By Jannice Glover adapted from the classic story fromClement Clarke Moore

‘Twas the night before Shrimp Fest, when all through the island
Not a creature was stirring, not even a sea flea;
The crafts were hung by the tents with care,
In hopes that the Velcro Pygmies soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of cajun pistols danced in their heads;
And mamma in her guns and roses tee, and I with my bush wacker,
Had just settled down for a long restful nap,

When out on the balcony there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains and tried to slide the glass door.

The moon on the shimmering of the beautiful Gulf
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a collection of food trucks, and craft tents a plenty,

With a lot of happy vendors, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Shrimp Fest.
More rapidly than seagulls they came,
And they whistled, and shouted, and I read  them by name;

“Now FLORABAMA, ! now, HANGOUT! now, BEACH BUMZ and SURF STYLE !
On, CRAFTERS! on NANNYS LEMONDADE! on, MLM’S, and MORE!
In front of Gulf Place! to the front of Burro Azul!
Now come one! Come one! Come one and all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So down to HWY 59 the patrons they called,
With the tents full of crats, shirts, and boutique goods too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the distance
The announcing and anticipation of each vendor.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the beach Cameron Flener came with a bound.

He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tattered with sweat and glitter;
A microphone he wielded with joy,
And he looked like a rock god who was just about to take stage.

His eyes — how they were painted black,! his dimples how dreamy!
His cheeks were like paper, his nose like a nose!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And chin was as smooth as his beard did not exist ;

The stump of a mic stand he held tight in his grasp,
And the pile it encircled his hand with ascots a plenty;
He had a thin face and a rock star body,
That shook, when he sang  like a rock star on stage.

He was lively and vivacious, a right jolly old star,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And made sure the beer tents were full; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, to the stage he rose;

He sprang to his step, to his band gave a whistle,
And away they all started sound checking with 80’s covers we loved.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he loved Gulf Shores and Orange Beach,
HAPPY SHRIMP FEST  TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!