It’s better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied
When I think of Walter, I mostly think of "arrell" and "shevell". And the awesome tree house. A fear of getting sucked under. And "hey, we're doing 60 mph and we're not even moving! .....Uh-oh......" And Rieglewood, N.C. where I grew up.
Walter did not say arrow or shovel. He said arrell and shevell. I think those are his only two idiosyncrocies like that with the language. I am not so sure that it was a SE NC thing because, while a couple of other kids said that also, most did not. I remember the first time I heard that he had just gotten a bow and arrell.
Me: A what?
W: Bow and arrell.
Me: Really....what's an arrell?
W: What's an arrell?? Are you stupid?
I don't know. There's no significance to it. It never changed my life for better or worse. But I can't think of Riegelwood or see a bow hunting reference without remembering Walter shooting his bow and then, suddenly realizing the wrongness of his action, hollering to get away and "DON'T LOOK UP, I shot straight up and you don't want to get an arrell in the eye." No, I don't.
Only the mediocre are always at their best. - Jean Giraudoux
We loved eighteen wheelers. We could tell you what was coming down the road by looking at the grille. We lived in a paper mill town along a state highway, so there were trucks all the time. Mack and White and Peterbilt were the most common. But we would get excited, real excited like we'd done something, when we'd see a Diamond Reo because they were not real common. There was another brand that was so infrequently observed as to cause much excitement, but honestly, I can't remember the name. It always sound Japanese to me though. If we heard a truck coming down the road, we'd turn and watch it intently until one or the other of us would say, "Here it comes, it's a Peterbilt. Yep...a Peterbilt." The other would nod in agreement, "Yep," and we'd get back to what we were doing.
Unless we were walking along the highway, which we were often because that's where all 4 stores were, the shortest way to the swimming creek was, and where the wild blackberries grew. Now if the truck was coming towards us in the other lane, everything was cool. We would ID it and keep moving on. But if it was coming up behind us, on our side (no, we did not follow the rule of walking facing traffic) Walter would run all willy nilly down one bank of the roadside ditch and back up the other. "C'mon Eddie," he'd yell, "They'll suck you under. They will, they'll suck you under!" A much bigger fear of his than an arrell in the eye, was getting sucked into an eighteen wheeleer's draft. I usually obliged him, somewhat less willy nilly in my execution, away from the roadside. You know, just in case.
I always assumed I'd grow up and drive a truck. One day it dawned on me, and I was nearly in my thirties when it did, why I would never find myself driving a truck. See video below for the answer, as the Willis Bros. know so well.
So we started growing up. We were surrounded by pine forests and logging roads, which is not unusual when the only employer in town is a paper mill. So in Riegelwood, it was not uncommon for boys to be turned looose to run them dirt roads in daddy's old pickem-up without a lot of supervision. We may have had learner's permits or licenses when this took place. Or we might not have. Doesn't really matter.
We were not 50 yards from Walter's house, in his dad's old Ford truck, on a logging road after it had rained. I mean RAINED! SE NC gets some real gullywashers, complete with frequent lightning and booming thunder. Leaves things kinda wet. And you know what they call wet dirt? Mud. Mud is what they call it.
And we were out on a wet dirt road, starting to pick up speed, and aiming for the puddles, not around them. Some of the puddles bordered on pondhood. We saw one coming, centered on it and Whammmm....Splasssssh, hit it dead on. And the motor died out on us.
Well, naturally we took a couple of minutes to quit laughing and reliving the moment of impact. We tried the key and that old F-150 cranked right up. Cool. Walter put her in gear,eased off the clutch, started giving it gas, at first a little, and then some more. He found it amusing, the fact that "hey, we're doing 60 mph and we're not even moving!" He was laughing about it until he thought about what that meant for a second. " .....Uh-oh...... Dad's gonna be pissed off."
Trucks all live in one big happy family, so we were able to get another truck to come pull us out. He didn't get stuck on the way out. But then, he drove around the puddles.
