Peggy and I live out in the country. As kids we would have referred to our area as the boonies or sticks. Given that we have a million acres of trees in our backyard, “sticks” seems particularly appropriate. Needless to say, things move more slowly here than they do in the city.
Yesterday we went to one of our areas major annual events, Buncom Day. As one might expect, there was food, old cars, musicians, a parade and ghost hunters. So what if the parade was only a half block long and was repeated four times. As for the ghost hunters, Buncom is an Old West ghost town, so naturally it has ghosts. What else would you expect? I was even privileged to listen to the voice of a ghost that had been recorded in one of the town’s three remaining buildings. He was upset that someone would want to kill him. Peggy went hunting for the ghost.
Everyone who was anyone was present, including the editor of my upcoming book and the editor of Southern Oregon’s major newspaper, The Tribune. He rode on a tractor in the parade and had a hand painted sign announcing who he was.
Plus there was gambling, serious gambling. Everybody bet on the numbers, even the kids. You might want to try this in your community. First line a large sheet of paper and put numbers on the squares created. Second, place the paper in the bottom of a chicken pen. Third, have people bet on their favorite numbered square. Fourth, place a well-fed chicken in the pen. Whichever square the chicken poops on is the winner.
You might say we are easily entertained out in the sticks. When we returned home, one of our neighbors plopped down at the edge of our back porch to hear all about the day. She was all ears.
NEXT BLOG: Honoring Memorial Day by returning to the Revolutionary War. After that I will return to Barcelona.