It's hard to believe another year has gone by, and the annual farm implement sale back home has come around again. Uncle Ronnie and I are like peas and carrots about most things in life; we just see things the same way even if other folks think we've slipped a gear. As long as we're semi-upright and breathing, we wouldn't miss the farm sale for much in this world.
This year, the sale coincided with Easter weekend and I was especially pleased about that. Between those two events -- the farm sale and services at Hitts Chapel -- you can count on ample fodder for a column.
Hitts Chapel is just down the gravel lane and around the corner from Uncle Ronnie's farm. It's plenty close to walk, and I occasionally do, but no one else around there does. I cannot recall a time on a fair-weathered day when Uncle Ronnie drove his pickup to church. He always takes the mule, and usually a dog, which is where last year got interesting.
Every Easter morning, the preacher holds an outdoor sunrise service. It's always a nice event, or so I hear. I haven't attended them all. Not being a morning person, I can't regularly be counted on to rise and shine at dawn thirty on a Sunday morning. I figure that's why the good Lord made a late service at 11 o'clock.
Often, the preacher's dog, Ralph, follows him to church. And often, Uncle Ronnie has a dog tagging along beside him. Last year, it was his new rescue, a young, rambunctious border collie named Simon.
Now, you'd swear the congregation you see at sunrise service is not the same congregation you see a few hours later at Sunday school and regular service. The unspoken rules of attire for the former are much more relaxed than for the latter. Later, everyone will be slicked down in their Sunday best and chattering nonstop, but at sunrise, folks are wrapped in sweatshirts with not a lick of makeup, brushing or bathing between them. They slowly slip into folded metal chairs and nod at one another. You can hear a feather hit the ground.
Except last year.
From a distance, Ralph and Simon locked eyes on one another. The only thing that lay between those dogs was a bevy of sleepy sinners.
They met each other in the middle of the fourth row of chairs and began to fight like Ali and Frazier. The worship leader, who couldn't see the dogs and can't hear a tornado chase a hot rod, never missed a beat. Hearing neither the dogs nor the key, he just kept singing "Up from the grave He arose!" as the congregation came alive, jumping from their seats with chairs and fur a'flying. It was his liveliest service in years.
I'm told this year wasn't as exciting. I slept in, then bottle fed an orphaned calf before Sunday school. Uncle Ronnie and I didn't get us anything at the sale save for a couple of sandwiches, Cokes and a lot of new memories. It was worth every penny.
This is a true story. It would've been harder to make this stuff up.
NAN Our Town on 04/23/2015