Thursday, August 06, 2009


Please pardon the mud on our quarter panels, but we love the feel of the Good Earth under our feet. We love the sound it makes when our tires sling it up into the wheel wells. There's a rewarding feeling when it gives way to the car. When we slide the car or spin the rear wheels in the dirt there is only pleasure. There is no horrible tire squeal, no stinking rubber smoke, no horrified slack jawed onlookers. Unlike costly cracking and crumbling pavement which falls apart, someone (no us) just puts the dirt back more or less where it belongs so that we can scatter it all to hell the next time we've a mind to do so. It's a gift that keeps on giving.

Our love of the soil and working it in our special way is the main reason why we never paved our driveway. Now, your suburbanite can't very well come flying down his street and suddenly cut the wheel to slide the car sideways up to the door. Every set of pink foam rubber hair curlers would be overloading the police switch board. Those broad black skid marks in the drive would have his Yard of the Month sign revoked on the spot. The TV people would be show up, canvas the neighbors, find one with a grim facial wart, another missing some teeth and maybe a third spilling out of her Mu Mu and put the lot of them on the evening news. " First time we seen that car in the neighborhood, we knew nothin' good would come of it", or words to that effect would spill out of the TV set.

We just love our little place in the country and welcome visitors, but maybe that old canon keeps some folks away. Perhaps a pineapple would help, but that's a nickname for a hand grenade. While it was once considered a symbol of hospitality, we never much liked the old cast iron groom holding out a hitching ring which people used to have by their mailboxes. So, we got two old boys to dress up in the red coat and put them on horses so that they can watch out for guests, tie up their horses and put the dirt back in place when necessary. They both flunked the entrance exam to become Civil War reenactors so we just let 'em think that they're practicing for roles in the remake of "The Patriot".

As can be seen, this IS horse country and what better place for a Mustang ? Now, just because our boys wear the red coat, that does not mean that they participate in the fox hunt. Fox hunting these days is a bit different than most imagine. First, there's no fox just the urine of a fox is used. How this is obtained, we do not wish to guess. In horse country things are not always as they seem. The untutored often refer to "horse racing," but around here it's called the Steeplechase. However, just as no fox is hunted in a fox hunt, no steeple is being chased by the riders. Being a faith based community, we thought this the best policy.


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