Local Poems & Stories: Slightly Country

Slightly Country
by Kim Day Murr

“Started the day with a kiss from the man, a wee bit of breakfast, and a call from a friend. Seems said friend was helping butcher turkeys today, even though Wednesdays are our walking-days. We’ve seen most of this island we call home on foot over the past many years of Wednesday Walks. ”Come to Del’s,” said Shelda. “The killing part should be over by the time you get here.” I arrived (after a decent delay for said activity), to find the ladie’s forearms deep into the cavities of two very large birds. Nice. The plucker had been utilized (as well as the garbage can/cauldron, hatchet and stump), and now the girls were removing the inedibles. I watched, and with curiosity drew closer. Now, the Good Book tells us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, but I have to say this: so are turkeys. Shelda got to the gizzard, sliced it open with her scalpel, and revealed an inner sack that contained all the gravel the bird had eaten in its short lifetime to help it digest food. I mean, how cool is that? God thinks of everything. Shelda took a break from her butchery, and we wandered in the woods awhile. Maples dropping their leaves, sun shining through, birds singing, and dogs barking to warn us when we’ve wandered too far afield. And then, sauntering through an opening to a meadow, we see a porcupine. I immediately want to get close. Well, closer. I pull out my phone (because of course my camera’s back at the house in the car) and attempt to take a photo. “See that spot there between the trees? Yup. Porcupine. HUGE. Really.” He (she?) waddled off into the low brush, turned around and watched us for awhile as we drew closer, and then turned his back on us in a “you can’t see me” stance. We kept on walking, solving the world’s problems (as we do every week), and just being grateful for where we live, and the way Autumn smells, and the surprises God sends our way. Later on I went to work at our local hospital, and immediately went in to a C-Section…reminiscent of those turkeys, on so many levels…I think a healthy uterus looks somewhat like a Cornish game hen…But I digress. As the case finished and the evening progressed I had time to watch the Country Music Awards (CMA’s), and found myself laughing, and once teary-eyed, but fully absorbed in the show. They were singin’ and talkin’ and tellin’ jokes. And now? I keep twangin’, drawlin’, and ya’ll-in. Cain’t be helped. When the relatives come from Sweden for a visit, I get a funny lilt on my tongue. When we’ve been with the cousins up north, I get accused of being a Canuck. And when I listen to that much country music, well, it just cain’t be helped none. I might be Swedish, a wee bit Indian, and God-only-knows what else, but there’s some Country in there, somewhere.”