Happy Birthday Rodney Dillard!

From Jackson, the novel, Chapter Two Christmas '69 by Cindy Marabito

The grandkids were sugar-fried from eating ribbon candy, all that was left after the homemade fudge and divinity had been plowed through. I never liked ribbon candy. They drug it out every Christmas, melded together in globs of reds and greens. Nobody could even remember when it had first been bought. It had been around longer than I had.

The uncles sat on Granny’s couch looking like the grim-faced Darlins on Andy Griffith. Christmas was always lonely feeling even with all of the people in the house. Even though we were blood related, I’d never felt a part of them and Willie didn’t either. Listen to the Dillards a.k.a. the Darlins perform 'Dooley' on Andy Griffith I heard the railroad train whine not so far out in the distance. Everything in Kountze was Hank Williams sad and desperate. The pine trees kept the little towns like Woodville and Evadale in business. As sweet as pine smells when it’s still growing in the ground, nothing smells worse than a sawmill. The men would tell this old joke about lumber mill towns and this Aggie whose girlfriend told him to go down to where it stinks. The punchline’s him telling her he doesn’t have enough gas to get to Evadale.

The Dillards a.k.a. Darlins on Andy Griffith performing 'Dooley' I heard the railroad train whine not so far out in the distance. Everything in Kountze was Hank Williams sad and desperate. The pine trees kept the little towns like Woodville and Evadale in business. As sweet as pine smells when it’s still growing in the ground, nothing smells worse than a sawmill. The men would tell this old joke about lumber mill towns and this Aggie whose girlfriend told him to go down to where it stinks. The punchline’s him telling her he doesn’t have enough gas to get to Evadale.