Well, maybe not every armadillo, but the critter-at-large most definitely gets the spotlight each year in May in the small Arkansas town of Hamburg.  Saturday, May 6, marked the 52^nd annual celebration of all things Armadillo, and it was serendipity that I was able to be there to witness the occasion.  My folks live in Hamburg, and it just so happened that we had planned to visit them on the very weekend of the celebration. Over the town square, a large banner had been hung welcoming celebrants to the World Famous Armadillo Festival.  “World Famous” seemed to me to be a bit of a stretch since I have my doubts that the event is even Arkansas Famous, but who am I to question the reach that this annual party has had over the past 52 years.  At any rate, I was proud of them for putting that level of fame out into the universe.  Any marketing guru would tell you that the best way to properly promote your product is to believe that your product is the best.  Hamburg believes.

Hamburg, Arkansas is a small town in Southeast Arkansas with a population of about 2,500, a number that has been steadily declining, along with neighboring towns, since the region’s heyday in the 1980’s.  The center of the town, the town square, is an open grassy area with an old-fashioned white wooden gazebo at its center.  Around the square on three sides are store fronts that have been overlooking the green space for several decades.  Unfortunately, too many businesses to list have cycled in and out of these old brick walls, and over time, many businesses just were not replaced at all when they closed.  Several doors and windows were locked up or boarded over, leaving only a handful of permanent businesses open in the city center.  On an average day here in the town’s square, there is very little going on in comparison to some other larger towns, but on the first Saturday in May, it’s a whole new ballgame.

My participation in the Armadillo Days celebration began on Friday night when my family and I attended a live music event on the square.  A band called Mr CabbageHead and the Screaming Radishes took the stage to entertain the small crowd gathered to hear some old time Rock and Country classics.  Given the chucklesome name of the band and the overly casual vibe of the band members who I reckoned had been jamming together for many (many) years, I wasn’t expecting much in the way of quality entertainment.  But as soon as they tore into “Vehicle”, a song made famous by the Ides of March in the early 70’s and brought back to life 35 years later with a solid cover by Bo Bice, I was on board and rightfully swallowed my judgement of Mr. CabbageHead.  I’m not sure if they were truly as good as I thought they were at the time, but considering what I was expecting VS what I got, I might has well have been watching The Stones.

The next day was packed with stuff to do.   We had a slothful breakfast at home so were a little late to the festivities and unfortunately missed the crowning of the Armadillo King and Queen.  Later in the morning, I did see a heavily bearded young man in overalls and a trucker cap sporting a sash and wearing a purple robe across his shoulders.  My assumption was that this was the newly coronated 2023 Armadillo King.  I didn’t see the Armadillo Queen until a few hours later, but that too was a memorable encounter for sure.

One of the biggest treats for me at the Festival, as is the case regarding most occasions in my life, was the food.  There were several food trucks lined up on the east side of the square, and of the 10-12 food trucks represented, it seemed that about 8-10 of them were barbecue.  Hamburg loves its barbecue!  And rightfully so.  After living in Texas for as long as I have, I’ve been indoctrinated to believe that non-Texas barbecue is categorically subpar.  My experience with Hamburg barbecue did not bear this assumption out.  One barbecue truck emblazoned with the name Mortuary BBQ and Grill on its side quickly caught my attention and my business.  With such menu items as Casket Fries and Undertaker Sandwich, they seemed to be challenging the gods.   Following a heaping portion of delicious ribs, brisket, and baked beans with a good old-fashioned funnel cake from a truck nearby made for a perfect afternoon meal and tested the potency limits of my cholesterol meds.  And in case you were wondering, barbecued armadillo was not on any of the menus.

Just off the square, a small midway and amusement area had been set up which reminded me of the carnie rides and games that I would find as a youngster at the Chicot County Fair in nearby Eudora.  And from the looks of some of them, they may have been the exact same physical structures that I had enjoyed as a boy.  I felt that there should have been a prominent sign stating, “Ride at your own risk!”, but perhaps that was already situationally implied.  For the record, we chose to not ride anything.

Several locals had set up tents inside the square to hawk their wares: homemade jams and jellies, pork rinds, gads of screen print tees, Trump 2024 flags (in both navy and standard red), candles, breads, and a slew of other unnecessary, but fun items to rummage through between events.  There were also hourly giveaways and raffles.  One teenage boy won a Bible/Gas Card combo prize.  I couldn’t help but wonder which he was more excited about.

The schedule of events was packed for the day, and included a 5K Run, a Car Show, a Baby Pig Race, a Pet Show, and a Hamburger Eating Contest (get it?).  But there were two events that piqued my imagination that I knew I could not miss – The Frog Weigh-in and Race and the epic, highlight of the day, the Armadillo Race.

