I went to Franklin today.
Not THAT Franklin, but, the other one in Kentucky. I have never been in Franklin proper before today. Passed the exit and all but never been inside the city limits.
Franklin, Kentucky is a cute little town. They have the cutest town square and everything "downtown" is closed on Saturday afternoon. The happening place to be on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in Franklin appears to be the Frosty Freeze. It was one of those old timey dairy dip places that has probably been there since God was a boy and there were people crawling all over that place. People in Franklin, KY sit on their front porches on Main St. Franklin has a Piggly Wiggly and a little cafe called the Sassy Lassie.
We ate at probably the only Mexican restaurant in town and it was great. I'm a bad blogger and can't remember the name of it, but, they have Quesadillas to die for.
We went along with Mr. Smiff and crew to the James Monroe Bluegrass Festival. There were dozens and dozens of wild bluegrass fans and my girl, Roni Stoneman didn't even show. (BUMMER!) I was so distraught, I didn't even stay for the second set. I opted for the quiet Smiff House all to myself for a few precious hours.
James Monroe is the son of the Father of Bluegrass, Bill Monroe. James' claim to fame is....well, his late daddy. James has attempted many business ventures in his lifetime and every single one of them has failed. As Mr. Smiff says, he is consistent. I kinda think it's sad to be his age and never accomplished anything on his own merit, but, hey, at least he is a man of "vision" and he keeps on pluggin'.
Driving up towards Franklin, we passed I don't know how many billboards advertising James' new music hall up there and each one had his face on it.
We get to the venue and there are cases and cases and cases of water bottles....with James' picture on it.
The sound at the venue sounded like a bad a.m. radio. I swear, I think they went down to the local Baptist church and said "Hey...can we borrow your sound system and Bubba to run it for us?" The guys also reported that the stage bowed in the middle and they were somewhat afraid the sucker would collapse in the middle of "Shuckin' The Corn."
The good points? You could get a coke for .50; Lance Leroy and his runnin' pal, "Punkin" showed up; we got to see Mr. Smiff and the boys perform (don't get to often); Mr. Smiff got paid what he was promised; it was a beautiful day and I went to Franklin, Kentucky.
I seriously do hope this venture happens for James. It has potential, however, I don't think the folks are going to be clamoring for a seat at the upcoming Jean Shepard show.
Life ain't so bad, even if there are water bottles with James Monroe's picture on them.
Take a whiff of Sista Smiff and you'll come back for more, that's fo sho!
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