RUDIMENTS, pt. 780
(so goeth this brief life)
'Somebody's always dying;
or if they're not, then they're
working up to it. It's like that
for everyone; always has been.
Always will be too, I guess.
Good lord, what else isn't so?'
That was some local guy talking
to me, Pennsylvania local. It's
fairly typical, that use of 'Good
Lord,' or even 'Oh Lord.' They'd
do that a lot. I never knew what
it meant, but I knew I'd never
much heard it around home,
as I was growing up. It seemed
a real localism. Like 'So don't
I,' which was another one the
kids used. Drove me crazy. If
I were to say, referring to thirst,
Sure wish I had a glass of
water,' someone would pipe
up with 'So don't I.' That was
a real baffler - in any situation.
'Wish I had a million bucks.'
'So don't I.' It was hard to
understand; sort of a double
negative affirmation? A real
crossed-up use of words. So
do not I?
-
I realize it's wrong of me to
charge out after people, far-off,
mountain people, for the way
they talk. And I'm not really.
It was just truly odd to me, so
I thought I'd make mention. I
never set foot in one of the
classrooms of any higher grades
while I was there, but I often
did wonder what the heck they
were teaching. Nothing ever
seemed to be coming out right
when anyone spoke.
-
The local guy who spoke those
opening lines to me - I actually
forget his name now - but he
was an older guy who'd somehow
befriended me by just very often
driving onto the dirt road that led
to our house and, slowly, cruising
by until he saw someone (me) and
then he'd stop. Just chit-chat. It
was odd; my presence there, as
an outsider, our presence, I guess
generated a loot of interest, but
very few people followed up
on it as he did. Perhaps he was
running recon and intelligence
for the rest of the locals. I never
knew, and he turned out OK.
He was blunt, kind of direct.
In the same way was those kids
saying 'So don't I,' he'd say, 'What
the hell you doin' that for?' That's
a tough and startling statement
and question to hear when you're
new somewhere and a long-time
local is directing it to you. As if
gunning for you, seeking out a
mis-step. What do you say? How
do you react? 'None of your damn
business' wouldn't do; probably
would get me ostracized or shot.
As much as I really didn't wish
to befriend anyone, neither did
I want to offend anyone - never
knowing when some sort of help
would be needed, a snow avalanche
rescue or whatever. So I played
it cool. Then he started just
giving me stuff. I guess he was
lonely, and his wife too - small
tools, pieces of this or that. His
property had a nice lake, or a
large pond anyway, with a rowboat.
He had about 12 geese and ducks,
which he no longer wanted, saying
his 'advancing' age made it too
taxing now for him to care for
and tend to them. So he said we
could have them all, for nothing,
if I helped him round them up.
-
Easier said then done. We went out
in the rowboat, with nets and canvas
sacks; I went, thinking it would all
be easy. What he was thinking, I
didn't know, except maybe if it was
about 'heart attack.' It turned out to
be a very strenuous task. The ducks
and geese, of course, resisted all
our efforts and simply went the other
way from which way the boat went.
The few that we did get, after a
long, difficult, time, we put into
the canvas - with all their honks
and squawks, and promptly drove
them over to my ponds. It was a
few miles; the raced out of the sacks
and went straight for pond-center,
and all was fine. He said to forget
the rest, and he'd bring them over
one or two at a time, as he figured
it all out, and just drop them off.
He did, as I'd see a new one or
two, increasing the flotilla, as it
were, every few days. I never
helped again, and the whole issue
went away after a time. His wife
later said that the reason for his
reconnaissance tours of my house
and all, were not for snooping but
because of his noticing the vacancy
of the pond - no ducks or animals -
and his overly shy desire to somehow
get the idea across that I should take
his ducks and geese. All kind of
weird. We had them for a good
few years, in all seasons, they
maintained themselves - and then,
as you my recall reading, that
silver fox who'd honed in on my
property began taking them out,
one by one, leaving nothing
behind except a bony, gnawed
carcass. That same fox, recall,
soon became a trophy fox, and
was killed by a long-range rifle
shot from a local farmer's gun,
while the poor old fox was
sunning itself and sleeping off
a good meal of goose flesh, on
a tree stump in my middle acres.
Thus goeth this brief life for
everyone and everything, be
it good, or bad. Good Lord!
-
Another cool thing from the time
I lived there, which I found out
also from locals - there were two
ways, at least, to get anywhere.
Any fool could take the paved
road, the legal street, etc, to get
to where they wanted to be - but
at the same time, there were dirt
road and narrow vehicle-paths
threading between and through
everything around there. They
took you, and they were, as one,
took you, and they were, as one,
all connected eventually to these
same places, so you'd still reach
your destinations but you could
avoid all that hassle of other
vehicles, the occasional (very)
lawman, and even the legality of
your vehicle by using these roads.
The scenery was always much
better and far more interesting.
The old side lanes held all the
cool stuff - tipped over cars and
other ancient vehicles, the old
remnants of the sheds and barns
that once served the area, old
pasture gates, waterway-locks,
hunting paths, fishing holes, and
oddball rendezvous shacks and
cabins known to locals.
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