Crabapple Festival: October on the Crossroads

Lyrics

[Intro]
First Saturday in October.
The air gets a certain kind of clear.
Birmingham Highway just… stops.
They put up the orange barricades.
And for a day, the crossroads breathe.

[Verse 1]
The first thing that hits you is the smell.
Not exhaust fumes. Not hot tires.
It’s kettle corn. A sweet, burnt sugar cloud.
And under that, pine straw baking in the sun.
People walking in the middle of the road, slow.
Like they’ve forgotten what a yellow line is for.
Pushing strollers where the turn lane used to be.

[Chorus]
This is Crabapple in the fall.
A flatbed truck for a stage.
A banjo ringing off the old brick storefronts.
Vintage dressers sitting on the lawn of the Milton library.
And everyone you know is here, holding a paper cone of something fried.

[Verse 2]
There's a man selling honey from his own hives.
A woman with soap that smells like lavender and goat's milk.
The Civil War re-enactors look hot in the wool uniforms.
I saw a chipped porcelain wash basin I almost bought.
From a house that’s probably a subdivision now.
The fiddle player saws away, eyes closed.
He knows this tune better than he knows his own name.

[Chorus]
This is Crabapple in the fall.
A flatbed truck for a stage.
A banjo ringing off the old brick storefronts.
Vintage dressers sitting on the lawn of the Milton library.
And everyone you know is here, holding a paper cone of something fried.

[Bridge]
Someone told me the old grist mill
stood right over there.
By the port-a-potties.
Ground corn for the whole north of the county.
Now it’s where you park the CR-V if you get here early enough.
History is patient.

[Outro]
The sun is going down behind the water tower.
Gyro truck. BBQ truck. The one with the fancy tacos.
The string lights blink on over the asphalt.
Tomorrow, the cars come back.
But not today.
Not today.