Pa lives across from a country store. Been there for years. Ownership has changed several times. He goes over to eat dinner ’bout every day, sits at a table in back. Swaps tales with local farmers, like in a Norman Rockwell painting.
Road is coming through and Pa fears it will take business.
Day before yesterday I ate with him there. Felt like going back in time, to when I was a kid. Used to be that we’d work til lunch then get on the back of somebody’s pick-up and go to Wheeler’s store and get a boloney sandwich (sliced ’bout thick as your hand) with a big ole hunk of tomato, an RC Cola and a molasses-flavored moon pie.
We still have a lot of country stores, but rising gas prices, by-passes and general “progress” are doing their best to kill ’em.
The current owner, from North Carolina has traveled all over. He’s a good old boy though, real down home. Talks twangy, like the rest of us and wears hunting boots. He ate with Pa and me. Told us tales of his travels and all the weird things that happen to him everytime he goes north.
Lot of laughing went on, big story-swappin’. I did not want to finish my burger, to walk out of the snap shot of yesterday. I want to hold the image for the rest of my life before the road carries it away.