I’m not entirely sure why you choose to stick around here, because if I were honest, I would tell you to run far and fast.
We’re a bunch of kooky, quirky, oddballs, and apparently we’re more than a little Redneck.
I don’t like it, and if I could, I would take myself out of the equation and say, I am the only non-redneck one in the family, but alas my son, the budding photographer, caught images of me aiding and abetting the king Redneck himself.
I feel like I should explain, so give me a minute please.
We is Po’ Folks and we use Redneck Heat.
We mainly heat our house with wood, because winters are long and cold in these parts and wood is about all we can afford.
I despise being cold. I should mention that.
Therefore, I burn a lot of wood. I can’t help myself. I dress warm, wear layers, and take my vitamins, but my feet still freeze and my fingers get too cold to type. That is not ok.
So, I load up the stove, again and again. You get the picture.
It’s March and all the good wood is burned. Gone. Buying a load of new wood is not in the budget and the last time FringeMan was hacking up old blow down logs on the side of the road, the police came.
Ya, he has this habit of attracting the law and this was not like the time I almost got him arrested. I have nothing to do with chopping down trees. I burn them, but I don’t chop them.
A girl’s gotta draw the line somewhere.
So he found this factory that throws out their old pallets. Hauling them back to the house is perfectly legal and allowed. They also burn very quickly, so when mixed with some of the wet, frozen logs in our garage, everything goes up in one giant ball of fire.
It makes me happy.
The other day he took us all on a run for pallets. He said he needed help – all four of our helps.
I should have taken that as my cue to get deathly ill, but I was being a good wife, so I flexed my muscles and jumped in the truck.
These things are hockin’ HUGE.
I couldn’t even lift one corner.
They are longer than our entire truck.
My son, ever the intellectual, said, “You need a chainsaw.”
You know that saying, if looks could kill?
Well let’s just say that FringeMan gave him a look.
“Oh, ya. That got stolen, right?”
My son remembered a moment too late. We do not mention chainsaws in my house.
By some act of brute force (it was probably anger over the chainsaw), my husband got this monstrosity loaded in the truck, and then the truck tipped backward.
No, not really, but I’m telling you, it was about to!
Once we all took a moment and allowed logic to reign supreme, Fringeman said, “Ya, this isn’t gonna work. We have to get it out.”
Get it out??
Better call a crane down from heaven.
Jeff Foxworthy should come live with us for a few weeks. He could get all new material.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to throw another
pallet log on the fire.
I got a lot of work done and ate chocolate until I began feeling better about myself and life in general, so I’m officially ending my twelve-hour hiatus. It was good while it lasted.
I can’t explain everything my friends, but one day remind me to tell you about this truck.
Oh, and once, my son told the pediatrician that I fed him squirrels. True story.
If looks could kill…