At one time in my life I had decided I wanted to be a writer. We are talking 7th grade here. I even launched a novel or two, God only knows what they were about or what land fill they came to reside in. They got what they deserved, I assure you. In recent years I have engaged in Facebook editorials and email epistles. Some folks have rather enjoyed my writing. Humorous and insightful, if you like it. Not so much if you don't. As my Mom would say about certain dishes and other food items, "It's good if you like it." My Dad was a bit more prosaic. As he would say, "Pass the ketchup." My Mom once made the observation Dad would eat anything with enough Ketchup on it.
The subject of this blog is pretty much anything I want it to be. What I find interesting. What I find funny. That which makes me angry. Things that make me happy. It is apt to be political, maybe even religious. Who knows? I have no master plan here. I tend to be silly, but I can be very serious. You may want to bring your own ketchup.
As to the name of this, well, that is somewhat of a story. Bubba is what my Dad was called by his family. I have no idea where Bubba came from. I never asked and he never said. We called him Dad, Grandmother called him Bubba as did most everyone else on that side of the family. Dad was actually a writer, having published one book. His book, Bubba Revisited, was autobiographical in nature. Basically a series of stories of happenings in his life. It was self published, yes, but it was well received. A copy resides at the home town library and at least one local historical society. He was offered a publishing contract to put the book out in paperback, which he refused. I am not sure why, I think he was genuinely uninterested. It was about that time when I came to him with the idea of a possum ranch.
My original idea for a name was Colonel Briarbritches' Possum ranch. A place where wealthy Atlantans could come and be taken on a possum safari where they would be taught the finer arts and necessary skills of possum hunting. How to assemble a world class possum blind, how to pick up a possum and throw it in a burlap sack, and how to prepare your possum for cooking. Of course a possum ranch would not be complete without a souvenir store. Just imagine shelves filled with possum memorabilia, canned possum meat, possum chili, bags of crunchy fried possum feet..... A veritable wealth generating machine.
Dad loved the idea. He wanted to write it up as a story. He never did, but we had a lot of fun talking about it. Crunchy fried possum feet, sounds pretty good, right?
So, now you know the story behind Bubba's Possum Ranch.
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