11,934. RUDIMENTS, pt.755

RUDIMENTS, pt. 755

(a country fellow with a hick's haircut)

Long about those days

I was probably about

145 pounds. Skinny

like nothing, and shorn

to look like a kid. It was

OK, because the idea

was to fit in, stay busy

and make it work, It

was my own production,

with lots of it fiction.

These farmer guys, in

a lot of ways, were like

old women. Catty and

talkative. The haircut

maintenance thing wasn't

even my idea, but it had

a lot to do with the way

all these farm guys had

their evenings and all,

together. The funny

thing too was how you

never saw these guys

with their wives, and

vice-versa. The women

did women stuff, together;

all those church socials

and missionary talks and

pot-luck dinners on Sundays.

The men, working early

and through the day, when

they did get done, had a sort

of routine  -  but it never did

involve anything like cracking

open a few beers and jawing

about something on a porch

or wherever. It always had

to 'be' something,  -  as if

without usefulness nothing

was to be allowed. Out in

the sticks, most of the rule

and order was kept intact by

what was called a Justice of

the Peace. That meant tags

and plates and insurance,

for cars; it meant paying

property taxes; occasionally

it meant marriages too.

Property agreements, the

notarization of anything.

They were magistrates of

a medium order. During

the day, regular guys  - 

Farmer Joe Blow. Usually,

of course, they weren't

paupers; they had the

big house, big driveway

and porch area, room for

a separate office area, etc.

and most always, too, they

were 'Amway' agents. I'm

not too sure, but back then

in the country, 'Amway'

was some sort of soaps

and detergents and perfumes

thing, with local people as

sales agents. Almost like

Jehovah's Witnesses, but

for cleanliness. You could

subscribe to product, order

things, get things, and even

have demonstrations and all

that, to your home. These

Justice of the Peace guys

usually had this all sewn

up. It all bored me to tears,

but who cared. The bigger

idea  -  and this is where it

gets funny  -  is that most

of these guys also had a

room or a closed off section

of the porch, where they

gave haircuts! Often there

were even little signs around,

Fred's Barbering, something

like that. Stupid names,

sometimes the person's

full name, other times just

some silly thing like 'The

Fast Clip.' That's how I got

involved; two ways, actually.

First was when I needed plates

for a car  -  registration and

all that. My farmer-friend,

Warren, for whom I worked

too, taking care of his barn,

and milk schedule, farm work,

tractors, cows, etc., would take

me around to do these things

and get them done, at the same

time introducing me around to

the local people  -  so there was

less of a 'stranger' quality to

this 'new guy' around. I never

fit in too well, but I did what

I had to do  -  and that included

Warren's ideas for my haircuts.

So, often, I ended up in one of

those barber-chair places, usually

with two or three other guys too,

waiting, sitting around, getting

haircuts, or just talking like

ladies. Who just bought what,

whose tractor broke down,

and the whole story that went

with it, whose cow has a case

of Mastitis (a serious udder

infection, involving inflamed

udders, discharge, painful

sensitivity, painful milking,

and serious hardening of the

swollen udder). Veterinarian

stories about cows and horses.

Cars and machinery woes, and

even occasionally, wife and

family woes, serious or joking.

Lastly, there was usually 

someone around to be spoken

of for sneaking around with

someone else's wife  -  there

was a seeming inordinate

amount of that in Happy 

Farmer Land...So, I got lots

of haircuts, pretty steadily.

I forget the shaving; I guess

I did that myself. I managed

to meet all the guys around,

hear their hunting and gopher

stories, learn about their guns

and armaments too. At least

I wouldn't be shot for being

an outsider.

-

When Fall came, October and

all, there was always a supply of

Apple Jack or Apple Mash cider

that was dragged out. Sometimes

it was clear; other times cloudy

and thicker. (I don't mean the

weather; I speak of the hootch).

I partook, as needed, but the

stuff was like bleach, tinged

with turpentine. Real good.

A lot of these farmer guys 

took real pride in what they 

made; fermenting their apple 

crops,  etc. I found there was 

something to learn, everywhere. 

My wife, with the young son, 

did all the same kind of stuff, 

buy with the ladies; usually 

over at the local church  -  the

most simple yet uncomfortable 

sorts of little gatherings. But, 

she was keeping up her end 

of the deal too, by doing that.

-

Two last things, I think. Most

all of these guys were quite a

bit older than me, already into 

their 30's, mid and late 30's

an beyond too. I was still raw

and young, by comparison. The

on very vexing problem I did

keep running into was the 

daughters of these men  -  a

number of these daughters 

I found quite attractive. It was

uncomfortable, to say the least,

and I didn't know how to react.

Ages, perhaps 16-18, maybe,

and, for all intents and purposes,

to me, already far off-limits.

I often felt besides way out of

place, and uncomfortable too, 

much like an outsider, guilty

and up to it, (as Virgil puts it, in
The Aeneid):  'a reserved country

fellow with a hick's haircut, who

spoke so haltingly that he could

seem downright uneducated. His

retiring nature earned him the

nickname 'parthenias' (Greek

for 'little virgin')...'