Concrete or Corn

To say that people talk funny where I come from would be an understatement.

We recently made the annual trek home for the holidays and should have taken along a translator to help the kids understand what Grandpa was saying.

Grandpa lives in the country surrounded by corn -- and he has a very country way of expressing himself.

When we first woke up Grandpa hollered, Yuup? Which meant are you awake yet?

Then Grandpa went outside and told someone to turn on the spigot. Neither of my kids knew what the heck a spigot was, and Grandpa mumbled something about city folks beneath his breath.

Grandpa pretty much says whatever is on his mind. Pretty much meaning often or a little - also used in other variations such as pretty far, pretty close, and pretty well - a term that comes up pretty much in every single sentence.

A derivative of pretty much would be pert near, meaning pretty close or almost. My daughter asked Grandpa, are we done yet? And Grandpa responded, Purtnear. She literally had no idea what Grandpa was saying and had to come to me for translation.

Some words were were easier to figure out than others: such as up-air meaning up there and the commonly used fixin' meaning preparing to.

Also, there's the ever popular all-be, shoot far, and reckon.

And one cannot forget plumb, because by the time we left, Grandpa was plumb tuckered out.

Sometimes we had to translate actual items found in Grandpa's kitchen such as butter and pepper. My daughter was staring into the fridge searching for butter when Grandpa hollered - it’s in that big brown tub right in front of you. My daughter had never seen Country Crock before and was unaware, ironically, that this was the country equivalent of butter.

My son searched everywhere for a pepper mill one day until finally being told that pepper came in a little red tin can.

The entire family gathered for a big country dinner of biscuits with honey, sugar beets, sweet pickles, brown sugar ham, sweet tater casserole with marshmallows on top, sweet corn, sweet tea, and sweet desserts. The youngin's immediately began bouncing off the walls on a sugar high that lasted till midnight. I turned to look at my two kids who were hanging in the best they could: delirious, heads bobbing, eyes rolling back into their heads, it was a sugar coma the likes they had never seen.

Finally, Grandpa said his arthritis was spurrin' up, but he still wanted to take a walk down by the crick which meant creek or small stream in his neck of the woods.

We left early the next morning since it was fixin' to snow. We hugged and Grandpa said, Y'all come again. Y'all which is singular, All y'all which is plural, and All y'all's which is plural possessive, somehow made its way up from Texas into Oklahoma and Kansas along with Yer and Yuins.

It was pert near dark by the time we arrived home. The big city lights emanated a soft amber hue as our car sped smoothly along the concrete highway and we slipped back into a familiar rhythm of urban life. I called Grandpa to thank him for the good time we had and invited him to our home in the big city soon. But something tells me he won't come. Grandpa is a Country Mouse. I am a Town Mouse. And who knows when we will visit again.

If Grandpa does decide to visit, I will make him my version of a country meal: grilled Berkshire pork chops; fresh corn sauteed with zuchinni, onion, garlic and red peppers; roasted garlic mashed new potatoes served with a big glass of unsweetened iced tea. It puts a whole new meaning to the phrase, "Hey Grandpa, what's for supper?"

Note: I know, I know, it looks like the above pork chop was overcooked, which is a mortal sin, but I feel compelled to explain myself - this was the most done of the four grilled, but just on the outside, my grill has a lot of hot spots, and the pic was not that good - but believe me when I say, these are the best pork chops I have ever eaten! And I am not a big fan of pork. Berkshire pork chops are well worth the money.