Suffering from sedan lag after his week long vacation, Terry Dickson was only up to one column this week. We offer instead some correspondence from the Hon. Mayor Bubba Gene Hightower of Pond Scoggin, Ga., detailing his recent travels.
Dear Mr. Dickerson,
I hope this finds you and yours fine and otherwise dandy. As for me and Guynell and Bubba Guy, our onliest boy, we are mighty refreshed having took some mountain air and got away from all this humidity.
By the by, I read where you and Mrs. Dickerson had celebrated your 40th anniversary and I told Guynell we needed to send y’all are best wishes whereupon she said we’d have to buy two cards, one congratulating you on your years of good fortune and one extending our sympathies to Mrs. Dickerson. I thought it was right funny but Guynell she didn’t even crack a smile when she said it.
Anyways, about the midst of July it got so powerful hot in Pond Scoggin that you could a fried a egg on the sidewalk if we had sidewalks and the egg wasn’t already poached in the shell.
Guynell put in to ride up the Blue Ridge Mountains, said she just wanted to set on a rock in the laurel shade with her feet in a cold creek so we lit out. It was about a five-hour drive and we learnt that Florida folks drive about as reckless in the hills as they do in the flats so we decided to try to get us a room off a back road of which they are considerable.
We fount this little place somewhere between Clayton and Tate City that had a swimming pool and a little restaurant so we figured we would just stay right there because they was a little creek running down beside it for Guynell’s feet.
Well anyways, we went to supper that first night and run into a couple from a hay farm around Metter. He was a Gene but not no Bubba Gene and she was a Nell so we hit it off and they said we ought to join them for supper. A waitress asked if we wanted to eat outside or inside and afore I could say it don’t matter Mr. Gene said, “Outside beside the creek.”
Them creek tables was right popular apparently cause we had to wait half a hour before they took us to one and I asked why he was so set on setting by the water and Mr. Gene said, “Food safety.”
I didn’t think no more about it till our food come and I was about to bite into some chicken dumplings and he snatched it off my fork without so much as a by your leave. He throwed it over to the other side of the creek and a fat raccoon waddled out, sniffed it, washed it in the water and commenced to eatin’ it.
“That’s safe,” he said and throwed a wad of Guynell’s macaroni and cheese over and a possum jumped on that and he kept up till he had gone through samples of everthang on our plates. The raccoon and the possum both turnt tail on the broccoli casserole, but I understood that.
Anyways, we got done and our waitress brought round the dessert of which they ain’t got but one, bananner puddin’ and not knowing no better, I scooped up a spoonful and flipped it over and it was already rainbowing over the water when Mr. Gene tried to snatch it out of the air. Well, that raccoon made a move for it and that possum jumped on him and they commenced to wrastlin’ and rolled off in the creek and floated out of sight churnin’ up water.
“I meant to tell you,” Mr. Gene said. “That bananner puddin’ is worth fightin’ over.”
“I reckon so,” says I and I offered to give him the rest of mine. I wasn’t takin’ no chances him bein’ a considerable big ole boy.
Anyways, we enjoyed the rest of supper and come back the next night and the raccoon and possum was back waitin’ havin’ let bygones be bygones. Anyways, I messed up agin. I throwed a piece of rutabaga over there and run ’em both off.
The next time y’all go to the mountains you oughta take some as a bear repellent.
Come see us Mr. Dickerson,
We’ll set out by the river and let the local raccoons pass judgement on Guynell’s cobbler.
Your obedient servant,
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