Last night, we went for dinner at The Shed. For the uninitiated, The Shed is literally that. It's a great BBQ place that's pretty much made from scrap materials located in a campground on the bayou, right off of the interstate. The devotees call themselves "Shedheds" (spelled incorrectly since we are, after all, in Mississippi). The bathrooms don't have stalls; instead, there are shower curtains strung up to divide the toilets. All the picnic tables outside show various stages of weather wear. None of the tables inside match. People write on the walls and tack up dollar bills and their old license plates. The place is crazy. And I LOVE IT THERE!
Saturday nights mean live music at The Shed. When we pulled up, the place was packed and there was a bluegrass band on the stage out back. Everyone was eating barbeque, drinking beer or iced tea, and having a grand ol' time. I waved hello to Brad (one of the owners), sipped my tea, chatted with my dinner companions and cheered on the band (playing "Dueling Banjos" or singing "I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow") while Ellie squashed a piece of Texas toast into oblivion.
This is how I survive Mississippi. It's wonderful snapshot moments like that. I just can't have them anyplace else.
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