The car tags of the vehicles surrounding my parking spot at the local Dollar General were all from Georgia or Tennessee. Both states are well over a stone’s throw from my home in Alabama.

I’m surprised there weren’t any from Mississippi. Summer days bring heavy traffic, for a rural map dot of a town, to the road in front of my home. I once waited at the end of my driveway for upwards of a minute, while vehicles passed from both directions, all of them with Mississippi plates.

Still, that ain’t nothing. I’ve been in the lake home of a couple from France who had lived most of their adult lives in Africa. The wife would go on shopping sprees at Dollar General, her shopping cart spilling over with “zee most wonnn-dur-vul deelz!”

Evidently they don’t have DGs in France.

There were plenty of vehicles at a different local store with Alabama tags, the most common being “1,” for Jefferson County and the Birmingham area, as well as “58” for Shelby County and “47” for Madison County and the Huntsville area. 

But me? I’m a local, and I’ve had a 67 tag for all of my life.

Take a visit to an establishment in Mountain Brook, Alabama sometime, and make small talk with the residents there about Winston County, and see where that takes you.

“Oh, where’s that?” they ask, with surprised expressions, either having forgotten their school days of Alabama history and learning of the “Free State,” or else having never paid much attention to James Spann, ABC 33/40’s beloved meteorologist, until the weather gets closer to their neighborhood.

“Ever heard of Smith Lake?”

Then it hits them that they’ve been to a friend’s lakehouse in Sipsey Pines for a Fourth of July weekend, and oh, is that cute little coffee shop still open?

(Note: That cute little coffee shop does not specialize in caramel macchiatos, matcha lattes, and pink drinks. The place smells of hamburger grease, homemade ranch dressing, and Old Spice. Trucks are filling the parking lot at 5:30 am on the weekdays, with construction workers and old men who would starve without the place. You can get a cathead biscuit for breakfast, but you’ll get laughed at by the waitresses if you start acting like it’s a Starbucks.)

Then they might ask, “Do you know where Sipsey Pines is?”

“Oh yes, that’s down in Wilson Bend,” I respond.

Another bewildered expression: “Where’s that?”

And so it goes. 

Some visitors to the lake know little more of my hometown than the coffee shop for a Friday catfish dinner, the store for their bread and hot dogs and gasoline, the fireworks stand for a good time and a trip to the ER, and the QuikSak well across the county line for their booze.

Locals should know. We’ve been great observers over the years of the visitors to our area and their ways.

For example, tourists will call the store by its actual name, but a local will always call it “the store.” It’s had five names since I’ve been living, but to me and my people, it will always be, simply, the store.

The weekend after the pandemic started, I remember looking across from the schoolhouse where I’ve made my life’s work to the store parking lot. Just as we were shutting down for what would be the remainder of the school year, my little town had no choice but to gear up. It was the middle of March, and trucks, boats, and campers were filling the two-lane road that runs through the heart of downtown hometown as if it were Memorial Day weekend.

It’s not slowed down much since.

Several visitors from that time have chosen to stay, and that’s a wonderful thing. I’m so proud that people can enjoy the beauty of the area and make their permanent residence here. 

We might make locals out of them before all is said and done.

So here are a few tips, from a local to a non-local, if you want to make the transition to truly calling this place your home:

1. Stop shopping like it’s Black Friday for lake life T-shirts. That’s a dead giveaway that you’re just a tourist. Please, the store is crowded enough on summertime holiday weekends. Buy your barbecue, but pick another time to go on your shopping spree.

2. Stop acting like there’s nothing to do around here. Get out there and pontoon in all the seasons. Plus, crappie fishing in February will make you long for a hot dock in July, and vice versa, thereby increasing your appreciation for life and the passing of time. And don’t miss the sunrises and sunsets, for they are never the same on the lake, nor are they to be taken for granted.

3. Stop complaining about so few stores. You do realize, when you came here, that the closest Wal-Mart is a solid 45 minutes away from your bungalow in the cul-de-sac, and none of our nearest cities has a Trader Joe’s or a Whole Foods. We’ve already been over where you have to go to get your alcoholic beverages. Make a list and check it twice before you go to town.

4. Go to an event at the local school. Whether it’s a football game, a band concert, or the Veterans Day program (we have the best one you’ll ever attend), we love our kids and we are proud of them. We want you to be proud too. If you’re not, you’re in the wrong place.

5. Slow down. These roads aren’t four-lane highways. There is also no speed limit on the lake, but that doesn’t mean you have the right to drive your boat or Sea-Doo like you’re starring in Waterworld. Use common sense and have some respect for others who are trying to have a fun lake day, just like you.

And the last thing?

Visitors to our area during this time of year will notice the veterans’ banners displayed in town. The good gentlemen who are employed by the town–our police officers and water department crew–put them up in May before Memorial Day, and they stay up through the Fourth of July. They will go on display again in November for Veterans Day. 

The banners are a reality thanks to a lady folks in my hometown know fairly well.

We call her the Banner Lady. We don’t get too creative with our names.

She started as a lake person, but we’ve pretty well upgraded her to a local.

She had the idea recently that the graves of our veterans should have American flags displayed on Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, and Veterans Day.

I can go along with that, and so did my parents, so I found myself in Old Bethel Cemetery this morning searching for veterans’ graves and planting flags.

Shiny SUVs and trucks with boats on trailers went past, on their way to Sipsey Pines and other developments, as I noted the names on the tombstones, families associated with my hometown and with the community that is Wilson Bend.

Blevins, Baird, Kilpatrick, Fields.

And of course, Wilson.

I found the graves of Belton Elmo Wilson, who was killed in France on July 11, 1944, and his brother, Walter Evon Wilson, who was killed in Germany on December 13, 1944. 

Visitors might have seen their banners in town, but I bet they’ve probably not seen their final resting place. Some locals haven’t either.

Guests to my hometown, if you’re considering making this area your permanent home, I invite you to take a stroll through one of our many cemeteries. Locals, it probably wouldn’t hurt you either to meander from time to time.

Old Bethel has some of the oldest graves in my hometown. The names on some of the tombstones are so worn that they’re hard to read. But there are nameless markers like that in all of our cemeteries.

The individuals there interred would have been some of the first settlers in this area.

I’m glad they decided to become locals.

Maybe you will too.