Gold In Them There Gardens

I'm the only grown woman riding a bike around my town, far as I’ve seen. Turns out it's yet another way to meet folks. It's an icebreaker.

Like a couple of months ago -- thanks to my battered Huffy, a simple trek to the post office turned into gold. In my backyard.

Walking into the mercifully air-conditioned post office lobby, I exchanged hellos with the white-haired gentleman wearing a "London, Texas" cap.

"You get here okay on that bike?" he added. Turns out he's the husband of one of the little grocery store's employees. I’d just ridden over from there, after consulting my latest jotted list of questions about how to live in The Sticks. Queries about stuff like where to buy money orders and have copies made.

Folks here are big on the Buy Local concept. "Whatever you can do to keep our post office alive, hon," Jewel pleaded gently, "please do, or they'll roll up the street here." So I'll be buying my money orders and Xerox copies from our town's Postmistress. As soon as a little more income rolls my way, I'll be buying one of those local Chamber of Commerce-ish T-shirts here, too.

Anyway -- Jewel's husband, Mr. C, my new acquaintance at the post office today, has done a lot of plumbing and related work on the house I'm living in now. That's handy. He replaced a lot of the place's inner workings and invited me to let him know if problems arise. "I've got her number," he said, referring to the inheritor of the property that I'm calling home.

According to Mr. C, there's even more to that inheritance, and rumor has it that it lies deep in the sandy soil of my back acre.

"Story is that her dad was responsible for a train robbery," he smiled mischievously. "Folks say he buried the gold on that land. She told me once when I was laying new pipes that if I ran across it, she'd split it with me."

We shared a chuckle, and he assured me that he seriously doubts the veracity of the tale.

Still, it goes along with the other stories I've heard running around these parts, not all of them told by folks I encounter. Some are online -- exciting stuff. Here I am, sort of painstakingly big on law abiding ways (much to the chagrin of a few friends) and living among the descendants of outlaws. Perfect.

So, who knows? Maybe in exchange for boosting the local economy with my nickel-and-dime purchases, I'll be richly rewarded in the end. How can I not be?

Until I get around to taking a shovel to the soil back there, I make my own gold. After lunch I treated myself to a couple of neighborhood plums on the side of some plain yogurt with sliced mangoes (definitely NOT from around these parts) that I drizzled with honey and stuck in the freezer for 15 minutes.

Look Ma -- I'm rich! 

Comments

[Jerrie]

Looks delicious! and so good for you. Good girl! Have a great day in the park.