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Amy
Once upon a time, in a small white house, in a tiny little town, at the foot of some very old mountains, lived an extra large dog named Chester.Chester was the color of chocolate pie filling just before it boils. He had white toes like he had walked through a shallow pail of paint. And maybe he had. Chester had a vicious bark and a vigorous wagging tail and he was very, very loved. He was also very, very spoiled, because the Princess who “owned” him had been very, very spoiled when she was a little girl.When he wanted to go get a fluffcup and he used his very scary big britches bark to get her attention, the Princess would tell him, “Chester, the Rolling Stones taught me you can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.” And then the Princess would go and make them a roast or meatloaf, or sometimes a barbeque sandwich.And Chester loved the roasts and the meatloaves and the barbeque sandwiches.And he and the Princess lived happily ever after.Especially when she scratched his belly when he was full of meatloaf…
You aren’t supposed to talk about your good deeds. And I know a man who didn’t. I once had a friend who was into saving dogs. She was a little overzealous about it, honestly, going without provisions herself just to help another dog. You have to draw the line somewhere, and that’s why I only have Chester. He’s all I can afford when I give him the life I feel like he deserves. I’m off track. So I had this friend. She was overrun with dogs and it got to where she couldn’t feed the ones she had. I put on here she was needing some help, she’d gotten in over her head, and she was having a yard sale if anybody had stuff to donate to go towards the care of the dogs she’d rescued. My friend and neighbor messaged me and said for me to bill him a bag of dog food to give to the lady the next time she came in. He couldn’t stand to see an animal hungry. There is a special place in Heaven for animal lovers, I feel sure. He fed me, too: bags of cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, and I don’t know what all from his garden. He was always friendly, encouraging me to come visit him and his wife, Mary, as they just lived over the hill. It was always a good…
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I’m not crazy, I’m just bored. Allow me to explain how this “seed” was planted: a few weeks ago, I was chatting with a friend. She was leaving work early that day to go home and can beans. This is a pretty common reason to miss work around these parts, at least in my circle, this time of year. Whether it’s harvesting hay, soybeans, tobacco, or canning, farm work won’t wait on office work. ‘Gotta make hay while the sun shines’ as the saying goes. It would be more accurate if it was ‘while the sun beats down and tries to kill you’, but close enough. So anyway, I was telling her I still have beans my grandmother canned, and she died in 2008. I wouldn’t be scared to eat them; they look alright and have been kept in a dark cabinet upstairs where the temperature doesn’t fluctuate. My friend said that one of her wedding presents from her in-laws was several jars of green beans. They’d been stored in the basement, wrapped in newspaper. And it got me to thinking about the life of a green bean. Some country music artists have written songs about teardrops, and I don’t see much difference. So here goes. I am told that my mother plant was designed and cultivated on a vast farm in Oregon, among many other certified seeds. I only remember life since I became packaged with roughly 400 of my…
It began with the song Hot Rod Lincoln. Ronnie Brackins was my friend, although he would have never admitted it. But the crowd in the parlor testified to Ronnie’s overall likeability. I was outside, marveling at his John Deere parked at the porte couche, and every time the attendants opened the glass doors I could hear the laughter and boisterous conversation inside. I signed the book and added ‘Co-Op’ in parentheses. I never really knew Ronnie’s children, so I didn’t go up front, instead slipping into the pew beside Robin and Jerry. It is the official Co-op pew. As we sat there, I remembered well another funeral we had attended for another tire shop employee years ago.And then I had to grin, because I remembered the more recent time I’d sat here- the funeral of Joe Woods. That was the time I’d got in the wrong car, mistakenly thinking it was Robin’s, and instead it was piloted by a guy with a nose ring and a young lady with some pink hair who were horrified that a stranger was attempting to climb in their backseat at Food City soon after they parked. I was even moving their Christmas presents out of my way. I digress. So here comes Margaret, and boy was I glad to see her. She is one of the sweetest women to ever work at the Co-op. I haven…
You ask me what I’m doingBut if you’d think you’d already knowI’m watching the world wake upFrom my porchI’m admiring the sparkle of the dew in the grass like forgotten jewelsAnd counting birdsAnd listening to water dripThe locusts are gearing upAs I sip my coffeeWhile Chester makes his roundsThe tiny lizard darts among my flowerpotsOld Glory At half staffIs still proudNot beatenJust a little brokenFor a little whileNo breeze stirs her this morningA few bees out already Seek nectar from my petuniasI watch the chickens compete for bugsJerking their heads, their keen eyes zero in on their next victimAnother leaf drops from my redbudsTraffic is increasingAs the sun gets brighterAnd I suppose I should get upBut I’ll miss all thisSo instead I write a poemThat doesn’t rhymeThat most people won’t understandAnd I tell you simply, “Sittin’ on my porch…
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Those of you who know me well know how much I cry. I cry for little to no reason most of the time. Maybe I’m laughing so hard I cry. Maybe a song hits me just right. Maybe I’m mourning the Reese Cup I accidentally dropped on the floor. I suppose instead of Chester’s Chronicle I could do something called Amelia’s Emotions. Today, this brought me to tears. I couldn’t ask for better neighbors. They’re friendly, they’re respectful, they’re quiet. They wave at me if I’m sitting on the porch, they constantly consider me when it comes to the roaming of their chickens, they give me a heads up when they’re planning a get together so I’ll be prepared to party with them or leave the premises. They are entering their second harvest season and evidently their garden took on a life of its own this year. They had put a couple of containers out by the road when the squash started coming in. Today, it was a whole table. Now, it isn’t just their generous hearts that made me a little mushy. Scott & Chasity live in my great-grandparents house. My Papaw built that house, starting with just a few rooms, and built on as his family grew. It was a bit of a mish-mash of a house, as you would expect. When…
