2015-06-10 / Columns

Don Lively


There they go again.

I was sitting at my desk in my office that's located in a one hundred year old renovated building. My office, honestly, was an afterthought. It wasn't designed to be an office, more likely it should have been a small conference room. It has two entrances neither of which has a door so it's wide open.

I got lucky.

I got it.

And, there they go again.

Who are " they "?

The deer.

They cross the green lawn at the church near my office several times a week. There are usually three of them. I've been watching them since I first took the job. I have no idea if I've been seeing the same three deer the whole time, whether they've been able to elude the hunters all this time. Maybe they never leave the city limits, thereby remaining safe from bullets and broadheads. Maybe they are different deer every time. I have no clue. All I know is that they cross at the same spot, about the same time of day, every time.

And I get to watch.

Where else can you look out from your work station in the middle of town and see wildlife?

You just might if you live in the Blessed South.

I pulled into my favorite haunt, a place down on the river that serves good food, good drinks and has a digital modern day version of a juke box that has every song of every artist of every genre you can imagine. The place caters to locals and to the long term temporary workers at our friendly neighborhood nuclear power plant. I've been visiting the place since it opened and you could almost say it's my " Cheers ". Most of the time the parking lot if full of pickup trucks and this night was no different.

Except it was.

I parked next to a jacked up Ford F150, the same model I drive. It was covered with mud and had obviously spent some time on the nearby dirt roads. Another truck sat two spaces down, a Chevy Silverado, equally muddy and equally jacked up. Neither were at all out of place at my favorite haunt, but between the two was something altogether different.

A spotless, late model Porsche Carrera 911 the price of which starts at around what I spent on my last three vehicles combined.

Where else might you see such a car among the multitude of 4X4's?

Right here in the Blessed South.

Later my friend and I drove down to one of the river landings, a place where I've been going my whole life. In years past it was a fairly busy boat put in but these days not as much. This night it was totally abandoned except for us and a few million fireflies, or, as I prefer to call them, lightening bugs.

The woods were full of them and from our vantage it appeared that the bugs on our side of the river were in competition with the ones on the other side, the mystical place known as South Cackalacky, okay it's actually plain old South Carolina for those unversed in Southern nicknames. At any rate, the incandescent insects were putting on their own rendition of the border bash. Every few feet the blinking and winking went on and on, never slowing down. It was as good as any fireworks show. We could have probably walked through the woods and our way would have been lit by their splendid display.

Where else could you witness such an exhibition?

Nowhere like the Blessed South.

No place like it.

Where else can you sit in church on any given Sunday and look around you and see the same faces, friends and kin, that you've known your whole life?

Where else can you one minute be standing in the yard in the blazing sun, sweltering and cussing the heat, and ten minutes later be sitting on the porch swing watching and listening to the cooling rainstorm that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Where else can you howl at the full Dixie moon and have your neighbors down the road join in?

In the Blessed South.

Think I'll stay awhile.

Don Lively is a freelance writer and author of the new book, South O' Yonder. He lives in Shell Bluff. Email Don at Livelycolo@aol.com and visit his website, www.DonLively.com.

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