Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Down home, part 2

Down home the coffee pot is always on.  If it breaks the camp pot comes out until you get around to buying a new one.

Down home a visiter never leaves empty handed.  This past time I left with a socket wrench, loud bang snaps, two tea cups with saucers, rubarb, three books, and a box of popsicle sticks.

Down home only the natives know how to navigate the town square.  If you happen to be passing through disturbing the traffic pattern the natives shake there heads knowing who you are.
Down home a quick trip into town fills the afternoon as the closest grocery store is just over 15 miles away.

Fog on the Mountian.  View from my parents dinning room window.

Down home doing your wood means cutting the actual tree down yourself, stripping, splitting, and stacking. It's a family holiday that runs much like that of a fire bergade.

Fog rolling off the mountain.  Same window.

Down home doors are only locked to keep the critters out.
Down home everybody knows everybody.

Down home street names are full sentances: Round the Pond Road.  Or street signs are in the woods for only the native eye to see.

Down home Chances are good your mail box is a mile away.

Just up the road.

Down home is good.

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