It wasn't so much the fact she didn't have her teeth in.
Or the fact that she was wearing a nightgown and was obviously, er, naked underneath.
It was probably the fact she hadn't bathed in a few days, having just been sprung from a local rehab joint after a total knee replacement.
But all we wanted were some trees.
There's a local tree farm that is desperate for business right now. The economy is crap. It's a family business. And their gigantic tree spade happens to be in our little town temporarily. So you can save money if you buy tree's from them [for cheap!] and save on the tree spade fee's since now they don't have to drive it from their farm. The owner, Steve, had stopped by our place twice to pitch trees to my husband. We don't have any big ones. They are hungry. They need the dough. So today we went to his tree farm to shop for trees.
When we arrived Steve was loading wood onto his truck. He shook my husband's hand and then mentioned he had just gotten back from taking his Mom home from the hospital.
"She loves to meet people," he said. "You wanna come in and say Hi?"
No. Not really. My husband is a hermit and I can definitely see the upside of that particular trait. But we are polite to a fault and said: "Sure!"
[We're the type of neighbors that when new people rented the big house in the lot next door, we didn't go over and bring them brownies. We ordered blinds for the windows.]
His Mom was laying on a couch in their dilapidated living room. No teeth. No robe. And she wanted to show us her stitches.
"You gotta see this," she said delightedly. I sat rigidly in my chair and looked on politely, from a distance.
"Wow," I said. "That looks...um...very nice." My husband stood on the other side trying not to stare at the stitches that looked like something Frankenstein would have been proud of.
Steve sat down, gave us all water and launched into questions and monologues and his mother directed her conversation to me and we sat in that kitchen for almost an hour. It was once a beautiful stone house, with many acres and a pond. But since her husband "the surgeon" had died, apparently she had left the interior decorating to her son. A very nice middle-aged stoner living with his mother.
I asked to use the bathroom and was directed to a toilet with a curtain for a door and no sink. Very college dormish. Only dirtier. When I returned she insisted I sit right next to her on the couch.
We managed to finally extract ourself from the house with promises of more visits and that they could visit us. We needed to shop for trees. My husband wants blue spruces and they are on sale. Steve drove us down to the farm. He has a beer belly and his long hair was tied back in a pony tail and he obviously hadn't washed it for a long time. But he told good stories and was an excellent tree salesman.
He walked us among the spruces and cottonwoods and aspens, pricing them for us, explaining their virtues. I asked how we could make our spruces fill out more.
"Well. It's just like picking buds off a marijuana plant," he intoned. "Not that I've ever done that!" My husband and I exchanged glances, it was obvious he had probably been doing that just this morning. "Once you pick the buds, the plant fills out. Tree's are the same way."
The economy is so bad that he is selling his trees for less than half of what he was able to get only 2 years ago. 16 and 20 ft. blue spruces that used to sell for $1300 and $1600 he is now willing to sell for $450.00.
"We're starving, man," he tells us. "We've got to move this inventory."
We promised to call him tomorrow after sleeping on it and deciding how many trees we actually need.
On the drive home I told my husband, yes I wouldn't mind them coming over to sit in the hot tub or hang out on the porch. And I don't have high standards but I do appreciate friends who put in their teeth and wear a bra at the appropriate times.
"Oh, she's an old lady. Don't make her wear a bra," my husband scolded.
"What? And let her freak flag fly?"
"Yeah."
I sighed.
Why do I know that when they visit, they'll be bringing the brownies?
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Harrison Price
ladyfarmerjed
Ande Bliss
Lauren J Barnhart
suzie
marytkelly
Salon.com
Comments
Thank you for this, I at times forget that up there in the small towns there are still those that are polite and friendly and like to "let their freak flag fly" :D hehehe
If they come to visit, please let us know how the brownies were...~giggle~
This was a really good read. Congrats on the EP!!!!
Rated
Cut Trees to pay for gas to ride to doc or sue lawyers.
There's a logger nearby who Cut & Sold a Walnut Tree.
The Department Of Natural Resources took photos of it.
Another beautiful - massive walnut - will be Cut & Sold too.
I asked to photo the cutting. He gets calls to harvest the trees.
He said that thee trunk is six-feet across - next week He Cuts It.
He mentioned the 12- foot upper log size is 32-34- inch in width.
He's a great rural worker who listens to Hank Williams in his PU.
He saves me a 'slice' of prime figured wood. Burls, Tiger Maples,
Birds Eye Maple etc.,
He's so interesting.
We never show scars`
But your associates`
feel intimate familiar.
It is familiar intimate.
I'd show my side stitch.
Google OIKOS Tree Crops. It's excellent.
'Oikos' ~ the mere Word. It's roots term.
'It' has to do (in Greek) with true economy.
They are selling Acorn, Gooseberry, etc.,
Acorny Heaven - But 10 'Sweet It Is' Oaks.
You can buy for saving eatable acorns raw.
They are really - Nature Sent - Gooseberry.
`
I will try to share photos of the Cut Walnut.
I forgot to mention.
The harvested tree fetched $5,000 Cut down.
He said he could have sold the Walnut @ $7,500.
He knows a Mennonite sawmill operator he likes.
I love people who are alive not to just get top buck.
I should take a photo of a Guest House with beams.
The same-same sawmill operator sold me 10 X 12's.
There are few real neighborly communities `round.
It's come read, try comment, and then sip Sassafras.
The roots make a great Spring tonic. Make root beer?
No.
Ig I want a fruity beer I get a Mean Peach S.C. Brew.
The beer is brewed with Peach Juice. It taste fussy.
There is a beer by R.C. Rockers - Son Of A Peach.
I honestly don't drink much. My neighbors do.
We have to Love our Neighbors and tickle too.