Man oh man oh man…I believe that should have a hyphen. Whatever. The past four hours I have been speaking about the diction of the south. Speaking with a good friend, which I might add, I had no idea had the collegiate background she went on to explain.
I mean, aside from veterinarian school, she actually studied southern diction. She would laugh at me now when I say she has certainly mastered the North Georgia dialect. In fact, there are too many times I have to ask her to repeat the response or the question because…well because I am (dare I say it) …a Yankee.
But I feel like such a Southern girl.
And it is all Betty’s fault.
Betty taught me to say “darlin’ early in the morning as a greeting…or actually even late in the afternoon. Betty learned me in the skills of the south – to ask one how the other is – no matter the time of day – and to patiently wait for a response.
Betty taught me to wait patiently to have my tail-feathers rubbed.
And to always pay attention to what might be coming in the next bucket while still certainly enjoying what you are being treated to at the moment.
Betty taught me how to run with wild abandon – disregarding how silly or chubby I might look.
Betty taught me how to love every moment in a day…and to celebrate a slightly old tomato and a nearly overripe cucumber. And to cheer with reckless abandon when I receive the gift of an egg (or three) from my clutch of girls.
All of these things are worth celebrating.
And I learned all these lessons from my adoring chicken Betty – one of 32 chickens – but the only one with the heart and soul of her (newly) Southern Momma.
Betty and pal Boop checking out the compost pile at The Farm...
No comments:
Post a Comment