GOODBYE WARM

I thought Texas defined ugly, but that was before I got to Georgia. Flat, red dirt, scrubby trees. And billboards. Lots and lots of billboards.

I can imagine all the Georgians getting together and someone says, "Ok, so let's admit it. We've got the butt-ugliest landscape in the USA. So what can we do about it?" And someone pipes up, "I know. What if put up the tackiest billboards in the whole country. Make them twice as big as everyone else's. Line them up so close together that nobody on I-75 will notice how gross our state is. Take their eyes off all that red dirt."

"Maybe we could have a contest," someone volunteers. "Pick out the most-tackiest billboards and concentrate them right where people cross in from Florida. Bam, bam, bam! Divert their attention. Let the tourists know what Georgia is all about."

Another Georgian raises a problem, "You know, some places we have these scrubby pines that could block the signs. So how about this? Let's put those billboards up on giant poles so high that the trees will never reach them. And let's make sure to light all of 'em up at night. Festive, like."

So they all agree, and are just thrilled as peaches when they see how well their plan worked.

It could have happened that way.

Whatever their obscene provenance, these signs hawk the usual food, gas, lodging, but oh-so-much more: guns & ammo, miniature Dalmatians, fireworks, log homes, pecans, golf carts, sod, the Gone With the Wind Museum, boots, ambulance-chasing lawyers, adult superstores, horse-toothed-smiling realtors, orthodontics, Z&Z Liquor ("military discounts").

There are so many billboards in Georgia that a good share of them advertise billboards. More billboards than customers.

There are religious billboards: "'Let go. I'll catch you.' Jesus." And not-so-religious ones -- "$TRIPPER$/ 'Need We Say More'/ As Seen on Jerry Springer/ Open Noon Daily"

My favorite towered far above the trees, jet black with bold white letters: "Help us Jesus/ DRAIN THE SWAMP/ Save America"

* * *

A similar sign greeted me when I arrived in my sister, Sandra's, town of Hernando, Florida, two days ago: "Eternity in Hell is a long time."

She didn't seem to mind the sign: "It makes you think."

It did make me think about how you could possibly measure "a long time" if you were immortal. Especially if you were stuck in a burning lake of fire and brimstone.

I didn't talk much religion with Sandra or her husband, Sam. Or, with my other sister, Karen, and her husband, Van. And only a little bit of politics. (I sensed that my hosts had to bite their tongues a fair number of times during my short visit.)

Instead, we all went boating on the "Singing River Tours -- Alive with nature and music!" John was the singing river guide on our tour boat. We heard his life story, starting in rural Alabama and ending right there on the Withlacoochee and Rainbow Rivers, where he had so obviously fallen in love with his home environment. John effused passion for everything around us -- birds, alligators, otters, crystalline springs -- and railed against the evils of lawn fertilizer, invasive aquatic plants, and disrespect for nature. We stopped in the shade of moss-draped trees, and he played his guitar and sang songs he'd written about things he knew.

Back at the dock, we ate grouper lunches at a riverside, outdoor café. Shannon and Tink, who had recently moved down from northwest Indiana, joined us. They sang Florida's praises, with Tink thrilled with the fishing. Never mind that any comparison with Indiana is a pretty low bar, they seemed genuinely happy.

I left my family visit with bags full of Florida bulbs, such as elephant ears, and cuttings, from Sam's landscape. I can't wait to see if I can get them to grow in Oregon.

* * *

After leaving Florida, I escaped Georgia's ugliness late today, spending the night in Signal Mountain, Tennessee, near Chattanooga. Red trillium were abloom along Shoal Creek, flowing through a valley atop the mountain.

I'm visiting Jimmy and Dan, two friends I met on our Grand Canyon raft trip last year. Over dinner of Italian food and Malbec, we exchanged stories of our travels and lives since. I leave in the morning, having added cutting of Easter cactus from Jimmy. Heading for Michigan. Goodbye warm.

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