My Virginia Roots

[saw]

Near as i could tell, Uncle Crawford was a hayseed savant. His Mt. Sidney way with words dug deep inside a young boy's head. It reminded me of my midnight searches with a flashlight for bloodworms in the backyard...you gotta turn up the earth if you wanna find some good ones. When I would fly off the handle ( he was say half-cocked ) my uncle would calm me down by saying something profound like, " Son, never put your carte before your blanche". I'd pull out my grocery store encyclopedias and read and think for days on end for the true meaning. I was fascinated by his down home genius. But I'd get to thinkin' so hard I'd be squirmin' and fiddlin' til I wore my overalls all in a-tatter. But at least I learned that his vital message had sailed over my head like a red-tailed hawk gettin' ready to swoop down on a woodchuck. So I'd go back at these times for some clarification, and Uncle Crawford would astound me again with his back porch brilliance. Yes sir he'd kick back in that dilapidated wicker rocking chair, spit a little of that nasty coal-black chewin tobacki, take a long slow breath and say to me, "Son, nothing difficult is ever easy."