south of here

Les spent a week tooling around West Virginia and Kentucky in mid-April. It was nice to get away from the snow in my backyard, catch the redbuds in bloom, and feel a little sun on my shoulders.

I met some nice folks with some nice ways of talking ("You say yer frum Maysachoositts?"). I ate grits. I saw dogs bound with log chains in bare yards and fighting cocks shackled in rows of little wooden teepees in a ratty yard off a state highway. I saw churches that made no sense to me and sizeable pickup trucks coated with coal dust. I saw sunken-eyed white boys with dirty hoodies and the shakes hanging on street corners waiting for nothing. I saw no end of hand-painted signs warning me about eternal damnation. I saw people smoking in convenience stores (and while they pumped their gas). I saw mountains and forests that rival anything breathtaking you've ever seen. I drove on curving mountain 2-lane roads with 55 mph speed limits followed by impatient kids in one-eyed Fords held together with bondo and baling wire who managed to keep a more considerate tailgate distance than the average New England soccer mom in her 8 cylinder SUV.

I want to go back.