All the Way Around

As we headed south, we noticed that a place called Waffle House outnumbered any other restaurant, even MacDonalds. Once we hit Georgia, signs for this 24-hour fast food diner were everywhere. We were determined to experience Waffle House with a local, and didn’t leave Atlanta until we had done so with my friend Sara. We still managed to arrive in Birmingham on time for the contra, but we did miss the special waltz workshop held before it, even after gaining an hour crossing into the Central Time Zone. However, we made it just in time to join the waltzers for a pre-contra dinner at a local cafeteria.

“I hope you’re not vegetarians,” a dancer commented as we walked to Fife Restaurant.

“I am, actually,” I worriedly replied.

“Are you strict?” she asked.

“Yep.”

She told me how difficult it was being a vegetarian in the south.

I found that they seasoned almost all of their veggies with meat and had only three options for me: mashed potatos, yams, and macaroni and cheese. I gratefully shouted, “Yes, Please!” when the server asked if I would like some cornbread with my meal. We sat down with a young fiddler who had played for the waltz workshop. She told us that two members of Flying Jenny, the evening’s contra dance band, had traveled the state recording traditional musicians and creating a book on old-time fiddling in Alabama. She said that folks traveled from all over the region to attend the Birmingham dance–the dance attracted an older crowd, but sometimes younger people came from Chattanooga, a college town on the border of Alabama. We listened with mouths full of sweetened yams. She gestured to our plates and nodded, “Southern food.”

As we waited for the musicians to tune up, a woman told Dave and I that when the dance moved to its current location, the YWCA, the city was very happy that the series brought so many people downtown. The downtown, she said, had been in need of revitilization because it had become nearly abandoned. However, many of the empty buildings had recently been turned into lofts and apartments, and she was excited with the changes she saw in her city.

The spacious hall was filled with eager dancers. A beginners workshop, called “a warm up session,” started the dance. While I was putting my shoes on, a man approached me and said, “can you help me figure this dance thing out?”. I gladly accepted and we joined the workshop.

There were two callers that night which meant that both were able to spend time on the dance floor, giving me a chance to dance with each of them. One was Steve Gester, who taught the waltz and the beginners’ workshops and called a few squares. He had traveled all the way from Baltimore, Maryland and he called my favorite square dance: “Two Little Sisters.” The other was Jef Hodge, a local Alabamian, who called the contras. I fell in love with his unique calling style. His tinny voice and southern drawl made every progression seem like a verse in a traditional country ballad. He often called out “and… smile” as if it were the next figure. I sometimes caught myself veering from my partner’s gaze to watch him stomping his bare feet and grinning widely, calling out “hlawng liiiines go fo’erd ‘n back.”

During the break, a surprise performance was announced. Six little girls dressed in green skirts and black leotards Irish step danced to recorded music. A seventh, the oldest of the group, did a few solo. She wore pink toe-socks that made her look like a mythological creature stepping to the tunes of an Irish bard.

Dave and I danced the first contra after the break. By the second time through, we were each complaining about the heat, even though it was after dark in early March. We both wondered how dancing was possible there in the summer months. During one of the partner swings I picked Dave up and spun him around me. At the next swing, he did the same for me. His next partner, a woman with a long ribboned braid, almost turned him down, saying, “I don’t know, I saw that girl slinging you around over there. You may be too wild for me.”

We had been in email contact with two people before the dance: one was to be our host for the night of the dance and the other would be our host for the following night. The former introduced herself at Fife’s, but we still hadn’t found the latter. Right before the last dance, Dave realized that the name I gave him matched up with the nametag of his former partner with the long braid. “Oh my!” she shouted. “I forgot all about y’all!” Her husband, relieved to have found us, pulled out typewritten directions to their house, and said he looked forward to chatting with us tommorow.

That night, our hostess and her partner invited us to join them in their nightly ritual of sipping home-made hot chocholate. After we all had breakfast at a local cafe the next morning, they took us on a tour of their neighborhood. We learned some of Birmingham’s history and walked past the highest point in the city, on which sat a mansion with a view of the entire skyline.

The following day, we drove up to Northern Alabama and stayed with our other host couple. I excitedly greeted their 8 dogs, and was in awe when I saw the guest house we’d be staying in, complete with a shower, a view of their woodlands, and a deck that was home to a friendly cat. Before the sun had set, our hosts fed us a delicious homecooked meal, and took us on a tour of their property, featuring a river, a graveyard, and a horse pasture.

Lying in bed that night, we agreed that contra dancing is a great way to see the country.

-Royal, AL

This entry was posted on Monday, March 12th, 2007 at 8:10 am and is filed under 08 Alabama. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.