It was the annual Mawdy Grass festival in Wabash County. It was big doins for the folks. There were games, drinking, food, and more drinking. Mosh Henry did a boom business this time of year. Snookie said he sold enough shine to take a European vacation if he wanted too but he don’t. Yep, it was real big doins.

The Snyder Sisters would make their pumpkin pie. Pumpkin pie is not supposed to be light and fluffy and their’s certainly wasn’t. People couldn’t make up their minds if eating a slice of their pie was like eating paste or like eating wet sawdust. A little one dropped one of the pies last year and, other than a dent in the pan and the floor, nothing happened to the pie. Doc Beane said it couldn’t pass a food inspection by the Feds but then again they wouldn’t care since it wasn’t food. A real Catch22. Everyone went, Huh? Old Doc Beane must be deep in the bottle tonight.

Deputy Joe Bob was in glutton heaven. Joe Bob loved to eat and didn’t much care what it was. No one would charge him so he ate until he puked. The only thing he wouldn’t eat was anything made by Mother Mary. Joe Bob drew the line at that. He still hadn’t figured out how the Sheriff made it to adulthood eating her cooking. Maybe it was one of those natural immunities, whatever that was. Joe Bob didn’t think he had any so he wouldn’t touch her food unless he was hungry.

“Mother Mary made her special stew, Joe Bob”, said Billy Crawford.

“I heard tell she uses road kill in that stuff. She don’t care how long it done laid there, either.”

“Yea, so? Meat be meat, Joe Bob. Once it get cooked ain’t no germ gonna be alive nohow”, Billy Crawford responded.

“You gots me on that one, Billy. Don’t reckon anything’d survive her cooking whether it be the food or the one ate it. The smell alone’d kill most things.”

Squire Davis would attend all the festivities. He truly loved these people but he’d never chance eating anything they brought. He had years ago concocted a story about having a delicate stomach. It was delicate. It couldn’t tolerate food that was indigestible and unfit for human consumption. Still, no one had ever died from it so there you have it. Squire didn’t intend to tempt fate by eating the stuff. He truly loved these folks but not that much.

Hortense Hall always got into Mawdy Grass with a bang. She loved the excitement and the good spirit of it all. A couple of stiff drinks of Mosh Henry’s spirits didn’t hurt any. Hortense simply made the best cookie around. Even Squire Davis would eat them. In fact, he was usually first in line. Sometimes the Crawford boys would beat him to her place but then let him go first.

The Crawford boys lived on Hortenese’s property. They lived in an old trailer at the end of her property, the far end. Hortense was a nice old gal but not a stupid, nice old gal. The boys were bad luck. They were Jonah’s. She wanted to help them but from a distance. They meant well but did poorly.

All four of the Crawford boys were called Billy. They weren’t all named Billy, just called that. It seemed to not matter one way or the other. They were all the same, bad luck. They were the kind of guys who, if they found a twenty dollar bill, it would be counterfeit. One of the Billy’s had been hit by lightning four times and lived to tell about it. He was the one who drooled. Another one of the Billy’s had his hunting license taken away for shooting himself the third time. The state didn’t mind that so much as the idea that eventually he’d shoot someone else.

The Sheriff also enjoyed this time of year. No one was unhappy so he didn’t have to do too much peacekeeping. He could relax and enjoy himself.

“Howdy, there, Sheriff.”

“Howdy to you, there, Snookie.”

“I was jus’ down to your Mama’s for some a her stew. She outdone herself this year. It was the best stew yet. You tried any a it yet?”

“Snookie, I’m forty years old. I plan to be forty-one. I’d no more eat her stew than drink Mosh’s whiskey. I don’t know where Mama gets her meat and neither do you. You want to know something else? You don’t ever want to find out!!”