Every one of us has had at least one encounter with someone who’s a little off-kilter. As my grandmother, Miz Lena, would say, “They’s gone uncentered.” I knew what she meant. When you’re a kid, there’s nothing scarier than scary people.
I was 10, living out in the country in a little Middle Tennessee farming town less than 15 miles south of Columbia. There really wasn’t a hill, creek, pond, pasture or dirt road I hadn’t explored. My dog, Prince, tagged along. When you get way on out there where the pavement ends, onto a hard dirt road, you run across some very different people. Scary people.
The country is like that. The ones living in town are country people, but they live a little more civilized. They might have a small vegetable garden in the backyard, but they buy most of their stuff from the grocery store. They eat at 6 p.m. and place napkins in their laps. There’s polite talk around the supper table.
The second rung of country people live over a hill and back off the road – farmers. They grow crops, slaughter hogs, raise chickens and milk cows. They eat when the sun goes down. There’s more than plenty for everyone.
A few miles past them, down those hard dirt roads, that’s where the scary people live. They’re not terribly sociable. They tend to stay put and live their lives off the grid. They eat whatever’s available. Their few friends are mostly blood relatives.