Attendin' a Bonafide Moonshine Sippin’, Dart Throwin’, Hootin’ and a-Hollerin’, Big Ol’ Wild Party out in Hickory Tree

A few years back, several of the former inmates I once taught at the Bristol Jail decided to throw a big ol' wild party out in the Hickory Tree section of Bristol, on the lower slopes of Holston Mountain.

I was duly honored to be personally invited to their party.

“Mr. T., you gotta come on out! Now we might sip us some strawberry moonshine and throw us some darts. But thar ain’t gonna be no meth. We be on the up and up, thanks to you. All of us got jobs now and are back with our families. We just wanna celebrate. And we want you to celebrate with us.”

Now I personally spent nearly a full year of my life inside jail - if you count two nights a week, three hours at a time, for nearly twenty-five years - while teaching inmates in my adult education/GED class, and while serving as a volunteer for the Good News Jail and Prison Ministry. I must admit that the fear crossed my mind that my chances of actually serving some hard time behind bars would increase exponentially if I took my friends up on their kind invitation and attended their party.

But my former students insisted. “You don’t have to drink shine with us, Mr. T. We will have you a case of cold Mountain Dew on hand.”

So I attended.

Now … if any reader has not yet in this life experienced a Bonafide Moonshine Sippin’, Dart Throwin’, Hootin’ and a-Hollerin’, Big Ol’ Wild Party out in Hickory Tree before … then in the words of all my rowdy friends, “You ain’t yet lived.”

I could clearly hear the banjo music, ringing happy as a Holston Mountain stream, as soon as I made the turn up the holler (yes, that last word was spelled correctly).

Them good ol’ boys were all glad to see me comin’. Equally glad and honestly plum half past honored I felt. Just to be invited.

The thought dawned on me that perhaps I should have worn a fake beard. Sure enough, as I pulled into the yard the party looked a whole lot like a ZZ Top band member look-alike contest.

“I’m so glad you came, Mr. T.!” my kind host chortled. “Come on ‘round back with me. We’uns is all a-throwin’ darts right now.” So I eagerly followed my good host, receiving hand shakes and hugs from several former students along our way.

When we arrived out back, the site and sound of what next captured my eye and ears can scarcely be described.

But as a self-proclaimed writer of words, I will try.

A former student was throwing darts with one hand. I draw attention to the phrase, “one hand”, because the other hand clutched a Mason jar glass half-filled with moonshine. (Note I wrote, “half-filled”. The reader will likely guess where the other half was recently deposited.)

Another former student stood maybe five paces away from the deeply inebriated dart thrower, right beside a big ol’ oak tree. On said big ol’ oak tree was nailed a not-so-big ol’ dart board.

It was then that I noticed that the former student standing by the big ol’ oak tree was wearing a pair of really thick safety glasses.

My host explained, “Mr. T., them goggles is so the dart board tender don’t get blinded. They is only two places we don’t want a dart to hit us - in the eyes or between the legs. We just don them goggles and go! Notice how Cecil there grabs himself down below the very second somebody throws. We try to keep things on the safe side ‘round here.”

I am rarely at a loss for words. But I wanted to say something like, “Do you have to have somebody standing by the dart board while someone is throwing at it? Can’t you just wait until all the darts are thrown, then have somebody go get them?”

Yet … I stood speechless.

My kind host continued. “Hey, Mr. T., you throw a few now while I go tend the board fer you.”

(I thought to myself, “Lordamighty, did that mean I was due next to be the board tender?!)

I could write more about that sweet summer evening, spent out beneath the steep slopes of Holston Mountain with true friends, but I feel I’ve perhaps gone far enough.

I do recall having a grand ol’ time with a bunch of rowdy friends who now all had jobs, were happily reunited with their families, and who were all now trying their best not to go to jail again.

There are lots of things about that long fun night that I just can’t seem to recall (rumor has it that perhaps I should blame some strawberry moonshine).

However, I do recall throwing darts.

I do recall hitting several bull’s eyes.

Thankfully, I do not recall donning goggles