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We entered the house for our last Christmas luncheon of 2009 yesterday and was greeted with a man holding some sort of gun. I don’t know much about guns but I do know that my eyes opened ever so slightly. It was a fancy one and the first words out of his mouth were “Do you like it?”

I nodded. What are going to say to a guy holding some sort of semi-automatic weapon in his own living room?

A black Lab puppy came out to greet me by immediately nibbling on my ankle. I was fine with that. He was a fine young canine and it made me laugh later when he decided that he would pee as his human trying to get him out the door leaving a tiny trail of urine that spanned about 10 feet. Puppies can get away with stuff like this and there is nothing cuter than a rowdy Lab pup.

The television was set on a show about Sturgis and the guy being highlighted was originally from Trimble which is roughly a town the size of a napkin here in the west of the state who currently lives in Dyersburg the rest of the year. Our hosts were fascinated with his dreadlocks, which didn’t really translate favorably on a middle-aged white guy.  I liked them anyway on Michael Ballard who had made Harleys and the subculture of that particular pastime his business in a state thousands of miles away. (When my hair gets particularly wind-blown, I’m a middle-aged chick with dreads, so I understand completely.) He owns the world’s largest biker bar called Full Throttle and has a reality show on TruTv right now.

Who knew? Not I although I did find it to be fascinating. Apparently our hosts knew of the family of Ballard. The world is a little place, campers and this was entrepreneurship at its finest.

In this small farm located in an unincorporated community called Mason Hall, which is a name that has a lot of charm quite frankly, we discussed the Fightin’ 8th for awhile. Less than 30 minutes up the road from Hoots, you will find you enter cotton country, although the harvest is gone although small bits of white can be seen lying abandoned on the side of the road.

When folks find out what I do, and the fact that the lady who is a schoolteacher and Squirrely’s aunt has been to this blog, they asked a fair question.

“Was John (we call our politicians by our first names here) just tired or did he just not want to run a hard race?”

I told her I didn’t know.

“Political spin is an odd beast. He has a sick grandchild. He’s a blue dog in a world where politics are changing. No one truly knows the real reason why he said he was done although people keep speculating about it,” I said. “And no one knows what’s going to happen in 2010. People can pontificate about it all day long, but next year is going to be like something we’ve never seen before. And it depends because it’s us voting on who we think is going to represent us the best in Washington. It’s new ground.”

My hosts agreed and of course the thing on their minds was jobs as it tends to be the case when you talk to regular folks. Their memories are long when it comes to their own backyard’s political history.

“I just want them to remember us,” she said. “I don’t think that’s happening very much lately.”

“We don’t have a four-lane between Kenton and Union City,” her husband added. “I think that was a Don Sundquist punishment because our area didn’t vote for him. I guess I’m speculating too just like those pundits you mentioned, but roads are the only way we get business. Ned knew that. Sundquist didn’t care.”

And with that, I agreed. Ned gets first name status because folks liked him. Sundquist doesn’t. It’s a part of the Hoots culture, as I’ve said before. There usually aren’t kind words for former governor Sundquist from moderates in northwest Tennessee. Happens more than it doesn’t. He was sort of a blip in the road when it comes to his political legacy here which got me thinking about the Fightin’ 8th.

We don’t want who is elected here to treat any of us like we are disposable. And that’s the key to winning the Fightin’ 8th.

You see, there are church-going folks here, there are bikers and farmers, students, small business owners and much more. Hell, there are folks like me and I’m hella hard to label. The stereotypes are so false that sometimes they make my teeth hurt. This day, I was met with a Harley-riding, pecan farmer, former charter pilot, who owns a Winnebago who is traveling during his retirement and loves Labradors like you would a child. Last week, I was with hippie students, a contractor, real estate agents, a history prof, an entomologist who was telling me how cool bugs are, a gently rabid, yet thoughtful, Republican and a man that runs a country ham place all in the same room.

You can’t pin us down. If you do, we roll our eyes at you.

The farm was located in a place here outside of Kenton, the White Squirrel Capital of the World, although I saw no white squirrels that day. I have to say I know that they exist but I have never seen one in that particular location. The grain bins, however, were huge and I thought about stopping and taking pictures as I think grain bins have an elegant, practical sort of beauty. The wind, however, was cold and unforgiving so we opted to just head home.

There are different people who live outside the cities of this state. I told my friend Leslie not too long ago that it’s the subcultures that fascinate me. Not everyone is the same and that’s what makes these things sort of incredible.

As for our host with the gun and the black Lab, he gave us a huge bag of pecans as we headed out the door harvested from the grove on his farm.

You never know what to expect.