Odes to Kirkwood Spring Fling · Track 1 · opener
Kirkwood Spring Fling
The annual Kirkwood Spring Fling festival — held mid-May on Hosea L. Williams Drive at Bessie Branham Park. Food trucks, kids' rides, beer garden, local band stage, neighborhood organization tables, the wine-and-stroll combo, porch-to-park procession of neighbors carrying lawn chairs. The Saturday-Sunday celebration of Kirkwood community, multigenerational, joyful, the bungalow blocks transformed into a fairground.
Lyrics
[Intro] Hey, old lawn chair, folded in the corner of my porch on Hosea L. Williams Drive. You've been waiting all year for this, haven't you? Mid-May sun warming your woven plastic seat. [Verse 1] I pick you up, dust off the oak pollen from last spring. Joe Renfroe's voice over the megaphone at 10:00 AM Saturday, calling us out, neighbors streaming from bungalows built in 1925. You in my arms, like carrying a piece of home down to Bessie Branham Park. The procession starts, laughter mixing with the smell of fresh-cut grass and coffee. Kids running ahead, their suntan lotion scent trailing like a promise. [Chorus] Oh, lawn chair, unfold for me under the old oaks. We'll sit through the afternoon, 78 degrees feeling just right. Watch the food trucks line up, red and yellow awnings bright against the green. Barbecue sliders smoking, cotton candy melting sweet on fingers. This is our Kirkwood, multigenerational, joyful revival. [Verse 2] By 3:00 PM Sunday, you're planted near the beer garden. Local band on stage, electric guitar twang vibrating through your frame. Hoppy IPA spills a drop on your armrest, I wipe it away gently. Maria Thompson passes by, her kids grown now but still dancing. The wine-and-stroll crowd weaves around, glasses clinking like soft bells. You've seen it all, from the 2017 chair decorating contest, your cousin draped in Christmas lights and ivy, battery pack humming. [Bridge] Whisper to me, lawn chair, about the gaps we fill. The unnamed organizers from the late 1990s, their flyers faded. The children's stories lost, but their energy here in the trampled grass. We're the procession, porch to park, transforming these blocks. [Chorus] Oh, lawn chair, unfold for me under the old oaks. We'll sit through the afternoon, 78 degrees feeling just right. Watch the food trucks line up, red and yellow awnings bright against the green. Barbecue sliders smoking, cotton candy melting sweet on fingers. This is our Kirkwood, multigenerational, joyful revival. [Outro] Rest now, old friend, until next May 15-16. You've carried us well.