Car wash initiative nets $25,216 for Community Food Bank of Central Alabama
Raindrop Car Wash presented a $25,216 donation to the Community Food Bank of Central Alabama, concluding its first-quarter “Wash Away Hunger Wednesday” initiative.
The contribution represents proceeds from every car washed on Wednesdays during the first quarter of 2025, with $1 from each wash allocated directly to support hunger relief efforts within the community.
Senior executives from Raindrop Car Wash presented the check at the Community Food Bank’s facility, where they were greeted by the Food Bank’s CEO and leadership team. The visit included a guided tour of the facility, providing a firsthand perspective on the organization’s daily operations and unwavering dedication to providing sustenance to those in need.
Community Food Bank CEO Nicole Williams expressed her gratitude for the ongoing partnership. “I am delighted about our partnership with Raindrop Car Wash. They have been an amazing partner, lots of their locations serving our community, just like the food bank, and we are so excited to work together to make sure that our neighbors are getting food that they need and providing meals on their tables.”
“Our campaign is deeply rooted in our organization’s core values and our team’s desire to be generous members of the communities we serve,” said Blake Buchanan, CEO of Raindrop Car Wash. “We are immensely proud of our customers and team for rallying behind this cause every Wednesday, and the exciting beginning of this partnership with the Community Food Bank of Central Alabama.”
Raindrop’s Wash Away Hunger campaign is a longstanding community initiative designed to transform routine car washes into acts of compassion. The company looks forward to continuing this endeavor throughout the year to help make a lasting impact.
Editor’s Note: To learn more about the campaign, visit www.raindropcarwash.com/wash-away-hunger.
It’s not always a passport full of stamps, a huge house, or a stacked bank account. Sometimes it’s your well-worn Bible, a garden you planted, long talks with old friends or a family that still gathers for Sunday dinner.
It’s less about 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 you have, and more about 𝙬𝙝𝙤 you have & what you value. Less about climbing, more about rooting. Less about escaping and more about abiding.
Because truth is—the “good life” is wildly subjective. To some, it’s the city skyline or the sound of the ocean. To others, it’s wildflowers, fresh eggs, and a baby on your hip. For some, it’s traveling the world or climbing the corporate ladder.
For others, it’s holding tightly to home and spending your days pouring into those you share it with.
It’s not always about how far you go—
Sometimes it’s as simple as who you come home to.
A messy house full of laughter, your favorite flowers blooming outside, a steady hand to hold, a warm meal and a place to rest your head.
That is ‘the good life’ too.
– Mackenzie Free –
Wife, mother, photographer & current resident of the unassumingly magical town of Steele, Alabama
Gaston Williamson enjoying life as a professional puppy transporter
Story by Scottie Vickery Photos by Graham Hadley Submitted photos
Gaston Williamson spent most of his career helping to connect consumers with the products and services they wanted. He’s doing much the same thing in retirement, but the process is a lot more fun.
These days, the former regional product manager for UPS is focusing on transporting cute, cuddly, playful puppies to their forever homes and families. He’s a canine courier of sorts, and his reward is lots of puppy kisses and happy smiles.
“The best part is the excitement I see when I make the final delivery, especially with the children,” Williamson said. “It gives me such a thrill to get to see them.”
Gaston holding one of his puppy ‘fares’
Williamson, who lives in Cropwell, was looking for an English Springer Spaniel for his wife, Cynthia, when he met a breeder in Tennessee. They struck up a friendship, and sometimes when Williamson’s work took him nearby, he’d stop in to see the puppies.
“One time I mentioned I was going to be retiring, and the breeder mentioned this and said I should do it,” he said. “She’s the one who got me into it.”
Williamson had helped transport rescue dogs before, so it wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar concept. After hurricanes in Texas and Louisiana in 2017 resulted in a large number of displaced dogs, he became part of a rescue chain made up of volunteers from across the country who helped transport the animals to shelters on the Northeast Coast.
