Rat Saw God As My Southern Childhood Memories
Words: Laurie Tamayo
December 8, 2023
When I first heard of the band Wednesday, I was laying in the grass on a farm in North Carolina, bathing in the wisest green known to man with a rounded blue mountain towering over me. A horse whinnied a few feet away. The dog tossed a ball my way. Wild blackberries dropped to the ground. It was dreamy. A good friend— laying beside me— turned over to ask, “Have you heard Mowing the Leaves Instead of Piling ‘em Up?”
I hadn’t. When we listened, I quickly felt a joy of finding something that speaks to you in such a particular way that nothing and no one could ever replicate the bond. Even if it wasn’t a connection unique only to me, I imagined it was. Wednesday meshes the sounds of country, rock, and shoegaze with vivid lyrics that validate the Southern adolescents and I who never fully subscribed to the typical Southerner archetype. Their music conjures all my favorite musical niches into one. When Rat Saw God came out, the joy returned. It all feels too real and too close to me, in an awesome way. Below are some memories of my Southern childhood summers that the songs on the album remind me of.
HOT ROTTEN GRASS SMELL
Getting bit by a Brown Recluse spider in the cow pasture on the hill behind my house.
BULL BELIEVER
Aggressively hitting a horse-shaped piñata tied to a loose piece of barn ceiling. The piñata doesn’t break but the ceiling falls. When the candy spills out, it’s cradled by dirt and dust and the barn cats all flock to investigate.
I GOT SHOCKED
Walking through Bays Mountain Park in a single file line only to be stung by twenty one yellow jackets because the kid in front of me throws a stick at the nest above us. A very small fit is made because the class had been told we were on the schedule to feed wolves. Everyone cares more about that.
FORMULA ONE
A silent drive up the Blue Ridge Parkway in October. The mountains are orange now, not blue. The air’s too cold as the elevation increases, so I close the window. The warmth of the window glass feels too nice to take my cheek off. I sit that way for the whole ride.
CHOSEN TO DESERVE
I never did go to high school in Tennessee, but I went to the summer festival where all my friends and I did was stalk the older kids every year. In fourth grade, I recall walking the Crazy 8 race with a boy who couldn’t run because he refused to use the pads of his feet. We finish the eight kilometers to see a group of girls in flannels and Nike shorts shotgunning beers. They’d probably relate to this song.
BATH COUNTY
The high school football team loses. I’m ten, so I don’t care, but a family friend— Paul— is heartbroken. The maroon lines on his face are smeared from sweat. He’s talking on a loop about how we shouldn’t go to the only Mexican restaurant in town and should instead go to Cook Out. The parents only concede for dessert. Paul’s distressed but satisfied, and my peach shake tastes like “Bath County.”
QUARRY
Sitting on stained carpet in my white grandmother, Beebee’s, basement while playing marbles (I am not white and we were not related) . All she does is chat about neighborhood gossip like I understand. She makes me peanut butter and jellies cut into triangles while my parents are away at work. I listen while she tells me that Paxson next door is moving to New York. No one ever moves there.
WHAT’S SO FUNNY
Walking through the nice neighborhoods— full of the brick houses with Black labradors and trampolines— to get home from Thomas Jefferson Elementary. It’s fun to imagine myself there. I keep on trekking to get to my street.
TV IN THE GAS PUMP
Getting on the highway to drive twenty minutes to the Fort Henry Mall. All the billboards read, “JESUS SAVES” and “What! Embryos are Babies!”
TURKEY VULTURES
I left Tennessee after ten years, and missed it before I ever said goodbye. On a rainy day during the final few weeks of living there, my sister and I went to a lookout on the Blue Ridge Mountains and watched peacefully as the tidal sky shifted across the towns.