Journal of a Living Lady #216

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

Anybody who knows Buddy is aware of his strong dislike for February. He announces well in advance, even as the sun bears down in the July heat, that he dreads the second month of the year. With its gray clouds, wind, and bitter cold, Buddy can’t find much motivation. Still, with a wood fire roaring in his old cast iron stove in the shop, he tries to occupy his time.

 

Last week Buddy was thinking spring. He spent one day repairing holes in an old jon boat I bought in a yard sale. The next day Buddy decided to fix the air conditioning system on his beloved 1988, Ford F-150  pick-up truck. His biggest obstacle was trying to find Freon in February.

 

It took a whet, but I have gotten used to Buddy being around the house 24/7. Yesterday I overheard a lady in the beauty shop say with some seriousness: “I married my husband for better or worse, but not for lunch.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Those of us with retired husbands know the feeling. Yet, what are husbands supposed to do? Evaporate?

 

Buddy has gotten better lately about letting me have time to myself. I don’t need much, but I do need some. When we first retired to the mountains ten years ago, I couldn’t go anywhere without him, not to the bathroom or grocery store. We have adapted and remain happily incompatible.

 

Buddy and I love the mountains and the local folks. We have found that mountain natives, defined as born and reared here, have an unspoken bond. They are tolerant of outsiders, though not overly fond of them.  Fortunately, our mountain neighbors have been kind to us since we invaded their territory. They are around if you need them, but not when you don’t.

 

One middle-aged mountaineer lives behind us. He was among the first to make us feel welcome and has become a good family friend. With respect to our age, I suppose, he has never gotten past referring to us as Mr. and Mrs. Kelly. We have learned much about mountain culture from him. He is our ready resource if we need to know more about indigenous history, geography, local kinship, or black bears. He often shares his hunting bounty though I haven’t mastered cooking tough deer meat.

Mountain folks have a refreshingly simple, but unique take on life. Just this morning an old friend from Atlanta emailed me. She recalled that a child named Owen went to visit with his 90-year-old grandfather in a secluded mountain area.

 

After spending the night, the boy’s grandfather prepared for him a big breakfast consisting of bacon and eggs. Owen noticed a film-like substance on his plate. He questioned his grandfather...."Are these plates clean?"

His grandfather replied, "Those plates are as clean as cold water can get them, so go on and finish your meal.”

That afternoon, while eating the hash potatoes that his grandfather made for lunch, Owen noticed tiny specks around the edge of his plate and a substance that looked like dried egg yolks. He asked again, "Are you sure these plates are clean?”

Without looking up, the grandfather says, “Told you before; those dishes are as clean as cold water can get them. Now don't ask me about it anymore!”

Later that afternoon, Owen decided to take a stroll down the long dirt road near the house. As he was leaving the yard, his grandfather's dog started to growl and wouldn't let him pass. Owen yelled back toward the house, "Grandfather, your dog won't let me out.”

Without diverting his attention from the football game he was watching on television, his grandfather shouted, "COLDWATER, Go lay down!"

nancyk@alltel.net