Growing up country means different things to different people. I grew up in Edgefield, SC. The oldest of four with three younger brothers. A tire swing at my grandparents’ house and a beagle named Cleo are some of my fondest memories.
My great-grandmother churned milk into butter. Milk, I might add, that my great-grandpa had ‘procured’ from the dairy cow on the farm. This newly churned butter was served up by my grandmother, called Mother by everyone in the family, on toast. I can still see that crispy brown slice of deliciousness with its five little yellow, yummy squares. Each corner of the toast would have a pat of butter and then one in the center. There was no toaster in Mother’s kitchen. The bread got buttered and then placed under the broiler until it was crunchy and oh so yummy! I still love buttered toast and only real butter tastes right.
On a recent trip home from grocery shopping I noticed an old fence on the side of the road. Skinny, metal with prongs at regular intervals; yes, it was an old barbed wire fence. I found this image on-line.
Growing up in Edgefield, all I ever heard was “bob” wire fences. As a kid, I didn’t know who Bob was or why he would design such a fence. It was stretchier than it looked and I have wormed my way under and over such a fence many times. I’ve had my shirt snagged more than once. But it was only after I learned to spell that I learned this was a BARBED wire fence, not a Bob wire fence. 🙂
Mr. K and I talked about how the word “barbed” got shortened to “barb” and here in the South, it’s no surprise the word just became “bob”. I said, “It makes sense when you think about it. They took out the ‘r’ so it could be added to the word “wash”.
We “warsh” our hands and we can “warsh” our clothes to get them clean. I was sharing this with one of my faithful readers today and he reminded me when we warsh them we also have to “wrench” them. That is; RINSE them! I love it! (Peggy, give that man a hug!) My advice now would have to be if you warsh your clothes, wrench them good and then hang them outside to dry. Just don’t hang them on a bob wire fence. (grin)
Life in the country continues to move along. As a general rule, it moves at a slower pace. I, for one, like it that way. It seems the only thing winning in the rat race is the rat. Give me a tire swing or a front porch swing any day. A glass of sweet tea or just some cold water from that hole in the ground we call a ‘well’. THAT is good water.
Until next time, I need to go take a picture of a certain bob wire fence.
The photo at the top was taken by Mr. K with my cell phone. It turned out perfect. If you look closely at the lower right corner you can see the little white and brown of my dog, Cricket. She just can’t miss an outing around the property.