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Last updated: March 05. 2014 7:46AM - 845 Views
J.A. Bolton Storyteller



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Last week I told you about the snowbird that moved to Florida and liked to have drowned in his pool. After he recovered he and his wife decided they would buy a small farm in the mountains of North Carolina near Blowing Rock. They had visited the area while on their trips to Florida and had enjoyed the climate and the scenery was out of this world.


After purchasing their small farm, they got right to work cleaning it up and getting ready to plant their first garden. Didn’t neither one of them know anything about gardening. So they decided to ride down the old winding road and visit their neighbors and maybe get some information about growing a garden. Well, they would learn quickly the independence, outspokenness and conservative ways of at least two of their new mountain neighbors.


So off they went. Their first stop was a small farmhouse that had a nice front porch. It was a pretty warm day, and an old man and woman were both sitting on the porch rocking in high-back rocking chairs which happened to be the only chairs on the porch. The old man was chewing tobacco, and his wife was dipping snuff. Both held and waved funeral fans. You know them little hand fans the funeral homes used to pass out with a picture of Jesus on one side and the funeral home on the other side.


Well the snowbirds got out of their car and started toward the house walking around one old hound dog and stepping over two. The couple stopped at the bottom of the front porch steps and the Florida man opened what would be a short conversation with, “Hello there. My wife and I just moved in about two miles up the road. We moved up from Florida and thought we would ride over this afternoon to visit and become acquainted.”


“Howdy,” said the old man in the rocking chair as he spat out a big chew of tobacco at a broken syrup bottle in the yard.


The old lady never looked up and continued rocking and knitting what looked to be a napkin. Like her husband, she spat a good juicy spit of snuff into the yard.


The visitor still standing with his wife out in the yard made another attempt to speak and said, “It sure is hot this afternoon.”


The old man sitting on the porch just spat another chaw and said, “Yep, always is this time of the year.”


Becoming increasingly impatient, as most northerners are, and a little ticked off at the reception they had received, he said, “Seems to me like you don’t have enough chairs.”


“Got plenty of chairs,” the old mountaineer said. “Just got too much company.”


Ya’ll come back now, you hear?


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