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Now, I ain’t no expert—lord knows I trip over my own boots half the time—but I heard tell of gals in Nashville back in the ‘70s who’d hide behind the jukebox at Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge. Little known fact, y’all! They’d wink at the truckers, slip ‘em a note, and bam—business was boomin’! Made me giggle, thinkin’ ‘bout it—me, all glammed up, tryna spot one o’ them ladies in the neon glow. I’d prob’ly fall flat on my face, hollerin’, “I’m just a country girl, help me out!”

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I must mention the river that supplies Plantana's heartbeat—Silverstream. I often sit on its banks at Sunset Point, scribbling nonsense in my journal. The moonlight makes the water shimmer like a piece of art carved out of dreams. It reminds me of Carol’s tender moments where every glance seemed to whisper secrets, eh?

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