Cranks My Tractor

Published: Thursday, October 31, 2013 at 09:07 AM.

It was the sound…

As soon as you walked in the door, you heard it.  It was the sound of the knife whomping, the sliding of the big knife’s blade across the table.  Then the song would start again – Whomp, Whomp, Whomp, Slide…

The man was huge, at least he seemed huge.  Maybe he just seemed larger than he actually was because he was holding a big knife (and he knew how to use it). 

He wore an apron and a hat that would remind you of a soda jerk.  The little soda jerk hat on such a big man was kind of funny looking.  He was usually sweating.   It could have been the continued whomping of the knife or the heat from the cooking.

The other thing I remember is the smell.  As soon as you opened the door, it hit you in the face.  Not the door to the restaurant, but your car door in the parking lot.

In the South, there are a few things that you can discuss and debate and appreciate for hours over sweet tea, buttermilk or something else you might drink out of a bottle or a Mason jar.  These things include hunting dogs, secret fishing holes, cornbread, what used to be on “Main Street,” opinions on George Wallace, football and where to find the best barbecue. 

That’s just the women…



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