Tuesday, February 20, 2007
I fear I am quite heartbroken that the Big Creek Market and Deli has now closed. Bubba evidently couldn't make enough money at it. Too bad he couldn't hold on till spring. They will start the bridge building project back up again and there will be many burly men in search of chez burgers.
I was really shocked the other week when I pulled up and found the doors locked.
So, today, when I ventured out, I had to go further up the road to Black's market. I like Black's market. I really like the people there. It was the first market I stopped at when I came up here looking around the neighborhood after finding the farm.
Then, when I walked in and pulled an ice cold "Big Chug" out of the fridge to buy, I was greeted with wary glances. Oh, sure, we smiled. But I was a total outsider then. They didn't know me from Adam's housecat. I didn't mind. I was flushed with longing. I truly had found the place of my dreams. I knew it was going to mine. It was like meeting the lover I had waited my entire life to find. And hoping the insane love was reciprocated. I was in lust for my land.
Today, walking in Black's is like sticking my feet into comfortable old shoes. Everyone smiles when I walk in. We all say "hey".
"How you like this warm weather?"
"Can't get enough of it," I say, "My frogs were singing in the pond today."
They don't have chez burgers at Blacks. They do have hot dogs, pickled eggs and farm eggs from Ed's brother's laying hens. They have beer, too. But you have to ask for it. It's kept in a separate side building so as not to offend the church goers.
I hear tell they keep other things that you have to ask for, but I wouldn't know about that. That's just the word on the mountain and it could be just the usual blarney that circulates here on a regular basis.
I pause a moment on my way out to look at the bulletin board. Prominently displayed is a reward poster for the apprehension of the murderer of a local man who was killed some years back. It's a reminder of the still frontier mentality that permeates the area. Also are business cards. One for a family that buys pelts and ginseng roots. In the fall, many people hunt the wild ginseng for extra cash. People are experts at "making do" here. My favorite business card is the one for Lux Memorials. I look at it every time I'm there and giggle.
It says...
"We won't take you for granite."
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
I spent quite a few hours today at Big Creek Market and Deli. It's the local watering hole and 
greasy spoon. Mostly folks just come in and hang out. It's not a smoke-free environment. The air is redolent with the smell of sausage and ham sizzling on the grill in the back. They most probably use lard. You can get a grill cheese sandwich or just about anything to fortify your daily allowance of vitamin "G". The food is actually really good, but be sure to bring your lipitor with you. It's a down home country grill. They open at 5 am during bear season.
But mostly people come for the gossip.
I was there trying to rip a copy of Akira Kurasawa's Kagemusha and some older titles on Bubba's ancient Windoze machine...and in the process try to figure out exactly why he was having trouble ripping DVD's on his machine. Part of the problem seemed to be that he didn't have a DVD burner. I had a really hard time convincing him that it wasn't there. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I explain that I have drunk far too much of Steve Job's coolaide and only sort of know my way around a PC, I still get called out to fix the local computers. They really think I'm smarter than I actually am.
So, it is now all over the mountain that I watch "jap" movies with subtitles...in black and white no less. It would have been okay if I could have confirmed when asked that they were "kung-fu" movies. But I couldn't, so that is no doubt another brick laid on my merry road to hell. Between the fact that my church uses real wine for communion and this...well, I guess there's just not much hope for me.
An old buddy of mine was there. He is a font of stories, but it's really hard to get him to talk without him lapsing into dirty jokes with an agricultural theme.
Today he told me, "I wuz born on the mountain and lived in a cave."
The cave part isn't true and there was some punchline that I didn't quite get or catch....something about why he was always "hankerin" for something. It was probably risque in his fashion. But he was indeed born up on Hall's Top.
He had told me once before that he didn't get his first pair of shoes until he was 12 years old. I asked him how he got around in the winter.
"Well, we just didn't go out much."
I also asked him about how old he was when he first went into Newport. I knew that some people lived their lives here without ever going to the closest town.
"Weeeelll, I guess I were about them boy's age." he said, pointing toward a young man dressed in RealTree cammo who is about 17 or so.
"H'it were called Cabbage County 'cause my Daddy'n'em raised cabbages. One day we took all them cabbages ter market."
He pulls a long drag off of his hand-rolled cigarette with those amazingly weathered hands.
"We hitched up the ox and took them 'long the river all the ways to Newport. Lord, I thought that were the furthest piece!"
Oxen, while very sturdy, are not very fast. The drive he's talking about is about 15 to 20 miles. I can only imagine what that must have been like, riding on the bumpy gravel road in a wagon full of cabbages. That road is now a pleasant drive over a nice blacktop, but during his time it was a rutted, one lane path that was probably washing out into the Pigeon River in places.
"So, tell me," I ask, "Where did you go to school?"
"I only went one day." He tells me. "H'it were up at Raven's Branch."
I knew about the Raven's Branch school.
"One day?" I ask.
"Well, I only had one pair of britches and the goat ate them. So I didn't go back."
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Speaking of goats...still waiting, damnit!
