Went out for a ride yesterday and unintentionally got an education in economics and false perceptions smack dab on the FL-GA line inside a sandy V-shaped patch of soil. The homemade signs are what stopped me. Pork Rinds – I know those, they’re great on the back of a hair jig in cold water. Boiled Peanuts- don’t eat ‘em, but they’re as plentiful as little white churches along Florageorgiabama highways. But Weasel’s Beef Jerky. My mind raced. I had to pull over in my rental minivan and ask. “I’m traveling on business from Tulsa, I know about peanuts and pork rinds, but man, I gotta ask, what the heck is Weasel Jerky?” Standing in velcro strapped tennis shoes, from beneath a Merle Haggard beard like that of my Uncle Gary’s - he extended his hand to shake with a grin, and said, “I’m Weasel. Good to meet ya. I drove a truck around America for 32 years, hauled many new cars to dealer lots in Tulsa. I retired in 2003, lost my wife of many years since then, and have been sitting here selling my peanuts, pork rind and jerky here every weekend since. What brings you here on business?” The Bassmaster Elite Series tournament up in Bainbridge - can I buy a bag of pork rinds? “No, I’m all out of pork rinds, sold (400) bags already at $4 a bag.” So instead I gave him the required $10 for a bag of Weasel’s Jerky. It came from a small cooler that was also chilling a few Natty Lights, wrapped in a paper towel, and stuffed in a clear ziploc, with his handwriting on the bag. A very homemade situation that nets an average of $2,800 per weekend that ‘Obama don’t know about.’ And I’m now sworn to secrecy not to tell him. “Folks see this little ol’ beat-up truck and feel sorry for me. They think I’m poor. But it’s just my peanut cart hauler. Never unhitch it. And I own this soil. Heck, I gotta brand new Toyota Tundra parked in my garage. I’m doin’ pretty well at 67, and no, I don’t need another wife, they’re way too expensive.” Something tells me money’s not Weasel’s issue. More a case of never wanting to replace true and loyal love now gone forever. And besides Life is simple. He’s doing what he loves. Meeting spikey haired weirdos in rental vans on a patch of soil he owns. And gladly telling his story. All I had to do was pull over and ask - and most importantly – Listen. “No one knows his last name. But I believe, hes the salt of the Earth. Just look past his dirty shirt and you will see just what hes worth.” – from Kenny Chesney’s never-made-it-to-radio song “Lindy” – written solely by Kenny for his 2013 album Life on a Rock.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Mar 2014 15:24:18 +0000
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