“I’d drive a 100-mile leg and pass the dogs off to someone else,” he said. The process continued until the dogs were ultimately delivered to shelters until they could be reunited with their owners or placed in new homes. “I was still working at the time, but I did that for a couple of years on the weekends,” Williamson said.
That’s why, when he retired in 2021, he became more intrigued with the idea of working with breeders. And now, the name of his Facebook page, Have Puppy Will Travel, pretty much sums up his philosophy these days.
“There’s no telling how many thousands of miles I’ve covered delivering puppies,” he said.
One of two puppies delivered during an 800-mile trip
So why does he do it? “Number one, I love dogs, and I enjoy the puppies,” said Williamson, adding that he and Cynthia have four dogs, three of which are Springer Spaniels. “Also, I get to see a lot of places I’ve never been. I traveled a lot with my job – I traveled eight states – and I wanted to keep traveling as much as I could.”
The experience is a rewarding one, as well. “A lot of times, I deliver to families who have just lost another dog. It just gives me a kick to see the smiles on their faces.”
Williamson, who also is a driver for St. Clair Area Transportation (SCAT), primarily works with eight breeders in Georgia, North Carolina, Kentucky and Tennessee. “You’ve got to be careful because you can run into some puppy mills, which I don’t do,” he said.
He vets all of the breeders he works with and makes sure they are certified by Good Dog, an organization that helps ensure its breeders follow responsible breeding practices. Although there have been exceptions, the majority of dogs he transports are Spaniels.
“I’ve had requests for cats, pot-bellied pigs and rabbits,” he said. “I’ve mostly stuck with Springer Spaniels since I know the breed so well.”
Williamson had no idea the gig would become such a big part of his retirement years. “It started out as a hobby, but I go about two or three times a month,” he said. Sometimes it’s a quick trip to Tennessee, but other times there’s a lot more involved.
“A few weeks ago, I left home about 6 a.m. and drove to Bardstown, Kentucky,” he said. “I picked up a puppy and headed to Alpena, Arkansas. I dropped the dog off at 9:30 p.m. and drove 1,007 miles in one day. I got a motel room real quick.”
Another time he picked up a puppy at the Atlanta airport that had come from the Czech Republic and delivered it to a woman in Kentucky. In cases like that, the dog is shipped via air cargo. “It’s a controlled cargo part of the plane that’s heated, cooled and has oxygen,” Williamson said. “I’ve been real impressed with the way the airlines take care of the dogs.”
Gaston and three of his four dogs
He’s not just going to airports to pick up puppies, though. A lot of times, he acts as a “flight nanny” and accompanies the puppies on the flight. “You can take a puppy on an airplane as long as it can fit in a flexible carrier that can go under the seat in front of the passenger” Williamson said.
He’s taken lots of plane trips with puppies, and he said they usually sleep for most of the flight. So far, he and his charges have flown to Denver twice, Boston twice, Boise, Dallas and to Bozeman, Montana and Washington, D.C.
It normally costs $85 to $125 for the puppy to fly, but that’s included in the expenses paid by the new owner or the breeder. Williamson charges a fee in addition to the expenses he concurs, whether it’s gas, plane fares or lodging. “My limit is about 13 hours a day,” he said. “Anything over that, I’m probably going to get a hotel room.”
At last count, Williamson had traveled to or driven through about 30 states while transporting puppies. He’s dropped off precious cargo in New Mexico, Phoenix, Utah and Indiana, to name a few. He’s driven through all kinds of weather, including snow, high winds and record flooding. Sometimes it’s a day trip while others take two or three days.
Cynthia has joined him on a couple of the shorter drives, but sometimes he and his wife take a trip later that was sparked by one of his deliveries. “I’ll go on a trip, and I’ll see something interesting. I’ll come back and talk about it, and we’ll end up taking a trip there,” he said.
