From the Beer Barn in Arcadia, Louisiana to All Souls Day in Theodore, Alabama

Small town hijinks on our Halloween night road trip across the South

When in Rome…do as the Romans. When in Louisiana, drive through the Bonnie and Clyde Beer Barn in Arcadia. Meet Brent Ford, genial third generation owner of said Beer Barn. There are plaques commemorating his father and grandfather on the walls of the barn.

What’s a beer barn?

If you’ve not yet visited one of these fine establishments, they dot the landscape throughout Louisiana and other southern states. And, of course, Texas. There is a (not-entirely gender-neutral) website devoted to them.

You can literally drive through them – not drive up to a window. Rather, you can drive through the entire building. Buy beer, wine, liquor and daiquiris – all at once, if you so choose. (They used to sell jello shots, which people would consume in their cars. Some may still.)

If you’re on an epic road trip,  regroup at Bonnie and Clyde’s.

The Bonnie and Clyde Beer Barn is new, clean and very spacious. Brent said someone once drove a party barge through it with room to spare.

Do as I did. Take a break. Stock up on beer.

If you’re not the road trip driver…have a drink.

Your husband might insist on buying you a daiquiri. You may choose a Fuzzy Navel.

Maybe you, like me, don’t, as a rule, drink beer. Or Fuzzy Navels. But you’re very close to being on vacation. And perhaps it is Halloween. So, take a break. Walk around. Sip your daiquiri. You’re not driving.

Chat with Brent. Take a bunch of pictures of your husband, your husband’s truck, and the general Beverly Hillbillies setup he’s ingeniously rigged for your 35 hour cross-country road trip with your three adult Australian shepherds; the eight newborn puppies; the five chickens (including one incessantly crowing rooster;) and the four very shell-shocked, utterly silent quail.

Remember the “raised in Mobile, Alabama” rule:

Mobile, Alabama rule of thumb: No matter how old you are, your mother will see whatever shady business you get up to. If she doesn’t, one of her friends assuredly will. The only thing worse than your mother busting you is your mother finding out she was among the last to know. Plan your public behavior accordingly.

With the Mobile rule in mind, politely refuse Brent’s offer to take your picture. You know your mother will not approve of your photo on the public Internet in a Beer Barn, even if you are over 50 years old.

Another note about talking smack in the deep South, especially to women

Realize that, at your age, your mother would now be Granny in the Beverly Hillbillies metaphor (and you, perhaps, a gone-to-seed Ellie Mae.) However, if your mother is anything like mine, woe to the person with the misbegotten chutzpah to call her Granny to her beautiful face.

Hopefully, if they’re dim enough to do that, they won’t understand the subtle, sweet, wittily lethal rejoinder that will inevitably follow. Otherwise, it could leave a well-deserved psychic mark.

Southern female repartee is a pro/am tournament, and the safe bet is  – always – that you’re an amateur.

Plausible deniability

Thus, no pictures of you in the Beer Barn.  You also suspect your overall traveling presentation is novel even in seen-it-all Louisiana. It might spawn a new wall in the Beer Barn titled “What-the-heck-were-those-people-thinking.”

The trip is going so well.

Until middle-aged absent-mindedness sets in…

While at the Beer Barn, you lose your husband’s wallet. Actually, you inadvertently steal it, because it looks exactly like yours.

Your husband absent-mindedly puts it down somewhere. You equally absent-mindedly put it in your purse. Things get ready to go downhill.

Trust me. You’ll laugh about it someday. (I am still not sure when, though.)

Stop for gas. No wallet.

So, you call the phone number on the receipt from Bonnie and Clyde. You find out it is the cell phone of Brent’s really nice but understandably wary wife.

You see, she won’t know until you call that her number is imprinted on the receipts for the Beer Barn. Aren’t you the ever helpful trailblazing non-prank caller? A shame she won’t be more grateful to hear from you at nearly 10:00 at night. On Halloween.

Things are getting creepy in Jackson, Mississippi (or thereabouts)

Speaking of Halloween, make sure you discover your husband’s wallet is missing in the parking lot of a dimly lit 7-11. It should be a pitch black, creepy part of Mississippi. A place where you hope all the bloody people silently flitting in and out of the store are wearing Halloween costumes and not simply on their way home from some sort of macabre ritual killing.

And you thought the Beer Barn was unusual

The Beer Barn seems all kinds of normal now, doesn’t it! Welcome to the South. Once Brent’s wife hears your pathetic story, she will give you the number of Bonnie and Clyde, which starts with 318 and ends with, of course, BEER (2337.) Brent is still at work.

Call Brent and find out that your husband’s wallet is not there (because it is in your purse. As you will discover eventually. At 2:00 in the morning, to be precise.)

Be vewy, vewy careful…

Tensely navigate the remaining three hours of your 35 hour journey in a maritally unified effort to avoid being pulled over by the Mississippi police, who are understandably on the alert for oddball behavior on Halloween night. You two, with that Louisiana beer in the back seat, chickens and quail in the bed of the truck, eight mewling puppies, three restless Australian Shepherds – and a temporarily unlicensed, wickedly tired driver – might not be able to talk your way out of this one.

Arrive alive

Once in south Alabama, pull into the long and winding driveway at the river shack at 2:00 in the morning, on the dot. Open your purse to find your husband’s wallet. He, instead of being angry, will give you a kiss.

Chicken surprise

The four hens, despite the harrowing-for-fowl journey, will have gifted you all with seven eggs in two days, all unbroken (reason #11,203 to marry an engineer if you’re not innately one yourself. He can pack chickens in a truck bed such that not one egg-laid-in-transit will break during 35 hours and 1,400 miles of travel.)

Puppy love

You will stumble up the stairs with the puppies. You’ll tuck them into bed and bath (well, bath and blankets) with their happy mama.

Mother love

Your own mama will have stocked your river shack with food and drinks and treats and left the radio playing.

She and your father will have left the lights on and fans blowing.

She will have left clean sheets folded on every bed. You will think to yourself again how blessed and spoiled you are. You will *never* call her Granny.

Your father ties for the MVP (Most Valuable Parent) award

Your dad will have left the gate open to make it easy for you and your menagerie to trundle through, fatigued as you are after 1,400 miles of driving.

He will have texted you explicit directions for the last 250 miles of your journey because “Waze doesn’t know everything” and “Crowd sourcing means you’re following the crowd. Who wants to do that?”

You will think to yourself how blessed you are to have a dad such as this.

How fortunate to be a part of this family. To go on trips such as this. To live this particular life, overflowing with love, ingenuity, adventure, curiosity and zest. To have this lively, loving, engaging heritage, going back – at least to your great-grandparents – as far back as you can remember. Going forward – to your son and beyond – to those yet to arrive, yet to appreciate, who will someday pay these blessings into the future. How very blessed.

The Bonnie and Clyde Beer Barn

(318) 263-2337
1088 Hazel St, Arcadia, LA 71001

• Offers a large selection of local beers and wines.
• Open Monday through Thursday noon until 10:00 p.m. Friday, noon until midnight. Saturday, 10:00 a.m. until midnight.