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rural living…

May 13, 2017

City Folk have come to expect art on their lattes. Expect in the merest sense of the word, like its nothing more than a sign of modernity, common sense, the least a decent cafe should be doing to meet expectations.

Local folk are equal parts amazed and perplexed that we have come to this: putting art on our coffee.

Some of my childhood friends, those who grew up with dirt floors, are the most confused by the state of the world; friends who never left local, and now live amongst million dollar cottages and $5 latte art.

Occasionally one will walk into out cafe, they heard I was back in town, want to have a quick chat, catch-up, talk about the old days. I’ll make them a latte – what’s that they say?

Love it, or hate it, they are bemused by the art. What will they think of next?

Talking to some of the old ones up here – there’s a 94-year-old mother (grandmother, great-grandmother, now great-great-grandmother…) of 21 children up here – who by the way can still tear it up at the UNAF dance – talking to her is like the time, back in the ’90’s, when I got to talk to three old guys sitting on a bench in Clarkesdale, Mississippi, and asking them what life was like in Mississippi, 30 years after Martin Luther King Jr., and the Civil Rights Movement.

“Shit boy. What do you know of such things?” And then they would all laugh and smoke their cigarettes and look off into the middle distance.

The old ones up here can be like that too. Remembering the street fights between the Catholics and the Protestants. Trees as wide as houses. Getting through the winter on potatoes and cabbage. Tongue soup.

Latte art…

What will they think of next?

 

 

 

 

 

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