By Otis Griffin
Imagine peering through the eyes of youngsters and reminiscing appropriately, we believed we lived in the capital of the world residing in the metropolis of Rosemark. Memphis was just a far off country suburb, but Millington was closer and if an emergency arrived maybe, just maybe we could selectively visit. However Southern folks are happy to return to the comforts and safety of home. Going back what seemed like several centuries, there was a time that was safe for gully jumpers to tour the upcountry side without fear or fright pertaining to safety. I can’t say what is right or wrong, but I can tell how it was many decades ago. Everyone I grew up with was blessed with not having anything. Is that a fact and please explain to someone that has been under a significant smelly root cellar just that does that signify? Simple. Think about it, if’n you got nuthin’ and you get sumpin’ it just makes you appreciate it more. Now study on that and maybe you can understand why rednecks are so smart. But don’t let it out of the bag as ’em carpetbaggers will try to copy us. When is the last time you were kicked back in a sea grass laced, rickety, straight backed chair under a Maple tree in the front yard spinning tales to your young’ uns or gran’ kids? Whoop a story on ’em how the white-belted Hampshire hogs rooted under the wire fence seeking refuge from their incarceration. Explain how you had to stick the white rock hens under previous orange crates now renamed back yard ‘chicken coops’. You were asked, “how did you know where to go when visiting?” “Did you ever get lost?” The answers are very simple. Replying with, “we knew every family by name within a million miles or so it seemed.” Even when the great Southern General Nathan Bedford Forrest came galloping through with his all his troops he didn’t get lost. Before the guv’mint intervened and started telling us how to run things, rednecks had it all ‘figgered’ out. A hun’ert years ago there were no road signs. Additionally, there were no house numbers hammered into the facing with twelve penny nails over the front door or by the window sill. Mailboxes painting requiring zippers, number of one eyed goats, the date you had your adenoids removed and your Momma’s maiden name for proof of depositing your mail was a thing of the future. Mr. Robert Williams ‘carried the mail’ as we say in our wonderful Southernese. It was never messed up or mis-delivered. Why? Because he was the best there ever was or possibly will be. Mr. Robert knew where everyone lived, all the kids’ names and the dogs moniker, even the great uncle twice removed. Absolutely nothing ever got lost. Why? Cause the guv’mint stayed out of his way. Years ago the post office was located in the brick store building in Kerrville as you see the lettering on the Densford store. Mr. Robert picked up, sorted and carried the mail to the appropriate addresses in the Rosemark area and beyond which read; Route one, or RFD #one with Kerrville at the bottom. That was all that was needed. Of course after the guv’mint stuck its nose in our biz’ness, screwed up and relocated the same post office to Millington changing the requirements. The changes made just about as much sense as trying to install waders on a tadpole. Now you need numbers, road addressees, what color are Formosa Christmas trees and what do the Arabs prefer, one or two hump camels? Please don’t forget a seventeen digit zip code as it is very important. All of this to get junk mail and bills delivered. Maybe it was country simple back many years ago. Write Me a Letter and Tell Me I’m Getting Mail Better………..GLORY!
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