A big part of adjusting to life on the farm is adjusting to living with farmers. My first roadblock was that many of my neighbors looked interchangeable and I couldn't for the life of me tell them apart. They were all about the same age, same height, had white hair, dark glasses, short sleeved shirts, jeans and a cap. Was this some kind of joke they played on the new kid? Apparently not. Any one of them could show up at any moment and catch me off guard. It sometimes took me a few minutes to figure out who I was talking to. It didn't matter if I was about to jump into my car and rush off somewhere, these old guys had all the time in the world to chat. But one of the great things that they all have in common is their skill for storytelling.
One summer evening Lamar sat on the front porch and told stories while we sipped iced tea.
"Ellabelle was a tough old gal. She lived alone in a house down on Road 32, you know where the ferry used to run? Well, so one night Billy Ray Derryberry..."
I had to interrupt. "Wait, are you making these names up?"
Confused. "No. Why? Anyway, Billy Ray Derryberry's girlfriend used to live in that house before Ellabelle ever did. So one night Billy Ray gets good and drunk and goes to Ellabelle's house looking for his girlfriend. Well, Ellabelle has a .38, and when she sees Billy Ray climbing through her window, she grabs that gun and shoots him right here, between his nose and eye.
"He lived through it. Spent a long time in the hospital and still has that bullet lodged in his head. When the sheriff gets to Ellabelle's house she complains that her gun isn't working right, 'cause she meant to shoot him right between the eyes! In fact, she made such a fuss, what do you know if that sheriff didn't give her a brand new gun!"
