Sam Burnham, Curator
At ABG our perspective is Southern. That’s because most of the people who have contributed here are Southerners. We take our stand among the live oaks, the peanut fields, and meandering rivers of The South. But the ideas we love and support aren’t always uniquely Southern.
In their Statement of Principles, the 12 Southerners of I’ll Take My Stand added this thought:
”But there are many other minority communities opposed to industriaism, and wanting a much simpler economy to live by. The communities and private persons sharing the agrarian tastes are to be found widely within the Union. Proper living is a matter of the intelligence and the will, does not depend on the local climate or geography, and is capable of a definition which is general and not Southern at all. Southerners have a filial duty to discharge to their own section. But their cause is precarious and they must seek alliances with sympathetic communities everywhere. The members of the present group would be happy to be counted as members of a national agrarian movement.”
So when we speak about a need for unity in this country we have to look for common ground. We have to find things that unite us rather than divide us. That’s something that has come up in our travels and stories. I’d like to take a look at some.
In 2014 I traveled to Maine. My goal was to visit the bedside of my Grandpa, to say goodbye. But my experience there shed light on the plight of non-coastal Mainers. Maine, like Georgia, is two states. The cities, which are coastal, hold political sway over the rest of the state, which is mountainous.
The political issue at that moment was a ballot initiative that would put an end to hunting and trapping practices regarding black bears. The city people found the practices “cruel.” The state wildlife biologists (read: “settled science”) argued that the practices were essential for maintaining healthy populations of bears and for minimizing human-bear interactions. The rural people, whose values, practices, and beliefs belong in the articles of this website, fought to preserve hunting and trapping. The proposal was defeated by about 40,000 votes but the threat of coastal tyranny remains in Maine.
Out in Oregon I have a friend who recently discovered he has a gift in the visual arts. His family has deep roots in those woods.
His father was a logging road inspector who started in forestry at the age of 16. He put in 42 years of service before retiring. Now his son has a pile of stories from riding shotgun in the forestry truck with dad. Deep in those woods stands the memory of a burned train trestle that spanned a huge canyon. “ It’s something nobody else but someone that drove back that deep would ever see or knew existed.”
He also has the stories from his great-grandmother who went out on the Oregon Trail. “ She lived to 105 and used to tell us kids about coming over on the wagon train as a little girl and the history of that area.”
”My family is tied to the woods here. Sadly, they’re burning now.”
That sorrow isn’t just from the environmental or economic damage the fires are creating. It’s from a real attachment to the land. It’s the knowledge that those trees, mountains, rivers, that land is where generations of his family took their stand. That love comes through in some of his art which appears here, linked to his artist page.
We could tell these stories forever. They could come from every region of the country. Those proud Texans, Kansas Jayhawks, and Indiana Hoosiers could all make an argument on why their plot of dirt is the best place on Earth, whether you agree or not. We even see this phenomenon in the troubled communities deep in our cities. For a person of this mentality, home is home. It’s not just where you hang your hat, it’s where you take your stand.
For a man or woman this connected to home, they’ll fight to protect that spot. They’ll work to make it better. They’ll ward off gentrification, they’ll support local businesses, they’ll look out for their neighbors.
The problems we face as a country aren’t going to be solved in Washington. It does not matter which party has control. It will only get better when this mindset takes root in all the little places no one thinks about. When folks love a place enough to make it better, that’s when we’ll see true greatness return. Mentoring school kids, picking up litter, just loving a place - thinking local, acting local - that’s where the difference is made. That’s where, although divided by space, we become united in mission.
Where’s your spot? What do you love?
Sam Burnham, Curator
A few years ago I stumbled across a shuttered old roadhouse on the shores of Lake Allatoona in Cherokee County. As I looked at the old building and admired the signage, I wondered what all might have gone on at the Blue Cat Lodge.
I posted a picture of the place on the ABG Instagram page to document such a place existed. One of our followers there commented that the site was a filming location for the Netflix original series “Ozark.” Since that moment I’ve learned that the signage is the impressive work of a set design team who made use of the old roadhouse. I published my thoughts on this incredible show here.
