Bob Ross Evans
An artist rendering of a Florida man at lunch. Also, chicken tenders.
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The nearest Bob Evans is approximately 512 miles from our home in Los Angeles. My policy is that I will travel for biscuits, but it wasn’t the promise of fresh-baked biscuits that brought us to a Bob Evans in Spring Hill, Florida, it was the people. Our nephews, Micah, Tyler, and Evan, picked the restaurant, where the motto is, “Everybody is somebody at Bob Evans. We treat strangers like friends, and friends like family.”
“What are you getting?” I asked.
That was a silly question. No matter where we eat, our nephews always order the same thing. Chicken tenders. Or, chicken fingers. Or, chicken nuggets. Or, chicken strips. Or, whatever the establishment happens to call their boneless fried chicken and French fry combo.
“You know,” I said, “a chicken tender is basically the same thing as a chicken finger.”
Micah, who is 13, rolled his eyes. Tyler, who is 11, shook his head in disgust and told me, in the parlance of his times, “that’s cap.” But it was Evan, age 9, who put an end to my nonsense.
“Uncle Mike, you’re crazy.”
So, we ordered three rounds of chicken tenders, and while we waited, we made afternoon plans.
“What are we going to do today?” Christina asked.
Micah shrugged, visions of Fortnite no doubt running & shooting through his mind. Tyler said we should throw the football around, but there was rain and lightning in the forecast, so I said football was “cap,” which brought a laugh from the boys, who explained that cap is slang for lie or bullshit and that my usage was “sus.”
“Evan, I think today is a good day to do some painting,” Christina said. “What do you think? Should we paint?”
But Evan never got a chance to answer because as soon as Christina said the word paint, a man sitting a few tables away chimed in with his opinion.
“Everyday is a good day to paint,” the man said in a booming voice. “Painting is the best. You’ll love it! I started painting thirty-six days ago. I do one painting a day, and everyday I get a little better. Are you guys going to take a class?”
“No, we’re just going to have fun with it,” Christina said. “We saw these YouTube videos where people do these amazing swirly-type designs with acrylic paints and blow dryers. It’s just for fun. We don’t care if we make mistakes.”
“We don’t make mistakes,” the man said, “just happy, little accidents.”
Immediately, Christina knew she had found a kindred spirit. This stranger, or as Bob Evans might call him, this friend, wasn’t just a fellow painting enthusiast, he was a bona fide Bob Ross fan!
“Here, let me show my latest,” Bob Ross Evans said as he leapt from his seat. “I did a beach and ocean scene at night. Lots of dark blues and moody purple tones.”
A second later, Bob Ross Evans was standing at our table unfurling that day’s canvass.
“Wow, that’s amazing!” Christina said. “You’re really good.”
“Actually, I’m terrible,” Bob Ross Evans said. “But thank you for saying that.”
“No, I mean it,” Christina said. “You’re really good. I couldn’t do that.”
“No, you absolutely can do this. Anyone can. Just takes patience and practice. Like I said, I just started thirty-six days ago.”
“It’s true,” Mrs. Bob Ross Evans said. “You should’ve seen him when he started.”
“I don’t have that painting on me,” Bob Ross Evans interjected.
“No, of course not,” Mrs. Bob Ross Evans said. “It would be weird if you carried every painting with you at all times, honey.”
Actually, I thought, it’s kind of weird that Bob Ross Evans was carrying his 36th painting with him. Or maybe weird isn’t the right word. Maybe the word is surreal. Or, maybe it’s just Florida. Because how else do explain an impromptu art show at a Bob Evans?
“My point,” Bob Ross Evans continued, “is that you can’t compare yourself to another artist. You just can’t do that. Bob Ross is great, don’t get me wrong. I love Bob Ross. But the thing about Bob Ross is, people think their painting is supposed to look like Bob’s painting, and it’s not. It’s supposed to look like your own painting, and however that looks, that’s great.”
“Well, your painting is great,” Christina said. “I’m super impressed.”
“Thanks,” Bob Ross Evans said. “I’m really happy with it. Of course, there are lots of mistakes that only I can see, brush strokes here and there that could’ve been better, color choices, stuff like that. But I’m getting better everyday, and I love it.”
“That’s wonderful,” Christina said. “But remember, we don’t make mistakes, just happy, little accidents.”
“Exactly!”
Just like that, our food arrived, and the happy, little accident that was our chance encounter with the artist in residence at the Spring Hill, Florida Bob Evans came to an end.
“You’re going to write about this, aren’t you?” Christina asked as she dug into her biscuits and gravy.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Why wouldn’t you write about it?” Christina asked. “This kind of story is your jam, baby.”
“It is. But you say art, and out of nowhere Bob Ross Evans suddenly jumps up with words of encouragement, some great advice about not comparing yourself to other artists, and the pièce de résistance, his latest painting. Who does that? It’s odd, even by Florida standards, and that’s saying a lot.”
“What are you saying, baby?”
“I’m saying, and our nephews will certainly correct me if I’m wrong here, that people will probably think this story is cap.”
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As always, comments and Likes are much appreciated.
Here’s some photos of our nephews making art. As it turned out, Bob Ross Evans was right, they loved it! But that makes sense. Art is great fun and good for the soul.
Speaking of good for the soul, I’d like to recommend Alex Olshonsky’s newsletter Deep Fix. Alex writes about mental and spiritual health, addiction, work(aholism), philosophy, and psychedelics. Sure, you can Google those topics and you’ll get whatever content the algorithm can monetize, but with Alex you get deeply personal and practical writing on difficult topics. Check out Alex’s recent piece on breaking free from the productivity addiction and you’ll see what I mean.
I love that this story happened in Florida. In fact, I was tickled to read that you visited Spring Hill, a locale I've visited many times because my hubby bowls in tournaments there at least twice a year. We've never stopped at Bob Evans for the simple fact that we tend to eat at locally established family owned joints and the menu doesn't exactly cater to vegetarians. Be that as it may, I believe Bob Ross Evans was not a plant and probably would have sold you that painting if you'd offered. You might say he was a happy, little accident.