Williamson said one of his favorite trips was when he delivered some puppies to a family in Philadelphia on Dec. 22 one year. The only thing the parents told their children was that they were going to the airport. “They probably thought they were going to Disney World or the Bahamas or something,” Williamson said with a laugh.
The kids weren’t disappointed, however. “Those three little kids went crazy over their puppies,” he said. “They were just screaming and going crazy. It was so much fun. It’s things like that that make this so rewarding.”
Former Odenville resident wins 2025 Iditarod Dogsled Race
Top Photo: Jessie Holmes, formerly of Odenville, taking part in the Iditarod Dogsled Race, which he won this year. Photo by Dave Poyzer, online at davepoyzer.com
Story by Roxann Edsall Submitted photos
A trip by car from Odenville to Boston is 1,159 miles. From Odenville to Tucumcari, New Mexico is just under 1,100 miles. Now imagine a similar distance in the harsh, winter environment in Alaska, but instead of being inside your warm car, you are standing on the footboard of a sled racing through the frozen tundra at 10 to 12 miles per hour.
Alabama native Jessie Holmes knows firsthand the experience, as a musher and veteran racer of long-distance dog sled races.
He won this year’s 1,128-mile Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race, the longest Iditarod in the race’s 53-year history. Due to a lack of snowfall along parts of the normal route, the official start of the 2025 race was moved from Willow, Alaska to Fairbanks.
The routing of the race was also altered, a precaution made to protect the safety of the mushers and their dogs, but adding over 100 miles to the grueling journey.
Holmes crossed the finish line in Nome at 2:55 a.m. on March 14, having completed the race in 10 days, 14 hours, 55 minutes and 41 seconds, just a little more than three hours ahead of second place finisher, veteran musher Matt Hall. The win brought with it a check for $57,200.
This was the 8th Iditarod for the 43-year-old Holmes, his strongest Iditarod finish. He placed 3rd in 2024 and in 2022.
Success, for Holmes, has been hard fought. Born in Sylacauga and raised in Phenix City by his mom, Judy Holmes, he admits to running away and getting into trouble a lot. As a teenager, he spent two years living with his father in Odenville and attended St. Clair County High School. Still getting into trouble there, he left school and headed out West hoping to figure things out.
“I was traveling, jumping trains, hitchhiking across the country working odd jobs,” says Holmes. “I settled in Montana for a little while working for a family. Then I headed up north into the Yukon Territory, wanting to be a mountain man.” He ultimately landed in Alaska, where he has thrived living off the grid.
He calls the wilderness the cure for the troubles of his youth. “It was what my soul needed,” admits Holmes. He credits the loving guidance of his grandfather, Gene Richmond, with his love of the wilderness lifestyle. An army veteran of World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War, his grandfather lived on Fort Benning, just minutes from his Phenix City home.
As a youngster, Holmes was happy there playing with the chickens and beagles and in the garden. “I was always trying to round up stray dogs everywhere I went and was always getting in trouble for it. I’ve had a strong empathy for animals my whole life,” Holmes says. “If you ran over a turtle, I was in tears.”
From his grandfather, young Jessie learned to hunt, fish, trap, garden and raise dogs, skills he still uses to provide for himself and for his animals. His grandfather has since passed, but his “granny” still lives in Phenix City.
With his human family so far away, Holmes’ describes his dogs as family. And a big family it is. Working with 60 to 70 dogs in his kennel, he breeds, raises and trains dogs for his teams and for other mushers.
He has apprentices who work with him at his homestead and learn about training sled dogs. He still trains his “A-team,” which is about 30 dogs, while his apprentices work with the “B-team” and “C-team” dogs. He’s mentoring these young people just as he was mentored by special people when he first arrived in Alaska.
Gettting ready to bed down with his dogs for a short rest
Holmes gratefully acknowledges the men who took him under their wings. Jerry (Gerald) Riley, the 1976 Iditarod champion, was influential in steering the Alabama transplant through some challenging times. “He kind of adopted me,” says Holmes. “He’s the one that really saw that I could be a champion and convinced me of it. I had kind of a negative perception of myself.”
