Posted by: Kim_Hamilton on 12/14/2009 10:37 PM
Updated by: thepinetree on 12/15/2009 07:12 AM
Expires: 01/01/2014 12:00 AM
:
Welcome to the Country..... So You’ve Decided to Move to the country where the Language Changes with the Season~by Charity Maness
Yes we have multiple languages up here in the foothills, nothing that is recognized a ‘real’ language thereby making us bilingual, but a language unto itself none the less. I am speaking of the language of the season, as in, deer season, turkey season, boar season, etc. The first time Wyatt asked if I could find a D4 topo map I thought he had gone bonkers. Was that his lazy attempt at shortening WD-40? And what the heck was a topo map? As if WD-40 was not short enough already. One look of stunned amazement from my husband and a knowing disappointed shake of his head I knew I was missing .......
something. He gently pulled me aside and explained that D4 was an area that one could hunt deer at a specific time of year, and that a topo map was an aerial type map showing the terrain of said area. I nodded absently not wanting to let on that it was going in one ear and out the other.
After some himing and hawing with two of my mini Wyatts they came to an agreement that when dad went to work they would accompany me to the correct office to get the correct paperwork. Great, I was going to be led by the hand by two testosterone filled teens into an ‘office’ to find necessary ‘stuff’ for ‘D4’, not to be confused again with WD-40. Oh boy this sounds like some fun. To add to my heap of men type errands, on Wyatt’s way out the door he stopped and said, “Don’t forget to get them licenses, ok?” And off to work he went.
Licenses?!?! They were 13 and 14! There was no way in the world I was going to let them drive any of my vehicles. What the heck was he thinking? I walk into the kitchen grumbling about the fact that testosterone shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car at any age when my mini Wyatt’s inform me in an aggravatingly superior all knowing tone, “Seriously mom, we don’t need driver’s licenses, we need hunting licenses.” Ok, one point for testosterone kid, zero for mom. This is just not turning out to be my day.
I load up my car and we’re off. A quick trip, minimal paperwork and my boys are now licensed to kill Bambi, lucky me. (That was sarcasm folks, please say you heard that. If not, read it again.)
But one cannot possibly hunt without camo (conveniently covered by a neon orange vest so other hunters won’t shoot you, great, just great, and the need for the expensive camo is what?), boda bags (not something that Yoda carries like a European shoulder bag), gps (um, gee please save me), buck knife (as opposed to a butter knife?), topo maps (not a map to Toto’s cousin’s house), med kit (it better be a big one with all the fire power they bring to fell the dangerous Bambi), scope (not mouthwash), etc. All these terms not used frequently in any normal conversation…unless you live in the country.
Would you care to talk fish? Again one needs a license. Go figure. Okay, there are lures, not something to make someone want to come into a store and shop. There are bobbers, not what I do when I attempt to swim. There are barbed hooks, not to be confused with long fingernails or nasty words that come from mean people. And there is stinky bait, which smells very similar to my teenage mini Wyatt’s bedroom. Why anyone would want to bottle that is beyond me. And I for one DO NOT want to eat any fish that thinks ‘stinky bait’ is appetizing, no thanks. Then there is the test line. How a line can take a test still baffles me, but evidently there are multiple test lines. One cannot use the same one for all fish. Let’s not forget the balanced pole; I won’t even venture to guess the meaning of that one. I bet if Huck Finn knew all this stuff he would have thrown away his willow branch pole and string line in a heartbeat.
Don’t even get me started on fowl. I am certain that up here in the country we have to be the reason for the creation and success of the Bass Pro Shop.
So whether you hunt like Wyatt and the many mini Wyatt’s here in the country or like me you choose to stay uninformed about such things, one thing is for certain, when you live in the country you need to speak the lingo, or at least be able to fake it…”Hey honey, my hunting buddy’s (girlfriends) and I are headed to the D4 (department store) fully equipped (with your credit card) to lure (buy) some camo (clothing) into our shopping carts. We may stop by the bait shop (pub) for some stinky bait (drinks) so that our barbed (menopausal) friend will hopefully find a new balanced pole (you figure it out).”
Whew! Hope that made you laugh.
Until next time…welcome to the country…welcome home.
www.charitymaness.com
http://charitymaness.blogspot.com
|