While the Blue Cat Lodge, that happening spot where Marty Byrde laundered drug cartel money to keep his family alive, is a work of fiction, you can visit the location today. The roadside sign with its majestic blue catfish are gone. In its place you’ll find a sign for JD’s on the Lake, the current restaurant and bar that occupies the building.
The business is working off a limited menu during all of this *:gestures into the void:*. The good news is you can still get fried catfish and fries with hush puppies and slaw. Honestly I was expecting something colossally mediocre making a living off the building’s fame and notoriety. I was pleasantly surprised that the food was quite good.
The service is excellent and you can dine or drink inside or out. There is an inside dining room, screened in decks, and open air tables. Out back is a great location to sit on a comfortable evening to watch the sun set behind the Allatoona Mountains.
Remember that this location is reality. The dining room and bar are not decorated the same as the Blue Cat in the show. Most of the props are gone and the real place remains. The old sign that hung above the front porch now hangs over the bar but you won’t hear Bob Segar’s “Still the Same” on repeat. It’s unlikely that you’ll encounter Marty or Wendy but Ruth gets some love in the form of a cocktail on the menu. And no, middle aged gentlemen, Rachel Garrison is not working the bar.
While a lot is different, there’s plenty around that you’ll recognize. The floating fuel pumps where Marty stood, cooking the books, are updated, in use, and quite busy on the holiday weekend. If you’re a fan of the show, it feels like Ozark.
There’s a nice balance here. JD’s is it’s own place and it’s enjoyable on its own. It isn’t some campy place where the waitresses ask you Ozark trivia questions or dress in costume. They give some hat tips to Ozark and the Blue Cat while maintaining their own identity.
To see this for yourself, take Bells Ferry Rd south from GA 20 near Canton. Stay on Bells Ferry until the Blue Cat is dead ahead in the curve. If you cross the Ronnie Clay Chastain Memorial Bridge, you went too far. If you’re headed north from Woodstock, look on the left past the bridge.
Sam Burnham, Curator
The Netflix original series Chef’s Table has been around since 2015. The 2020 incarnation centers on that grandest of cuisines. BBQ isn’t just food, It’s a way of life. And nowhere will you find that statement more true than with South Carolina’s Rodney Scott.
This episode highlights his cooking style: whole hog cooked over smoldering coals. Scott burns wood in metal barrels and transfers the coals to the pits with a shovel. It’s slow and deliberate. It requires patience. All good things in time.
That style isn’t just food for Rodney Scott. Chef’s Table shows how that patience, that deliberate effort took him from a young boy with hopes but no real plans to the James Beard Award stage.
Scott’s story is inspiring. The soundtrack and cinematography are beautifully done. This is the quality we’re coming to expect from Netflix’s original programming. They bring a sense of real filmmaking to what we consider a television program. It’s setting a standard for entertainment.
Meanwhile, Rodney Scott is taking the art he learned working for his parents and is passing it on to his son. A classically trained chef spends years in culinary school and climbing the ladder of a kitchen. Scott's experience was different. Instead of classes, he was immersed in the craft. A good BBQ cook is an artist, a skilled craftsman. He isn't merely trained in the science of it all. He feels it. It is a part of him. Seeing the younger Scott walking among the pits or caring for hogs with his father is more than a good family story. It's hope for the future. It is a promise that this art will be available for my grandchildren to enjoy. Those lessons that were learned in Hemingway, South Carolina are being passed along. Those skills are a generational wealth the same as land or a trust fund. They may not seem as lucrative by our modern standards but by the right standards, they are priceless.
At roughly 45 minutes, the show is slightly longer than the actual content of a traditional one hour television show. I could have watched another 45 minutes of it. I found myself wanting to get better at my own craft. I felt encouraged to be more introspective of my own life. More than anything, I found myself wanting to eat some BBQ...I mean, more than usual. It is with good reason that this show is sitting at #6 in Netflix's US ratings right now. If you haven't seen it yet, it is well worth your time.
Historian, self-proclaimed gentleman, agrarian-at-heart, & curator extraordinaire