Family of Saltimbanques

Once upon a time, this past January 24, to be exact, I was sitting in my house, chillin', when a knock comes at the door. Upon answering, I see a young Deliverance-variety child there, around 14, with teeth already rotting and disengaging from gums. He says, "We's drivin by n seen yall had sum bad trees. Yall wan'um cut down? Here's the number." Name and number in a childish scrawl on a Post-it-Note: the lengths some people will go to with those embossed calling cards, I swear.

Fact is, I DO have trees that are rotting or rotten. There is simply no ignoring this family's alert observation. Family consisting of deddy, mumma, and Boy. I say, "Sure, give me an estimate. I'm working inside so just knock on the door." As I saw no reason to interfere with a man's work.
The young man yells in the direction of what appears to be a severely-mechanically compromised pick up truck: "DEDDY! GO HEAD, SHE SEZ!!" Punctuated by spits. This just in, folks: a Princeton study reveals that it is a perfectly sound practice to SWALLOW SALIVA. On the other hand, chucking it up on someone's lawn bespeaks a less couth choice. Maybe that's just me.

Tree-cutting estimates from friends' yards indicate price tags in the thousand-dollar-a-tree range. My own father laid out 1800 American dollar to have my beloved two backyard oaks removed, so I'm not optimistic regarding the affordability factor. At that price, let em fall, I say.

But a few minutes later comes another knock. I go out to talk to Deddy, who tells me he'll cut five trees down, chop 'em up, and move 'em to the debris pile I have for, gulp, $300. I say "yeahokaygoforit." He hesitates. "Don't reckon there's any how I can git cash from ya, is it?" I say, "Well, I can write a check, but I don't have that much cash on me." He squints suspiciously: "What bank it on?" I say that I can write one on Bank of America, SunTrust, or Wachovia, his choice. "Oh NAW I ain't messin with no Bank of America. My wife done went in there with two IDs and they ain't cashin without no credickcard. We rode round a dern month lookin to cash that check" What happened ultimately with the liquidation was unclear. But indeed the rustic speaks the truth. I myself went into BoA not a year ago to deposit a spousal paycheck and had to be fingerprinted and PHOTOGRAPHED for a DEPOSIT! It is determined, then, that I will settle my debt with the less offensive Wachovia check, and the patriarch asks for directions to the nearest branch. Did they JUST pull into Athens?? I wonder. I provide directions.

So, with our compensation settled, he's ready to go. I'm expecting a bucket truck--again, that's just me--but all I see is the exceedingly beat-up old crate of a pick-up. "How, uh, will you do this?" I ask.

"HELL!" grins Pops, revealing a wobbly row of pointy, well-spaced "teeth." "I JUS CLIMB EM AND KNOCK EM DOWN!"
Boy beams at me proudly. "You gotta see im with ya own eyes!" he advertises.

Indeed.

I wonder if I need to get my homeowner's insurance policy out as something tells me this group might not be eaten up with accidental-death-and-dismemberment insurance.

But they go to town on the cuttin. Mumma gets out of the pick up and walks all about the yard, smoking, her son extinguishing behind her, I guess, by spitting? Collaborative, close-knit.

So I'm running around getting my video camera ready to secretly tape not the felling of the trees, nor their removal (such secondary issues) but this absolutely Faulknerian family unit! Like I'd just moved to Georgia, right? And getting my first glimpse of local color.

Turns out Deddy CANNOT shimmy up the two most rotten trees and must guide them down with a rope and saw, of which he does an excellent job, I must say. Another knock. "Deddy done found another rotten one." I go out. Ask how much for this extra removal since "it ain't gone fall on nuthin," (assessment deddy's). He thinks a minute. "Thirty dollar." I almost choke, and agree!!!! Then he hollers loudly, walking across the yard, "Donchoo tell nobody how much I chargin yoo, okay???" with a big cackle.
"I promise," I promise.


When he finishes up and pockets my check, he informs me of some of his related talents: roofing, carpentry, gutters (but not the seamless kind), yard work, irrigation, stump removal, bricking, decks, pouring concrete, hauling off debris. Seems he's both master and jack of all trades. And cheap!


There's a caveat, though, he must provide. He tells me on some of his projects, he has a man who works with him. Then the piece de resistance of the entire encounter falls: "You don't mind no niggers in your yard, do ya?"



"uh, no....I....no, no. I don't have a problem. At all. No."
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I apologize that these pix do not do these folks justice. They were taken from inside the house; I just couldn't bring myself to go for close-ups.



Sonny boy chopping up freshly-hewn pine.



Mumma walking back to truck for new pack of cigs.