Riley taught him some important wilderness skills and got him interested in dog breeding and racing. “I learned a lot about race tactics from him, like psyching out your competitors and not letting people play mind games on you. He was a master at race strategy.” Riley never got to see Holmes win the Iditarod, having passed away last fall.
For a few years, Holmes lived in Nenana and had other Iditarod racers as neighbors. 1983 Champion Rick Mackey taught Holmes more on strategy, numbers and dog care. Bill Cotter, whose top finish was 3rd place, became a father figure to him. “All three of them taught me so much,” says Holmes.
“They came from a different era of mushing,” Holmes adds. “They didn’t typically travel all through the night because they didn’t have the high-level headlamps that we have now. All the gear is a lot more high-tech now. When it felt tough for me, I thought about them. I focused on doing this for a bigger reason than myself. I did it for all the people who believed in me and for those mentors that have passed.”
Reality Star
The Iditarod isn’t Holmes’ only claim to fame. When a National Geographic channel series producer was looking for cast members for Life Below Zero, a show about sustenance living in remote villages of the Alaskan wilderness, friends recommended Holmes. He was cast in the show, which ran from 2015 to 2023, and won nine Academy of Television Arts & Sciences prime time Emmy Awards.
“I wasn’t interested in the show at first, but I was paid very well and that gave me the income boost that I needed to be able to do the racing and the lifestyle I wanted,” Holmes explains.
Jessie tends to the needs of his dogs before his own
He had already been excelling in mid-length races but hadn’t had the money to put into training and the expenses for the longer races, like the Iditarod. With his earnings from Life Below Zero, he was able to buy better dogs, breed them and increase the quality of his team.
He began training for his first Iditarod, and the show documented and filmed that first attempt and his second year. He was named Rookie of the Year with a 7th place finish in his first attempt in 2018.
“You’re cold, hungry, sleepy,” describes Holmes of the race experience. “You’re excited and, you know, scared. It’s almost every emotion you can imagine, all wrapped up in each day.” There are many dangers on the trail, including frostbite, whiteout conditions, injuries to the musher or the dogs and dangers from wildlife.
In the 2024 race, he ended up breaking his hand defending his dogs from an angry moose. “We kind of came up on it, and it was sleeping on a real narrow technical spot on the trail,” Holmes recalls. “The dogs were just trying to go by, and it tried to stomp some of the dogs in the team. It reared up and stomped towards the dogs and me and the sled. We’d just startled it, and it was using its survival instinct, but I came face-to-face with it and had to punch it in the nose.”
Very real dangers during races also include sleep deprivation and complete exhaustion, even to the point of hallucination. “I’ve only hallucinated once years ago,” says Holmes. “I was in a pretty depleted state. I was along the coast and saw semi-trucks going down the sea ice and going like 60 miles an hour. I was in this crazy state of believing that it was really happening, and I was so irritated that they would let that happen on the race trail. Then there was like a massive white wall about three feet high, and I felt like I had to duck under it, so I threw the sled on the side and ducked underneath it. When I jumped back up and threw the sled upright, I looked back and it wasn’t there.” That experience shook him, and he ended taking a 9th place finish in that year’s Iditarod. Since then, he’s learned to manage his energy and prioritize his health.
His health has been an issue for him the past three years as he recovered from nearly being crushed by a house. In September of 2022, Holmes was helping in the recovery efforts after Typhoon Merbok hit the coastline of Western Alaska nearly destroying the town of Golovin. He and other volunteers were pulling out wet insulation and plywood from under a house and when he pulled his last nail, a portion of the underside of the house collapsed, pinning him beneath. Friends pulled him out and got him to the hospital.
“I broke three ribs and shattered my wrist,” tells Holmes. “That all happened at the peak of training for that year’s Iditarod. I entered that race with a lot of physical problems and basically emaciated at 142 pounds. So, I had a tough time on the trail. I ended up getting 5th that year.
