It's been 2.5 years since I retired from the college where I had taught for about 14 years . I am a Southerner by birth and by choice. Although born and reared in Texas, South Carolina had been my home for almost a decade as I ploughed through to my PHd at the University of South Carolina and was a visiting professor at Coastal Carolina or as the students referred to it: Surfer U.

 I was anxious to call the South home again.   When I had visited SC, while wrapped in the white snow of Pennsylvania where I taught, I could always feel this huge weight begin sliding off my shoulders . I would begin feeling  the weight shift  as I rounded the curve into Roanoke , Virginia, feel it begin slipping down my shoulders  as I cut over to the I77 and  beginning to puddle around my hips as I sped up through Charlotte, NC . By the time I finally saw signs for Ft. Jackson and Hiway 1, I knew I was not far from home and was beginning to feel weightless.  Pulling up into my daughter's driveway I imagined my deep sigh could be heard all the way back in the Lehigh Valley.

Having grown up a country girl, I knew I wanted to live in the country again. I knew I did not want to spend one extra second or iota of energy on packed freeways and long lines in the grocery store. So off to my five acres and independence I went.  What I didn't realize was that I had not 'lived country' for about 40 years. And, boy, did I have a lot to learn. If you've been generous enough to follow the series you know about some of those truths. You'll also notice a gap in time between postings. Well  we've been busy with the organic garden, my show/breeding kennel and writing other stuff. Also I figured I was about to get this country stuff nailed down.  Let the lightning flash and sizzle, I know the kennel is the safest building on the property. Let the rains pour and try to shove that red sand into a boulder  that would roll us all into the 45 acre 'pond' at the bottom of the hill. It is all good for me since I terraced the 'steppes' so they'd not slide off.

But I cannot get used to the 'guns' yet. I'm not a novice to the hunting and gathering culture. Being the oldest of 16 growing up we either had to grow our own food, fish and gig frogs for it, or shoot it whether it be squirrel (I used to be able to skin one in 15 seconds...Grandpa thought girls should learn all kinds of things) some kind of bird, deer or wild hog.  I'm not opposed to owning weapons though I cannot imagine how or why anyone would need an automatic pistol of any kind.  The first time I heard shots being fired off in my little piece of heaven,  I called my new friends and asked if they heard them . They allowed as how they had heard the shots  and that the deer season was about to begin.  Hunters will get their guns out, clean them and fire them off to test them.  Guess it's a waste of time to go to the firing range for that.  Overtime I began to learn that SC still had severe pockets of poverty and that quite a bit of subsistence hunting occurred.  This refers to the fact that men will go out, shoot wild turkey, dear, squirrels etc so there is meat on their family table.   So okay I'm squared away now and don't jump out of my skin when I hear a shot or two fired off.

However, Christmas Eve, all the doggie divas were curled up on the bed, the juniors curled in their donuts and we are ready to close the shop down for the night.  My black Russian Tsvetnaya Bolonka, Pearlie Mae,  jumped up and began pacing and 'blowing air'...sounds like  horse that's been ridden too hard.   She's about the equivalent of 100 years old now so I thought she was just having a moment.

 

 

 Then the shots began firing BAM!bAM! BAM! --okay now I"m beginning to count---BAM!BAM!BAM!...a brief click of silence gave me just the second I needed to get my scared butt up off the edge of my bed, then again BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! By now every dog in the place, upstairs and downstairs was screaming at the top of their lungs.  I've plopped back down on the  bed, clutching the edge of the mattress as I felt this ice cold surge go through my body and thinking: Crap! I'm too old to run and no gun in the house! (Want to rethink that one, Missie?)  The silence fell with a thud after the tenth round went off and I felt my lungs expand taking in air and watched Pearlie continue to stomp, shake her head and paw at my thigh to let her valiant warrior  soul  loose on this demon that would dare to enter our private little Idaho. 

I reached over to get the phone and, of course, the battery was dead. So Pearlie and I tiptoed through the dark into the Kitchen for the other phone.  We are trailing junior pups behind us who are now imitating Pearlie's blowing so we sound like a steam engine traipsing thru the house.  I get the sheriff's office on the phone to report the shots. She asked me if I wanted the officer to come by and check with me after he made a drive around.  I glanced down at my night gown tattered and stained from working (I do clean up for bed!) and thought: nnnn nah...  'That's okay, ma'am, if he'll just circle by and make a show. There's just me and one other neighbor on this end and he's known to imbibe a bit of kickapoo joy juice from time to time but he's never let off ten rounds before: 1 round is a nice surprise, 2 are giggly, 3 you are having fun but freakin' TEN ROUNDS is an idiot!'  She smothered a gigle and said, 'You got that right', Mz Patie.

The rest of the night was quiet. I changed my night gown and clutched Pearlie Mae close to quiet her down and lay there, thinking I really really don't want to have a damned gun in the house.  This makes me odd person out and I get a lot of heavy teasing as they ask just what I think I would do. Well, shrug, ever had 10 dogs weighing about 10 pounds each packing you on command?   Think about furry things jumping up your legs like so many bothersome rats.  But the argument to arm or not to arm goes on in the country. Meanwhile there are few mornings like a Carolina morning.

 

 

 

Text and photos copyright P.McRae 2009