Although most
Georgians know that Highway 78 eastbound will eventually lead you out of
Atlanta to Athens, most sadly miss the charm of this road in their quest to be
a barker at a UGA football game.
When
you reach Split Silk in unincorporated Walton County on Highway 78, a change
washes over you. You’ve left the
congestion and “city life” and you are now on rural time. The clock ticks a sedate paste and seemingly
stops when you ride through small towns you’ve never heard—Between, Mount
Vernon and Good Hope to name a few.
And
happily, it’s not just the scenery that has altered. The people have changed also and mostly for
the better. Parents instill a sense of
respect of the land, communities and citizens in their children. You can tell it in the attitude. Neighbors are quick to help and in a crisis,
everyone pulls together. Sure, there is
more kudzu to swallow the land but on the brighter side, it is the norm to hold
your hand out the window to wave or even offer to open the door for a lady. Mommas
and other ladies are still placed high on a pedestal and rarely fall off. Although bigger communities have a reputation
for “live and let live”, that is more apparent in the country. Oddities are often overlooked and sometimes
encouraged out here.
My
family and I were out cemetery hopping along this stretch of 78 when I spied
flashing lights behind us when we tested these theories.
“You
looking for a cow?” was the first question when a Walton County deputy pulled
over my husband.
My
husband cut his eyes to me. “Are we
looking for a cow?” He knew full well
that we were indulging our macabre hobby of cemetery viewing. What can I say? We like to view history through graveyards.
“Nope,
no cow hunters here.” I cheerfully informed the deputy. “We’re just visiting cemeteries.”
“Well,
that’s good.” he said as if ghouls like us were an everyday occurrence. The ‘well’ was drawn out into two
syllables. “It’s nice to see that
respect for your ancestors hasn’t died.”
The deputy snorted at his pun and then went on. “Iffen you do see that cow, call 911. Mr. Thomas reported that one of his cows ran
away. Her name is Beulah but don’t call
her by that name. She hates it. Just call us and we’ll finagle her back to
the barn ‘cause if you try to force her, she’ll pee on you. Mr. Thomas was trying to git her and she just
plumb took off over yonder.”
With
that, the officer tipped his hat and wished us a good day. My husband breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t transporting drugs so I didn’t know
why he was happy to see him leave.
“I
don’t want to be around when Beulah pees.”
Understandable,
but as a fellow female, I sympathized with the reticent cow. Rural and urban ladies need a break from time
to time. What gal doesn’t want to escape the confines of her home and children to
get gussied up and have a night on the town or fields as in Beulah’s case?
We
were leaving our last cemetery of the day and discussing the misfortune of
Enoch McCollum who caught the measles and died during the War of Northern
Aggression. I glanced out the corner of
my eye and saw a large spotted cow hiding in the kudzu. She saw me, froze and stopped chewing her
cud. I knew that look better than
Beulah. Freedom if only for an hour is
still freedom. I slowly nodded in
solidarity and Beulah quietly bowed back to be enveloped in the kudzu.
All
city and country girls have to stick together, don’t we? Yep, loyalty and respect between girls till
the cows come home.
About the author:
Visit Christy's blog for more fun stories! Click here to go to Having a Hissyknit.
Christy Breedlove has been
writing snarky Facebook posts for some time and has made the transition to
writing magazine articles. She has lived in Walton County for 18 years with her
very patient husband, two teen aged children and two lazy dogs. When she is not
napping or ignoring housework, she likes to go geocaching, read and knit.
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