week at a bluegrass festival and some serous moral lapses. They were magnetic. Potter carried a guitar and Suzette carried a jug of wine, the big jug with the finger hook. Kids would take a break from chasing dogs and each other to come hear Potter pick and sing. When he saw the kids were paying attention, he’d play Salty Dog and sing the following verse: “I like eggs, I like grits” (the he’d cut his eyes over to Suzette’s chest and finish), “I like women with great big FEET! Honey, let me be your Salty Dog! “

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We’d laugh ourselves silly over that. We just knew he was going to say TITS!

We never got enough of that. Suzette would throw her head back and let out her unmistakable signature laugh: part scream, part howl and all hysterical delight…delivered at 170 decibels. It was infectious. It would catch like wildfire. She’d laugh, you’d laugh, that would make her laugh more, which made you laugh more, it was an epic feedback loop of hilarity. We’d end up breathless. And then laugh at ourselves some more.

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The year mother moved us to Point Washington, I was in the eighth grade and Josh was in the sixth grade. Since Potter and Suzette lived in nearby Santa Rosa Beach, we caught a ride home with them after a weekend pickin’. We sat in back with Dylan the springer spaniel, the cooler, and the guitar. We took turns standing up in the space between Potter and Suzette, eager for their attention and willing subjects to one of Suzette’s psychiatric interrogations. I’m not sure if it was the long ride, the intimate nature of the conversation, or the fact that we were becoming young adults and they treated us that way, but we bonded on that trip. I guess we fell in love.

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As the years went by, Dad quit (or was strongly encourage to quit) going to as many gatherings of his old tribe, but I stayed close to Potter and Suzette. On summer breaks from college, I’d bus tables at the Lake Place on Oyster Lake, a few blocks from their house. They were regular patrons and the proprietors loved to see them as much as the bearded pickers and kids did in those South Alabama woods.

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The summer after I graduated from college, I had no idea what to do, so I came back to the Lake Place to ask for a job. They didn’t have an opening, but they’d be in touch. My sister Bronwyn, Darcy Jones and I had driven down to the beach for the day, so that I could make my inquiry. We were close, so we decided to say hello to Potter and Suzette….we left two weeks later. Their nephew, Owen, was visiting at the same time. The children of the dirt were united. We embarked on a weeklong adventure, what Potter called a “running drunk.” We dropped in on cousins, grandmas, old friends, farm stands, old country stores and Don Batten. (That’s another story.)

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One morning, we all four woke up on the floor of my father’s house. Owen was the first to stir. He began to cluck, and then he mumbled some strange cryptic phrases. This was not/is not unusual for Owen. He said, “Laser beam, in my dream, can’t get on, can’t get off, Chicken Train, Chicken Train.” And thus, this group of the Children of the Dirt became known as, “The Chicken Train.” That day, I got a call from the Lake Place offering me a job waiting tables. Owen got a call from Doyle Lawson to join his band on the same day. Bronwyn called Scott and Dave at Bud and Alley’s and got jobs for Darcy and herself. We decided to move to the beach. We lived with Potter and Suzette for a couple of weeks while we looked for house. We drank coffee with Potter in the mornings while he worked on his school assignments and dog cussed the cat. Then we’d go to the beach and drink ice cold greenies until it was time to go to work. Sometimes, Potter would call in drunk for us. When we got home from work, we’d pick and drink and cook until the early morning. Then we’d do it all again. We finally moved out when we found a house up in Black Creek. Potter cried when we left. He called us every day and gave us reports on the casualty count in the battle between his cat Morgie and the dune mice that lived in their kitchen cupboard.

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We’d get together almost every day. We cleaned out an all you can eat crawfish boil AJ’s. We closed ‘em down. My thumbs had Band-Aids for a week. We cooked a leg of lamb for the better part of a day, it took 12 hours and three cases a beer. We passed out before we ate a bite. We fired up the old wooden hot tub and cooked Suzette for nearly as long. We showed up drunk at a black tie Christmas party and were quickly ushered to the darkest corner of the backyard and ended up having much more fun than all of the tuxedoed guests in the house combined. We had a hurricane party in the living room of the Chicken Train compound at Black Creek and we danced to the Beatles, Tom Petty and Blues Traveler while we drank Bloody Marys out of quart mason jars. We had an epic Halloween Party which included Potter picking by the fire pit, a Kiss cover band in the garage, a gathering of octogenarian cousins singing vaudeville tunes in our bamboo patch, a girl on acid reciting Chaucer to the night sky, and a visit from the Walton County Sherriff… who told us Happy Halloween and to carry on.

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I finally got some film work and moved to Orlando. But, I’d always return to Walton County for summer vacation and the holidays. The fist stop was always to at Potter and Suzette’s to pay my respects to the King and Queen and find out where the party was. After Potter died, I’d go pick up Suzette for a ramble on 30A. In 2001, I started attending Springfest and Magfest at the Spirit of the Suwannee Music Park in Live Oak, Florida. I’d camp with Suzette and a new group of young pickers and children of the dirt. Balder and Kyle had started Dread Clampitt and they had a helluva entourage. I was eager to join in.

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For 16 years, I have gone to every single Springfest and Magfest and Suzette was there too. Her regal status was on display as friends and subjects came by to pay respects to her highness and have a laugh. At festivals, the really good pickin’s don’t get started until around 1:00 AM and then go on until sunrise. Mandolins, guitars, banjos, fiddles and upright bass echo through the smoky canopy of the moss draped trees. Always punctuated with a howling laugh and the resulting feedback loop. The whole campground knew that Queen Suzette was holding court. I’m going to miss that laugh."

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