West Virginia, mountain mama…
As I drove south through West Virginia, I pulled into a Kroger parking lot to buy apples and cheese sticks. Walking toward the doors of the store, I was stopped by a man who was, I don’t know, SO WEST VIRGINIA.
“Warrrshington? Did I see Warrrshington plates?”
He had no teeth. Well, maybe two teeth. He had a long (as in: foot-long) white goatee, and was wearing a flannel shirt and a stocking cap. But his blue eyes sparkled, and so I laughed and told him about the adventure that I’m on.
“Whoa, Nelly. That there car’s made it all this way? Sheesh. I ain’t NEVER been to Warrrshington. A girl like you’s out alone on this here road? Well girly, you be safe, and getcher coat – it’s a cold ‘un today. And don’t be speedin’ through Summersville – they’ll getcha. They’ll getcha good.”
He was the cutest Appalachian hillbilly I’ve ever seen. And now I know where to turn when I need someone to teach me how to cook possum.
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tags: People | The Big Trip | West Virginia
do I dare correct it into “oppossum” and show my educated-yet-hill~billy roots? to ponder…
Diana
p.s. I’m glad you met one of the good-ole boys from back in them parts. They’ll treatcha’ right and cook you up somethin’ mighty-fine I tell you what! {smiles}