Men of all ages, dressed in Carthart coveralls and flannel shirts, vie for a spot to park their truck so they can find a seat to eat a biscuit, sip a cup of hot coffee and pick up a conversation where they left it the morning prior. 
    “Morning Charlie.”
    “John,” the man said as he dipped his head.
    “How’s Martha,” he asked with all sincerity.
    “She’s not feeling to good these days. Her hip bothers her and this damp cold weather is just too much in the mornings,” he replied as if a piece of him had been torn away when he left the house.
    “Well, you be sure and tell her we’re praying for her, and asked about her,” the man said as he took a seat.
    “I will, I surely will,” he replied.
    To the uneducated passerby it might look like a typical filling station, but Excell Barbeque is anything but ordinary. Just driving by they might not even notice the little sign with the words ‘Pit Barbeque’, which would be a mistake. In fact, to the informed, Excell Grocery is a veritable cosmopolitan melting pot.  It doesn’t matter if you’re a banker or a lawyer, a pulpwooder or a cattle farmer, once you get a belly full of barbeque you won’t forget how to find your way back.
    But, it isn’t just the barbeque for those who sit at a table and eat in – it’s the company, the camaraderie. The price of beef is outrageous and the Politician’s are crooked as a dog’s hind leg; looks like rain and the TVA is building another big power line right through our farms. These are the age-old conversations that never lose importance at Excell. Most importantly it’s people who enjoy each other’s company. People who notice when you don’t show up one day and drop by the house just to make sure you’re okay and everything’s all right. There aren’t as many ‘Excells’ as there used to be, but there are still a few scattered throughout small towns in America. Neighbors talk and listen at Excells, something we don’t do enough of anymore. I hope there's an Excell near you.