Reeltown

Years ago. Reeltown, Alabama. I don’t know how old the man running the vegetable stand is, but he’s old enough to have white hair and use words like “rye-chonder” when he points. He and his wife sit in rocking chairs. There are flats of tomatoes, peppers, jars of honey. “‘Ch’all dune?” comes the call from…

Reeltown

Beautiful. It’s as if Sean met my great-grand father, only my great-grandfather was a Scottish immigrant.

The sentiments expressed were virtually the same, though. Such memories! Straight and tall, standing proud, always willing to talk about life “in the old country”, he enjoyed telling us about all those people he helped find their way home when they were especially aboard that ship. He would recount the many “beptisms” and how hard they were to accomplish. It made him feel good, though, to see those people get right with the Lord.

It certainly made an impact with their 11-year-old great-granddaughter at the time.

I’ve used his philosophy even though my thought process is a bit different. He wasn’t actually a Methodist. Neither am I.

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