I grew up in rural North Alabama on a graveled road miles from the nearest town. There were 5 of us girls (I'm the oldest), we had a party line for phone service, one of us had to go outside to turn the TV antenna in order to pick up one of the 3 channels available in our area, we had an outhouse until I was 13 and we all took baths in a #10 wash tub in the kitchen floor.
This is Bossy and the five of us. I'm the one in glasses, Donna is the one in front of the School bus/home-made motorhome, Tina is the one with the corncob pipe, Lana is standing in front of me and Teresa is the smiling diva posing in front of us all. Bossy was our pet. We actually rode her around the farm using an ear of corn tied onto the end of a stick to guide her. She would follow that corn anywhere and to stop all you had to do was raise it up into the air where Bossy couldn't see it. The only thing about riding cowback was she only had one gait or speed-SLOW!
Here's Donna riding Pearl the Wonder Mule. Now I'll have you know that a mule is a rare thing. It's a hybrid of horse and jackass. Mules are always sterile meaning that you can't breed a mule to a mule and get a mule. Donna was always jealous because she got stuck with Pearl while I, being the oldest and the most interested in riding, got the privilege of owning Thunder.
Thunder was my constant companion from the age of 11 until I left home at 18. I never owned a bicycle and he was my only means of transportation. All the kids in our area owned horses, ponys or mules and we would ride cross-country for miles. It was nothing for everyone to leave early in the morning and stay gone until dark. The local gas station would serve as our diner. As we roamed the highways we would pick up tossed soda bottles. At the gas station we would cash in our found booty and then gorge ourselves on RCs, Mountain Dews, Moon Pies, cans of Vienna sausages, slabs of hook cheese hand-sliced off of huge red-wax covered wheels, tins of potted meat eaten smeared on crackers. It's a wonder we all didn't die of heart attacks by the time we were 21!!
That's not the half of my childhood adventures in Redneck Heaven, but you get the idea. Maybe one day I'll give you a detailed description of a horse-back battle using rotten tomatoes for ammunition.
Happy Redneck Wednesday, Y'all.
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