The Maynard Gang
In the process of compiling a fishing and hunting Fourche River Valley cultural and linguistic overview for my grandson, Mason Parker Seawel, age 11, it occurs to me that my column readers might benefit from a basic lesson on the meanings of words and expressions common to our preceding generations. As my grandchildren put it, “so much of what you say is sooo back then.”
Weather commentary used in the Maynard Café would draw a blank in more upscale locales. Rex Dismang warned of the advent of winter because “there was a skim of ice on the slop bucket this mornin.” Carl Shocklee warned of a cold front from the northwest “Leatherbritches is a comin.” John Wineland said “it feels like there’s nothin between us and the North Pole but a barbed wire fence.” The first “cold snap” might be announced as being “right airish.”
Jim Bob Jackson remarked recently at the morning table that in order to experience something proposed “one might have to give up the ambience of Maynard.” Rural savants such as your scribe, Gary Hagood, Darrell Nelson, Faron Phillips, Dave Hanson, Charles Jarrett, Doc and Gerry Alphin, Chester Seawel, Aubrey Jones and Randy Weisenbach agreed that it would not be worth it.
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