tales from the farm

I mentioned our neighbor John Boy (JB) in my last post. He is very sweet and we feel like he looks out for us, but the nature of a farm boy is a bit of a loner. We can't really go outside without meeting him in the yard, asking us about something. Ugh, that's when the Yankee in my kicks in (I like using that as an excuse down here, it works). Friday night, I was returning from the first high school football game here and as I pulled around to our carport, there were 3 boys standing there, which freaked me out a little bit. It was JB & Co, meaning his brother and some other kin. I got out of the car and they told me to go change because they wanted to take me late night 4-wheeling. As appealing as dying in the woods with strangers in the backwoods of NC is, I had to turn them down. The next day he had the 4-wheeler parked in the backyard all ready to go, but I was running errands. One day, JB, one day.

I feel like with moving, you end up shopping/running errands every day for the first 2 weeks. Don't get me wrong, I love me some shopping, but it just gets old. I had my first small town experience while shopping yesterday at Walmart. While checking out some cute little ottomans, and trying to figure out if they were comfortable enough to buy for the killer deal of $17, a man behind me said, "Are you sure you need any more furniture?!" I slowly turn around to see a man I sort of recognize. He was definitely talking to me, so I smile, and try to place him. I realize I met him in some sort of service kind of profession, but we've had so many people at out our house delivering things, I couldn't figure it out. He smiles and said, "How's that bed of yours doing?" Bingo bango. It was the man who came and delivered my bed. But he was also the man who after setting up the bed, ran his hand across the pillow top and said, "It's a mighty big bed for just one young woman." Then I picture him doing the wink and giddy up noise like Uncle Eddy from Christmas Vacation, but that part's not true. He was simply being a nice man in a small town, but all of a sudden all my memories from crime shows kick in and thought of a slightly creepy man remembering delivering my bed meant he probably remembered where I lived. I put the ottoman down, complimented his memory and said goodbye. He said he hoped to see me around, which I think is a totally normal thing to say down here, but in light of his earlier comments, I hope never comes true. And the bummer is, I still am up in the air about the ottoman.