Hills, Hollers, and Potatoes
While my, then new hubby and I traveled
the country on our honeymoon,
we stopped in
to visit his grandparents.
They took us for a drive to see
the Missouri countryside.
While Grandpa told us about pranks
he and his friends played on each other,
Grandma described the farmland,
“Hills and hollers, hollers and hills.”
Grandpa told us about prank calls,
pretend arrests, and fake food.
Of course they always knew who
the culprit was behind the jokes,
except for one time, apparently
Grandpa’s crowning achievement.
Sick with pneumonia, in the hospital,
he hoarsely whispered to his grandson
if he did this one thing, Grandpa
would reward him handsomely.
I don’t know if Grandpa’s friend
ever figured out who hauled
his potatoes out of his cellar
and upstairs into his bathtub.
It couldn’t have been
“old Hanky boy”
who was suffering
in the hospital with pneumonia.
And I, newly married,
learned a lesson
in putting up with
a husband’s goofiness.
All through his stories,
“Hills and hollers,
hollers and hills.”