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,
Grandma chanted
“Hills and hollers,
hollers and hills.”