The Myth of Blueberries

“When you learn to drive in Alabama, you don’t always learn to follow directions very well.” I said, using my best redneck charm on the officer. He, along with three other guys wearing uniforms that read CERT. I didn’t know what CERT was until I read his shoulder patch that spelled it out: Community Emergency Response Team, which could have been anything from the local SWAT to a volunteer team for special events.

In any case, I had followed google maps to the Baptist Church in hopes of blueberries, and google had taken past a “DETOUR” sign, past the “Road Closed” barrier. Okay, Google suggested that route, but I was the dummy who decided I wanted to ignore the warnings. About the time I cleared the barrier I see a fire engine approached sirens and lights and all. I pull to the shoulder and let it pass, about the time I got back on the road, a large red fire department pickup truck approaches, also ablaze with lights and sound. After it passes, I see the tent. The tent is in front of the church.

I wonder what you think of when you hear “Wellborn, Florida”? I expect nothing, as it’s a tiny little town Suwannee County, in north Florida. It isn’t very close to anything and it isnt much of anything, though, maybe the good people who live there would disagree.

The thing Wellborn is known for, to the extent it is known, is its annual blueberry festival. There are things I love more than blueberries, but the rank pretty high on the list.

I noticed a weather beaten sign advertising that Wellborn was home of the annual blueberry festival the last time I went through there. Last week, I was doing an inspection for a county employee, so I asked him what he knew about the festival. He said it was this Saturday, he was going over the next day to help set up. He said it was a pretty big deal for a small town.

I came home and googled it, and found they would have local entertainment, over 100 vendors of various sorts, and the local Baptist church would host a blueberry pancake breakfast. The festival was free and the breakfast was $5.

Due to some other circumstances, S and I were already off our keto diet, so I suggested we go over and have pancakes and see what else was there. We talked about it, but in the end, decided it was just a bit too small town, and to S that means people getting in your business, and to me it means mingling with more white people than I want to volunteer for. Yes, I have a mirror, I realize I am white, and that when I go to any event, I increase its whiteness. But I have come to believe that events that are overwhelmingly white are not much fun, and kinda creepy.

Before I knew about the festival, I had volunteered for a rare Saturday work day to pick up a little extra cash. It turns out, I didn’t have any work in Wellborn, but I did have work in eastern Live Oak and Branford, which meant I would be traveling through Wellborn. When I got to my east Live Oak inspection, I realized I was only about 5 minutes from Wellborn, so I asked the homeowner if he had gone to the breakfast. He was a black gentleman, and I half expected him to react negatively to the whole idea. Instead, he said his extended family had gone for pancakes and also were pleased to find among the dozens of blueberry food stuffs, blue berry ice cream!

I decided I would drive by, I was pretty sure I was too late for the pancakes, but I thought I would get some ice cream and cupcakes, take a few pictures of it all, save the cupcakes to share with S, and eat the ice cream on the spot!

The CERT man smiled and told me I could park under the church sign “and a shuttle bus would take me right down to the festival”. I thanked him, and pulled in under the sign. I sat there in my car for a few minutes, next to another deputy who was certainly not a community volunteer, with his large semi-automatic 9mm on his hip. He was leaning in a giant 4x4’s window. He didn’t bother me, and I didnt bother him. I thought, if I waited on the shuttle, wandered about the festival and then rode the shuttle back, it might not be all day, but it would likely be a couple hour break in my work day.

I remembered the article had said the country store had a lot of blueberry products for sale for the day, so I googled the country store. Up came Wellborn General Store, so off I went. It was about 5 or so miles out of the way, but certainly quicker than the whole shuttle affair. Eventually, I came to a stop sign at a crossroads, and there on the corner was Wellborn General Store. “General” and “country” clearly were not the same. This store was more interested in selling me beer, cigarettes and lotto, so I drove on to Branford and never saw a blueberry.

Maybe next year.