On the way to Iowa the other day we stopped to visit wee Kyle. He grabbed my cell-phone and jumped into his jumping balls. I think he is texting his girlfriend. Bright kid.
Dan, Wes and I aimed the Jeep for Kentucky early Monday morning. We had been apart from the girls for a month while they did their Kentucky music ministry. For a late lunch we wound through the mountains to a country store complete with a squeaky, slapping screen door. The friendly lady made me a home-made sandwich with real tomato – a real, red, juicy, vine-ripe tomato. Not the grainy, pink, hot-house variety, but a real, red tomato. No salmonella or anything. I washed it down with an Ale-Eight-One watching a hawk circle the valley.
We walked to a barber name Rudine who had been cutting hair here in Campton for fifty years. He knew Lois’ grandfather Hatton. He said, “The Hattons were all good people.” He gave the boys good old-fashioned 1950’s style haircut. Wes looks like Opie Taylor now with a vintage flat-top. Pude Oliver was there and a man from Jackson who made small talk about how they don’t tell stories anymore since they made it illegal to whittle on the front steps of the courthouse.
This morning there was mist in the mountains when I went for my morning coffee. It’s a beautifully cool morning. The music system was broken at the restaurant where I always start my days here in Campton. I was happy. Usually I listen to Fernando Ortega through my ear buds to drown out the country muzak they pipe in. The usual music at the restaurant is country music which is two parts God, home, and apple pie and one part fornication, drinking and general despair. (And yes, I would be glad for you to quote my description of country music).
Keep an eye on by blog www.kenpierpont.com while I’m here in the mountains. If I lived here I would call it “Blog on the Mountain – ”
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