With the weather alternating from summer to winter to spring, Terry Dickson was last seen at a feed and seed store trying to figure out if he should buy tomato plants. We offer instead some commentary on regulatory overreach from Bubba Gene Hightower, mayor of Pond Scoggin, Ga.

 

Dear Mr. Dickerson,

I hope this finds you and yours fine and otherwise dandy. As for me and Guynell and Bubba Guy, that’s our onliest boy, we have been enjoying the coming of the early spring. It’s a fine time to get outside and do some cookin’ of which reminded us that Mr. Trump’s promises notwithstanding, we still got us a meddlin’ guvment.

What happened was this here: They was some folks from up around At Lanter down here floatin’ the river for a few days, goin’ along with that current that’s as lazy as Guynell’s baby sister’s first husband and campin’ at night. Well they pulled their half dozen canoes up on the sand bar at Pond Scoggin and walked over to Ralph’s Barbecue Trough and had ‘em a early supper afore they got back in the current and found ‘em a camp site on a sand bar two bends down from Partridge Bluff. They tell me one of ‘em had a call of nature about 4 a.m. and he crawled out of his tent and was walking barefooted toward the bushes when he took a catfish barb in the right foot with the catfish still attached and he tried to step off that one and put his other foot down on another catfish. So there he was standing in catfish flip flops, a flathead on one and blue cat on t’other, hollering for somebody to call 911. His friends come running with flashlights and they was catfish ever where, some of which looked like they was smilin’.

They looked closer and seen that part of that blackwater river was running clear. It turns out it was because one of our local distillers of various tonics and elixirs, him being Hoke Wainwright, had had a considerable spill that run off in the river and them catfish had come outta there.

Them bein’ from At Lanter, one of ‘em called a pollution hotline and they sent a team down the next day. Hoke caught wind of it and him and his three brothers moved ever thing while the pollution strike force was still going through all their safety checks to leave the dock cause you know the guvment moves about as fast as that aforementioned river. When they was ready, it was already high noon and they broke for lunch at Ralph’s with me and you and other taxpayers picking up the tab.

Well, Hoke was in there havin’ a cold tall one feeling sorrowful at losing a considerable amount of product. Them guvment agents figure him for a perpetrator or some such so they commenced to questionin’ him, but didn’t get nothing but slurred answers cause bout the only time Hoke drinks anything nonalcoholic is when he takes Communion at the Baptist church. I don’t reckon he’ll be doin’ that soon cause he told me the other day he was givin’ up church for Lent.

Anyways, they couldn’t get nothing outta Hoke so they went off down river and didn’t find nothing atall and they went back to At Lanter by way of St. Simons Island and we paid for that, too.

I seen Hoke later and he said he was back in production same as ever with his leak fixed. I asked him how he stayed one step ahead of the guvment revenuers.

“It ain’t hard,’’ says he. “You just have to slow down a little.”

Come see us Mr. Dickerson. The catfish recovered and is swimming again so we can walk out on the sandbars.

Your obedient servant, Bubba Gene Hightower