The clerk warm up to me slowly as if he finally believes I am whom I say I am. Although I know I’ll sound cowardly or worse–not from around here, I explain how I lower my clothes into the creeks with my poles when I need to wet them or rinse out some of the grime. He studies my face slowly. “Man up this road right here. He raises pigs. Had maybe fifty. Well this old black man was sure that people were coming in and stealing his large pigs one by one. He had a pen set up down by that river. Well they all got to thinking, and talking until they got with some guns and went down that river. They came out with four big gators. the biggest was fourteen foot and weighed 786 pounds. Naw! You best stay out of them rivers.” Twenty miles back people looked at me as if the heat had gotten to me when I showed concern about wading into river water I couldn’t see through. I have to remember that alot of today’s generation live in front of the television, and in plastic air conditioned worlds even down here. They don’t know anything about these waters or what goes bump in the night.
Lots of interesting posts at the guy’s blog. Check ’em out. Another snippet:
Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians came to local stage last night. It was a dress rehersal for tonight’s opening. In response a personal invitation from the director, and members of the cast, I was warmly recieved as if I walked four thousand miles just to be there. In a real way, I did. I was excited, silently hoping my only shirt was clean enough. I thank myself for buying a Realtree camo pattern shirt with the intention of disappearing into the trees at day’s end. The shirt hides stains like a dream. Before I got to my front row seat many hands were in mine with a collection of names and details I tried to jot down in my head somewhere between “Thank you”, and, “Hope you enjoy the show.” Everyone is extremely polite, humble and wonderfully real.