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North Carolina is packed with outdoor live music venues, which means our summers involve an Olympic-level routine of hauling camping chairs, water bottles, bug spray, snacks, extra snacks, emergency ponchos, and emotional fortitude. We do this all to enjoy an incredible range of talented musicians—and possibly a mild case of heatstroke.
But summer in North Carolina also means weather that changes moods faster than a toddler who skipped a nap. And when the skies open up, they don’t politely drizzle. No, they audition for the role of biblical flood.
Recently, we found ourselves parked in a field, listening to a band soundcheck while waiting out one of these apocalyptic sprinkles. When the rain dialed back to a mist, we heroically lugged our gear across the soggy ground, channeling the spirit of damp pioneers heading toward a mirage of live music.
Naturally, the rain laughed at our optimism and returned with backup. Ever the gentleman, Willie sprinted to the car and returned with rain jackets and a couple of his hats. The jackets worked great. The hats… not so much. I didn’t wear one right away because I knew it would slide off—Willie’s hats are, how shall I say… generously sized.
I can’t count how many times he’s come back from a store muttering, “Do they think no one with a head the size of a planet needs sun protection?” He’s tried the largest hats he can find—and still ends up looking like he borrowed a child’s cap. We’ve lovingly started calling it his buffalo head.
Eventually, the rain grew to more than a drizzle again, so I gave in and wore one of the hats. And it fit. Surprisingly well. That’s when I froze and gasped, “Oh my gaaaawd! Does this mean my head is as big as YOURS?!”
Willie burst out laughing before gently reminding me that my hair was piled up in a messy French twist, adding roughly the volume of a croissant to my skull. So no, there is still only one buffalo head at the TRR. And it remains a majestic, one-size-does-NOT-fit-all wonder.