Sunday, November 06, 2005

Tellin' on the stump -- Parson Story


Good thing 'bout the Parson (Aunti Bess stopped churnin')
is he don't keep no regular schedule,
soin we don't waste workin' time
getting' ready for a preachin'. (Bess thought 'work' but didn't say it)

Bad thing …

Now Chester just hauled in like
as it was his turn at jumbles,
"Used to like it with Preacher Bob, (stuck his knife inna log)
'cause he would ferget half through
and mixed two sermons together,
ya be rememb'rin?"

nobody talk atall cause Chester
don't take to startin' over, ( I just nod my haid)
seein' how he hardly speaks,
but when he do ya might
plan to sit a spell.

"that way I could pick out the parts
I can follow easy, and ignore the other stuff,
though I guess a regular churcher
Christian wouldn't do it that-a-way."

Now I knew right off that somebody (don't look at me)
was meant to ask the Parson about it,
so I paid special attention to what
ol' Chester meant to say and di'n't. (guess I'm caught)

"Now each preacher has his style, I recon,
of decidin' what to say
fer ta hold our feet to the fire, like.

Now there was that skinny one
used to come the night before
and get his-self invited to a couple of dinners.
Then he listened good all night
and shaped his preachin' and finger shakin'
round some local gossip
out of the barn wrong
with the tellin'." (lot's a head noddin')

At that point we all got up
and stretched afore shiftin'
to a new 'scyth-in-draw' position.
Could be a singlelist man might
sharpen a scythe in 'bout an hour; (ain't never happened)
but seein' howst four of us used it,
we all shared in the task equal like.
One had ta sit on the clampin' boards
fer to keep the blade set true.
Second fella hadta hold the handle
fer fear o'the twistin' danger kick.
Then one man pushed the file down and out
while the guide boy pulled it straight --
seein' that steel was couple foot long
and nicked a bit from droppin'.
Yup -- could take four sweatin'
men best part of a shade afternoon
to do it right --
dependin' on how much cider cold there be.

Ol' Chester din't take a turn, ya know,
since he owned the scythe
and file too. And he was talkin' still,

"other preachers have a message
stuck in their craw,
and try to fit it in right clever,
thinkin' maybe mountain folk
don't know a pump handle
from a soup ladle."

I still haven't figured out
what Chester be wantin' from the Parson,
but it's a while before beans-be-done
when he most likely wander by,
and it be Saturday.

"so that Parson ain't rightly a preacher,
I recon. All he do is tell stories
and ask a couple of questions
that hurt my head a thinkin'."

Then he picked up his whitlin' knife
and I guessed he was through,
so I picked up my thought from afore.

Bad thing 'bout the Parson (Aunti Bess stopped Churnin')
is he don't keep no regular schedule…


At 10:00 PM, Blogger Gail Kavanagh said...

I love these yarns - I have never seen a dialect done so well in writing.


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