With his health a priority, this year’s race strategy was to catch a one-hour nap each time he had to stop. He planned five-hour rest stops to give himself ample time to get his dogs taken care of and to give them 3½ hours of uninterrupted sleep. After they were put to bed, he made sure his hydration and nutrition needs were met, which left him about an hour of sleep time.
“So, the first thing I do right when I get stopped is to direct them off the trail somewhere,” explains Holmes. “My leaders listen to me, so a few commands, and they’ll park themselves off the trail.”
Having settled the dogs off the trail, he gets a cooker going to melt snow. It takes 3 ½ gallons of boiling water to thaw the meat his dogs will need. Because of the incredible amounts of energy needed for the race, sled dogs needs approximately two pounds of meat at each feeding. Holmes also uses the boiling water to thaw the ointments and massage oils to help each dog with sore muscles and foot abrasions.
“After they’ve gotten their ointments and massage oils, I add the kibble and supplements to their meat,” Holmes adds. “When they’re done, I put their coats on them and get them settled in the straw bed. Then it’s time for me to eat, repack my sled and climb in the straw with them for about an hour of sleep.”
Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race rules mandate three stops along the race route, with one being a 24-hour stop at a major checkpoint and the other two being 8-hour stops. These required stops are designed to ensure that there is ample time for dog care and rest for the musher and his or her team.
It is also where mushers arrange for resupply shipments to be picked up. “I use them mostly for refueling points,” explains Holmes. “I get my straw, fuel for my cooker and my drop bags with supplies that I’ve ordered. I don’t stay in the towns. I camp in the country with my dogs.” That way, he says, he can keep his focus on the race and have fewer distractions.”
Holmes is very proud of all his dogs, particularly the team that won the Iditarod. “It was pretty special to have like that whole 10-dog team that I finished with be those that I bred and raised and have a deep connection to,” he says, adding that he loves them and wants them to succeed like a parent wanting to see his children succeed. “You know they’re not your children, but it’s a very blurred line for me.”
Two months before the start of the Iditarod, Holmes and his team won the Copper Basin 300, a 300-mile race. Then, just three weeks after winning the Iditarod, Holmes won the Kobuk 440. “That was my goal for the season,” says Holmes. “I saw how good the team was, and I knew we were at the peak of our career and had put the work in. To accomplish big goals, you have to set big goals.”
Holmes loves a challenge. “My goal was never to just live the simplest life in the world. It was to thrive in the wilderness,” he says. “I’m just an odd duck up here. I came from Alabama with a dream and a passion, and I pursued it to no end.
“I think it’s our southern heritage, the resilience and toughness that characterizes us from the South. When you’re hitting some terrible adversities, you’ve got to take it one day at a time, even one mile at a time.”
Editor’s Note: A special thank you goes out to Dave Poyzer for working with us to make sure we had the perfect cover shot for this edition. That is an outstanding photo taken in a difficult environment to shoot in. You can find his photos online at davepoyzer.com.
It’s been quite a ride, but the young man who at 15 had amassed dozens of championships in the rodeo circuit, is back home in Moody practicing chiropractic care as a full-fledged doctor of chiropractic.
Throughout his high school years, Cody Stubbs was a rodeo sensation – bull riding, chute dogging (steer wrestling), goat tying and, his absolute favorite, team roping, among other rodeo events.
Staff from left, Dr. Shawn Stubbs, Dr. Cody Stubbs, Ginny Pate and Misty Cunningham
Beyond the championship buckles and saddles, his talent earned him a scholarship to the University of West Alabama for undergraduate school, where he was pursuing orthopedic medicine.
By his second year of undergraduate studies, he realized his philosophy of care aligned more with chiropractic than traditional medicine – a more holistic approach of education, wellness and lifestyle. It turned out to be a “lightbulb” moment about his future.
