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."

[winddance]

down home brilliance. gotta love it.

[sasha]

Love the metaphors, esp. the hawk zeroing in on a woodchuck - so country, so true! And those grocery store encyclopedias.... still have most of a set of classical LPs bought one at a time from the A&P (or was it Grand Union?)....

Didn't have an Uncle Crawford - but a local handyman called Junior Starkey. His name was actually Lin, but everyone knew him as Junior. I was building a bookcase in my folks' garage for my wife-to-be, while he was renovating the kitchen. He drove by one day on his way to lunch, looked out his window at me measuring a plank, yelled "Scab!" and drove off laughing. He taught me about the use of cleats in shelving, and urged me to shorten the span between them. Still have that bookcase.