Just Fine With Me
Some folks think I’m boring and, perhaps, a bit odd. I
suppose I can see how they might think me peculiar. My ways are certainly
different from what they might consider normal – whatever that may be.
My day begins with Tabby nudging my ear with her nose. The
sun ain’t up yet, plus it’s a mite chilly. The woodstove’s died down in the night.
I lie there for a bit. I hear mourning doves cooing to each other. Plit, plit sounds against the window
tell me it’s raining or, at least, it had been sometime in the night.
Hopefully, it was just a passing sprinkle. I have things to do.
With Tabby’s insistence, I emerge from my quilted cocoon and
shuffle in my woolen stockings into the other room. Stirring up the sleeping
embers, I add kindling and a log to the fire. Tabby gets some leftover fish and
meows. Opening the wooden door to let
her out, I stretch my arms in the morning air. It ain’t raining, but the grass
and trees sparkle. A ribbon of pink peeks beneath the dark clouds on the
eastern horizon with a promise of a beautiful day.
I adjust my suspenders and step back into the cabin. It
don’t look nothing like those houses in town.
My Delly kept it cleaner than I do. Although there ain’t
much to clean. There’s the table and chair. There was ‘nother one for Delly,
but I put it out on the porch, where I can sit and sip my coffee in the
evening.
There ain’t no fancy art on the walls – just the Rollings
Hardware Store calendar with a pretty photo for each month. This month has some
red and yellow flowers on it. There’s a
stuffed chair, where Delly would sit and sew near the warm stove. I don’t use
it none, but I can’t abide the thought of tossing it.
Delly weren’t no movie star. She wouldn’t have won no beauty contest, but her laugh
filled the room. Her hands were large, but strong. She didn’t know how to cook
no gourmet foods – mostly just soups and biscuits, but it filled my belly. Her
dresses weren’t made of lace and silks. She often wore trousers and boots when
she walked the trails with me. No, Delly weren’t a fancy lady, but that was
fine with me.
After a breakfast of coffee, biscuits, and honey, if it’s a
good day, I might pull on my boots to take a hike down to the lake to see if
the trout are biting. If not, it won’t matter. I can always try again tomorrow.
I aim to plant a few taters and turnips when the earth warms a bit more. Last
year’s supply is ‘most gone. I don’t have no grocery store nearby. I don’t need
much food, ‘cept greens, berries, and fish. Oh, sometimes I get a box of
oranges from my brother at Christmas. They’re nice, but not as nice as the wild
huckleberries from the far side of Tucker Mountain.
I don’t have ‘lectricity or a television. I did have a radio
once to listen to the happenings and some nice piano tunes, but after a while
the batteries went dead. I don’t miss it too much. I don’t need to hear ‘bout
all the fightin’ and political talk. I don’t have no telephone, nor even a
clock. I read the Good Book and Farmer’s Almanac, plus I’ve got my banjo and
Tabby, and that’s just fine with me.
Every day is much like the one before it. I like it that
way. Sometimes storms liven things up ‘round here, but they always make more
work than they’re worth – cleaning up broken limbs or digging my way out to the
woodpile or outhouse. Once a grizzly was bound and determined to raid my stash
of food. I think of that exciting day every time I chaw on his meat or shake
out his skin on my floor.
Having the mail plane come in the spring is always exciting,
but Henry chatters on so and asks too many questions. He reckons it’s his duty
to keep me posted of world events and take as much news about my well-being as
he can back to my family. It’s always nice when it’s quiet again – just me and
Tabby.
Others may think I live a boring life, but it’s just fine for
me.
* * *
If you'd like to read more great short stories,
go to Sara Harricharan's website -
go to Sara Harricharan's website -
http://saraharricharan.com/2017/10/golden-flames-friday-fiction
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