For any boy growing up in Southeast Arkansas with its bayous and sloughs, encountering a frog the size of a small rabbit isn’t anything to get overly excited about, but seeing these kids, some not even old enough to attend school yet, running up to the starting line with hands barely able to contain their hopeful hoppers was a sight to behold and put a smile on my face.  A fence of 2x4s and chicken wire had been built to form a long rectangular racetrack about 15 feet long.  The idea was that the kids would hold onto their frogs at one end of the track until the “Go” was announced.  The kids would then release their frogs and vocally urge them to hop to the opposite end of the track.  This race happened to take place on the same day as the Kentucky Derby, but I can’t imagine that the enthusiasm in Louisville was any more exuberant than the spirit on display at the Frog Races in Hamburg, Arkansas. The cheering from the crowd was fervid and rowdy. There were 36 bullfrogs registered for the contest.  6 frogs at a time were pitted against one another, and then in a final championship round, the winners of the previous 6 races competed for the title of Fastest Frog in Hamburg.  It was easy to get carried away and attribute some sort of competitive intent to these unwilling amphibious contenders, but apparently yelling at a frog is not the most effective means to get it to go quickly in a specified direction.  Most of the frogs just sat there, occasionally jumping into the nearest wall of chicken wire.  But sure enough, there would always be that one frog that just leapt forward as if it knew where it was supposed to go and would claim victory for some red-faced kid screaming like this was the greatest achievement of his life.  More than once, a frog would escape a child’s grip and leap into the throng of spectators, creating more excitement and entertainment than the races themselves.  Even for those who are very comfortable handling huge bullfrogs, having one of these creatures drop out of the sky on you is enough to, depending on your sensibilities, cause considerable involuntary expressions of terror.  This may have been the best part of the day.

After the winners were awarded their prizes, it was announced that the Armadillo Races were only 30 minutes away, giving patrons an opportunity to visit the bright red port-o-lets set up on the next street over; or grab a shaved ice; or kill time in the Armadillo Store, a popup shop selling Armadillo Days swag such as commemorative tee shirts and water bottles.  I still regret not purchasing one of the Armadillo Festival Tees.  Maybe next year.

As comfortable as I may be around bullfrogs, I cannot say that I am equally as comfortable around armadillos.  These armored critters left over from the Ice Age are not the warm and cuddly mammals that we tend to want to hold.  Or at least I can confidently assure you that I do not want to hold one.  I’ll let you make your own decision about that.  Still, many of the kids were gleeful as they held these creatures, readying themselves for the upcoming competition.  From what I could surmise, the proper way to hold an armadillo is upside down by the base of their tail.  They tend to spin and thrash initially but then relax into their inverted positions.  Seeing small kids chase and catch these creatures did give me pause and quickly reminded me that, although I may have been raised in a rural community, I was not a bona fide country boy.  Bullfrogs? Sure.  Armadillos?  I’m out.

The Armadillo Races were set up in the same fashion as the Frog Races with the barely-mammalian contestants being released and encouraged to race to the other end of the chicken wired track.  It turns out that armadillos are no easier to train for these events than are frogs, with similar responses to their owners’ impassioned pleas to “Run!”.  In fact, there was very little running.  A better word for the armadillos movement may be meandering.  And eventually, an armadillo would meander unintentionally to the opposite end of the track and be declared the winner.  At the end of the race, the winning armadillo was picked up (by the tail) and raised into the air by a beautiful, young woman with long curled hair wearing denim shortalls and a glittering, plastic tiara.  She was wearing a sash that identified her as the Ashley County Queen and my curiosity was finally satisfied – There’s the Armadillo Queen.  I asked her if I could take a quick photo.  She said, “Of course” and smiled a million-dollar smile, posing as if she were holding a bouquet of roses and not a grey, scaley, beady-eyed, clawed beast of the earth.  The unique juxtaposition of these two beings in the same photo was notable and is my absolute favorite photo from the day.

If I’m completely honest, part of me was looking forward to attending the Armadillo Festival to poke fun at it.  Not in a mean way, but more in a way that you would poke fun at an old uncle who still has trouble answering his cell phone when he hears it ring (if he hears it ring).  If you just drove through Hamburg on an average day, you might not think much about the little town, but after spending a few quality hours watching the people of Hamburg honoring their annual ritual of community celebration, I’m a little bit ashamed of myself for selling it short.  After decades of living in a large city, I may have forgotten the charm, the tradition, the significance of sharing the familiar among townspeople whose lives intersect with frequent regularity.  With a handle like “Armadillo Festival”, I was preparing for vibes of Hee Haw, but instead, I felt nostalgic, conjuring images of The Sandlot, Charlotte’s Web, and even the Andy Griffith Show as I thought back to my own idyllic upbringing in a similarly sized small town nearby.   These were not small town hicks sincerely extolling the greatness of an armadillo, but a township winking at itself as it rallied around a humorously galvanizing mascot, like an armadillo, to bring the town together and celebrate the common experience of living in a community with friends and family that you seemingly (and possibly actually) have known forever.  An opportunity to drag out your barbecue pits, to show off your handiwork in jellies and knitting, to listen to great live music, to give the children of the community memories that will stay with them forever. “Remember when we were kids and raced frogs and armadillos in the town square?” We all have those types of childhood memories that we romanticize into a Norman Rockwell painting.  And after 20 years or so, whether those events were truly the slice of Americana we remember them to be or not, it is how we remember them and how they make us feel that matters.  And I can assure you that memories were made this day.

So, my hat is off to you, Hamburg, for maintaining this beloved tradition for the past 52 years.  It’s true that your residents may be missing something by not being part of a larger city experience, but it would be an arrogant and shortsighted mistake for some city folk, like myself, to think that there isn’t also a whole lot to be missed by not experiencing life in a small, tight-knit community. 

And in all likelihood, I will continue to poke fun at Armadillo Days when the opportunity presents itself (I just can’t help myself), but I now know that I’m poking fun at it affectionately right along with the good people of Hamburg.