There are only two ways of telling the complete truth--anonymously and posthumously. (- Thomas Sowell), out
Ramblin' Ed
see funny english mistakes
Walter did not say arrow or shovel. He said arrell and shevell. I think those are his only two idiosyncrocies like that with the language. I am not so sure that it was a SE NC thing because, while a couple of other kids said that also, most did not. I remember the first time I heard that he had just gotten a bow and arrell.
Me: A what?
W: Bow and arrell.
Me: Really....what's an arrell?
W: What's an arrell?? Are you stupid?
I don't know. There's no significance to it. It never changed my life for better or worse. But I can't think of Riegelwood or see a bow hunting reference without remembering Walter shooting his bow and then, suddenly realizing the wrongness of his action, hollering to get away and "DON'T LOOK UP, I shot straight up and you don't want to get an arrell in the eye." No, I don't.
Only the mediocre are always at their best. - Jean Giraudoux
We loved eighteen wheelers. We could tell you what was coming down the road by looking at the grille. We lived in a paper mill town along a state highway, so there were trucks all the time. Mack and White and Peterbilt were the most common. But we would get excited, real excited like we'd done something, when we'd see a Diamond Reo because they were not real common. There was another brand that was so infrequently observed as to cause much excitement, but honestly, I can't remember the name. It always sound Japanese to me though. If we heard a truck coming down the road, we'd turn and watch it intently until one or the other of us would say, "Here it comes, it's a Peterbilt. Yep...a Peterbilt." The other would nod in agreement, "Yep," and we'd get back to what we were doing.
Unless we were walking along the highway, which we were often because that's where all 4 stores were, the shortest way to the swimming creek was, and where the wild blackberries grew. Now if the truck was coming towards us in the other lane, everything was cool. We would ID it and keep moving on. But if it was coming up behind us, on our side (no, we did not follow the rule of walking facing traffic) Walter would run all willy nilly down one bank of the roadside ditch and back up the other. "C'mon Eddie," he'd yell, "They'll suck you under. They will, they'll suck you under!" A much bigger fear of his than an arrell in the eye, was getting sucked into an eighteen wheeleer's draft. I usually obliged him, somewhat less willy nilly in my execution, away from the roadside. You know, just in case.
I always assumed I'd grow up and drive a truck. One day it dawned on me, and I was nearly in my thirties when it did, why I would never find myself driving a truck. See video below for the answer, as the Willis Bros. know so well.
So we started growing up. We were surrounded by pine forests and logging roads, which is not unusual when the only employer in town is a paper mill. So in Riegelwood, it was not uncommon for boys to be turned looose to run them dirt roads in daddy's old pickem-up without a lot of supervision. We may have had learner's permits or licenses when this took place. Or we might not have. Doesn't really matter.
We were not 50 yards from Walter's house, in his dad's old Ford truck, on a logging road after it had rained. I mean RAINED! SE NC gets some real gullywashers, complete with frequent lightning and booming thunder. Leaves things kinda wet. And you know what they call wet dirt? Mud. Mud is what they call it.
And we were out on a wet dirt road, starting to pick up speed, and aiming for the puddles, not around them. Some of the puddles bordered on pondhood. We saw one coming, centered on it and Whammmm....Splasssssh, hit it dead on. And the motor died out on us.
Well, naturally we took a couple of minutes to quit laughing and reliving the moment of impact. We tried the key and that old F-150 cranked right up. Cool. Walter put her in gear,eased off the clutch, started giving it gas, at first a little, and then some more. He found it amusing, the fact that "hey, we're doing 60 mph and we're not even moving!" He was laughing about it until he thought about what that meant for a second. " .....Uh-oh...... Dad's gonna be pissed off."
Trucks all live in one big happy family, so we were able to get another truck to come pull us out. He didn't get stuck on the way out. But then, he drove around the puddles.
There are only two ways of telling the complete truth--anonymously and posthumously. (- Thomas Sowell), out
Ramblin' Ed
see funny english mistakes
That's what I'm about. Ramblin' Ed at 8:21 AM
2 comments:
Somehow running willy nilly and Ed Abernathy do not go together in my head- nope not ever.
I agree, Nasus. I would be, if anything, william nilly.
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