The Pot and the Kettle and the Hillbillies who Found Them Beside the Road and are Using Them to Cook Grits and Varmints

 I used to tell Charlie Butt that when I had children I would coerce them into good behavior by threatening them with Hillbillies.  “Better eat your green beans, or the Hillbillies will get you.”  “Better brush your teeth, otherwise the Hillbillies will come steal them.”  Hillbillies are the appropriate threat level for children, because they are not mean or cruel, but you could imagine them stealing your teeth.  And, in this area, Hillbillies could pose a palpable threat, as they are all over the place.  One of my neighbors, (down the road and across the fields), has taken to trying out his night vision goggles by sitting on the porch and doing target practice with his rifle at all hours after dark; there is still parking for tractors available at the high school and on Main Street; and this summer, this was being advertised in town:

Lately, though, I’ve begun to worry about the thin line that separates the eccentrics from the Hillbillies.  After all, my parents drove a forty year old tractor to their fortieth class reunion and my father-in-law has suggested that I get a 45 mm handgun to take running with me, in case I need to shoot coyotes or strangers.  Can you imagine?  The only people who drive down our road who we don’t know are lost; they stop to ask directions and then:  “Don’t shoot!  Don’t shoot!  I got the directions from MapQuest!”  And what would they say when they returned to civilization?  “I was out, lost on this gravel road, and this crazy woman with a baby in a jogging stroller pulled a gun on me!” 

This raises some moral questions: Am I a Hillbilly by association?  Do I want to cause my children fear of their own grandparents? 

Last night was the first beautiful snowfall of the season.  After we returned from dinner, Josh and I wandered out back of the barn, through the gently falling flakes.  I listened as he told me about his day, about how he used an axe to break the lid off a fifty-five gallon steel oil barrel.  Then, we stood in the snow for a moment, admiring the glow and enjoying the warmth that emanated from the trash fire that was burning in that repurposed oil barrel. 

We kissed and thought “this is very romantic” and “there is no where I’d rather be than here with you.” And now I have to find a new strategy for ensuring good behavior from my children.