A Festive Farewell To Fairhope

Nobody loves to party more than the AARP contingency of L.A (Lower Alabama). Evidently, the retirees of Fairhope fete just about anything, maximizing their social security checks and enlivening their remaining days. Admittedly, the revelry is chastened with Southern Baptist style prohibition; accordingly, their Mardi Gras promenade down Fairhope Ave features more clothing and less bourbon. Thus, we were excited to attend our first Fairhope Arts Festival, notably absent the “GLAD” demographic and overly pierced, petulant artists.

Eowyn’s interest in the festival centered primarily on food, frogs and the avoidance of all dogs. Since her shortened screening of The Princess and the Frog, she has become quite smitten, kissing each inanimate amphibian she encounters (which is a surprising number). Further, the Dairy Maids (nom de guerre for “Confederate Princesses”) held Eowyn’s complete fascination. Apparently so enchanted was she that her pictorial compliance was conditioned upon my (awkward) insertion in the photo. And Kincaid, well, he was his usual adorable, nearly edible self- dimpled cheeks, dapper ensemble and all.

In sum, it was a delightfully refreshing breath of Americana, featuring the ubiquitous Southern theme of “God, Guts and Guns” in craftsman fashion. Rarely have modern abstract art and second amendment “toys” been celebrated and showcased (peaceably) side by side.

Farewells are often bittersweet. And after a reluctant departure from our Fairhopian retreat, my love of Dunkin Donuts’ coffee, aggressive driving and reputable sushi compels my entourage and I northward. Until next time, I’ll be outfitting Caid in “Jon-Jons”, sipping Mint Juleps and whistling Dixie.