Alabama For Your Golf Vacation?

Harry, Wes, Mary, J.E. and Alma, about 1963, on the farm.

To arrive at a just estimate of a renowned man's character
  one must judge it by the standards of his time, not ours. 

 --- Mark Twain

Wes, Stanley, Darlene and Reba at Treadwell's yard.

Golf course view from our room.

When considering possible vacations, Alabama doesn’t come quickly to mind for most people.  In fact, negative stereotypes, so familiar that I need not even mention them, dominate opinions about this state to the point that many would just as soon dismiss it altogether.

Because my mother grew up in Alabama and most of her family remained there when we moved to California, we took many summer vacations there when I was a child.  By the time I was in high school, I felt a little embarrassed about being born in Alabama myself, because negative opinions already dominated discussions in school and on television.  And I felt that way despite knowing how wonderful it can be from personal experience.  Such is the power of peer and media pressure.

Julie and I returned to Alabama this past weekend, as a business trip to the south with her new company would bring her to Huntsville anyway.  I bought my own flight and tagged along, arriving a weekend early to drive down to Prattville on our own dime. 

Another view from Mariott room.

We stayed at the beautiful Montgomery Marriott Prattville Hotel and Conference Center at Capitol Hill.  Obviously, the name was not selected to roll off the tongue any more than the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim formerly known as the California Angels moniker.  However, at about $125 per night almost any time of year, it would be a super value in most parts of the world, especially when you consider it is located on a Robert Trent Jones designed Championship Golf Course, where golf runs about $46, considerably less than inferior public courses most other places.

Do the math, and you’ll soon realize this is a great value for serious golfers. 

Cousins at Fantail.

For meals, you don’t have to pay resort prices.  There are lots of restaurants nearby, including the familiar fast food chains and independents featuring fantastic local cuisine.  Anyone who has been to Alabama, or had a meal at my late Mom’s house in California, knows the fresh ingredients prepared by cooks who understand seasoning with love results in meals that are easily equal or superior to meals from more renowned culinary destinations like New Orleans and Paris.  We were fortunate to enjoy meals in the area that showcased some highlights of the local choices.

My cousin Angie met us by the highway and led us to her home in the woods, which involves turning at the correct trees rather than street signs.  She fed us barbeque superior to anything I ever tasted in Texas or anywhere else.  By the way, what we call barbeque in California is what the south calls grilling.  Barbecue is meat smoked for a day or so and then served with a sweet, spicy sauce.

Zachary, Uncle Roy and Aunt Ann.

For dinner, Aunt Ann and Uncle Roy beat the drum to bring in my cousins from all other necks of the woods to meet at the Fantail for a seafood buffet.  The thought of a buffet brings to mind somewhat bland food most places, but not in Alabama.  The fried freshwater catfish and hushpuppies were as fresh, crispy and delicious as the ones we had when I was a child and we caught and fried them up in an open kettle of peanut oil on the same afternoon.  The shrimp creole and stuffed crab measured up well with anything in New Orleans or San Francisco.  Deep fried oysters, popcorn shrimp, Alabama gumbo, buttery broiled fish fillets…it was all delicious.  The company was even better.

Aunt Ann, Donald and Steve.

Now I’m often accused of being quiet, but the same charge can’t be leveled against my country cousins. Their brand of self-deprecating humor might be misunderstood by a casual observer who wants to believe negative stereotypes.

 “We have a dope problem in Eclectic,” my cousin Donald said in the booming voice of someone who almost became a minister like our great-grandfather but instead went into his family’s fabric business.  “Most of us don’t have an IQ much above 60 or 70.” Now I know he, like my other cousins, is not simply college educated but has a quick wit and sharp business mind, but he comes off like Larry the Cable Guy. 

Wes and Julie at Lake Martin.

We had enough cousins to fill the banquet room, but someone in the main restaurant might have heard Donald shout, “At church that Sunday the preacher said, ‘We have to put it off a week so Donald can attend a Klan rally.’”  That raucously delivered punchline was true, but so was the more quiet explanation that he, as an avid gun collector, actually would be attending a well-known gun show in Birmingham, adhering to an equally strong but far less negative stereotype of guns and religion. 

I actually think they like being misunderstood.  It keeps the interlopers away and the buffet lines less crowded.

Steve, Michael, Wes and James by Grandparents' house.

After dinner, everyone headed home except my cousins Angie and Steve, who went back to our hotels to have drinks by the fire, where we swapped stories about when we were kids and Steve shared some adventures as a detective.  The stereotype of southerners is hard drinking rednecks, and I imagine there must be quite a few, but at dinner, we all drank iced tea, and at the bar, Angie had a water and Steve had another iced tea while Julie had a glass of wine and I had a Sam Adams.  Actually, I can’t recall seeing any of my relatives back there drink alcohol ever, although they make jokes about white lightening, and I’ve heard stories about my dad and Uncle Edwin honky tonkin’ around the time of Hank Williams, something Granddaddy made sure they knew he disapproved of.

Wes, Jay, Gina, Julie and Amy in Alabama, Summer 1992.

The next day, we headed to Lake Martin for lunch at Sinclair’s Kowaliga.  If you’re familiar with Hank Williams, you’ll know the song “Kaw-liga,” which is written about this area, but the restaurant most brings to mind the feel of an old Rodney Crowell song, “Stars on the Water,” even if the stars weren’t out when we dined at lunch time.  It is a rustic restaurant appropriately decorated with Hank Williams memorabilia beautiful setting. 


That day, they had a fried chicken special for $8.99, which came with two vegetables, mashed potatoes and corn bread.  Since that would have been my favorite meal when I was a child, I couldn’t resist ordering it, and the huge chicken breast was delicious.  The mashed potatoes couldn’t hold up to Mom’s, but this would be a nice day trip for your golf escape.