It seemed a natural path to take. His mother, Dr. Shawn Stubbs, has owned Crossroads Chiropractic in Moody for the past 25 years. Cody “grew up” there, she said, flashing photos of him playing in the clinic as a toddler or sporting his name-embroidered shirt he wore to escort patients back to rooms as a youngster.
It’s always been like family around the clinic. Receptionist Ginny Pate used to be Cody’s nanny. Now she’s assisting all grown-up Dr. Cody.
He graduated from West Alabama in Livingston, where he met his future wife, Raven, who was a rodeo champion, too, having finished fourth in the world in Barrel Racing at the collegiate level.
Out of all of his buckles, the one he received for sportsmanship is Cody’s favorite
After college, he headed to Life University in Marietta, Ga., outside Atlanta, where he earned his doctorate.
Then, it was like homecoming, returning to Moody and Crossroads Chiropractic, where he settled in as “Dr. Cody” in October. “It’s the best job in the world,” Cody said. “I am fortunate to be able to do it and see people get better without surgery or drugs.”
His mother said she is fortunate to have him back home working with her. “I love it. It’s like a dream come true working with him, my son following in my footsteps. The patients request him, and I get to play with my grandbaby.”
That’s her plan, she said, spending more time with the grandchildren. “Cody’s handling it great, above expectations. He’s just wonderful. He is really good with the elderly population, very respectful.”
Cody Stubbs Chute Dogging Alabama State Champion at National Finals, Gallup, New Mexico, 2013
He enjoys working with the older patients, too. He makes them laugh and puts them at ease. The aging patient traditionally has a number of doctors’ appointments. His goal is to make the appointment with him one they don’t dread.
“Everybody leaves with a smile on their face after seeing him, besides feeling better,” Dr. Shawn said.
Returning home to a piece of land between Moody and Odenville has stirred those old cowboy memories in him, and he talks of getting a horse and roping again one day. “I’m a country boy,” he said. Atlanta was “a lot of city for me,” so it’s good to be home on the land among the animals and wide-open spaces.
But for now, he’s content to take care of priorities – tending to the practice, his wife and one-year-old, Weston, and a second baby on the way. “I’ll be back soon. I have other priorities to get to. Family comes first, then I’ll get back to it.
Biodiversity abounds at Big Canoe Creek Nature Preserve. Just look around you.
Trees form more than just shade on a warm, sunny day. They represent the diversity of the preserve’s dense forest. Find beech, red and sugar maple trees as well as stands of river cane.
Among the hardwood and pine forests, discover native plants – wild azaleas, oak leaf hydrangeas, mountain laurels and buckeyes.
Want to go bird watching? There’s plenty to see! So far, eBird’s list of the species spotted there is up to 84, ranging from the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker to the Great Horned Owl and dozens in between. Even the Summer Tanager, the only totally red bird in North America, has made an appearance.
If you need help identifying all of them, just download the Merlin Bird ID app developed by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology on your cell phone. It is a handy helper to determine which tweet is which. Don’t forget to take your binoculars!
And the preserve’s namesake, Big Canoe Creek, is home to more than 50 species of fish, including the rare Trispot Darter, discovered in 2008 in Little Canoe Creek. It is a species that used to be found in Alabama but had not been seen in nearly 50 years. It is now listed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service under the Endangered Species Act, as threatened.
Mussels, nature’s own water filter, were once in “great supply” in Big Canoe Creek, which has retained most of its species and has kept the creek pristine, underscoring its ecological integrity. However, the Canoe Creek Clubshell (Pleurobema athearni) found nowhere else but in Big Canoe Creek is listed under the Endangered Species Act, as recently as 2022 as “endangered”. There is an effort underway to assess the watershed and determine what steps can be taken to keep this species from extinction.
Big Canoe Creek has eight federally listed freshwater mussel species, and its 18-mile main stem stretch was designated a ‘critical habitat’ under the Endangered Species Act in 2004. l
