My family would never describe itself as white trash. Nor would most white trash people describe them that way, but there are definite – shall we say – habits the Wilsons and Danforths have that put us in a questionable light.
- We eat brie, but we eat it with our hands. In fact most food eating is done with our hands if given the choice. When I was younger I prided myself on being refined and growing beyond this habit, but since moving out to the farm all of the “refined” has fallen to the wayside. I was recently half way through the second course at a very nice restaurant when my sister had to remind me to pick up a fork.
- Pick-ups are for using, not for showing. I don’t think I have voluntarily washed my truck in over four years. At some point the windows get too dirty to see through and the gas station bug-juice wash just doesn’t cut it any more and I have to get real with the hose and sponge. That happens about once a year.
- Laundry and dishes should be cleaned for company, but not for family. Okay, so undies and socks get washed regularly, but things like shirts and jeans can really go for much longer than most people think. The jeans I’m wearing right now, for instance, were washed about a week ago and after I scrubbed the chicken poop off the right thigh this morning, they were as good as new.
I clean up pretty good, but I have to admit, the moments I enjoy the most are driving in my ’67 Ford truck down a dirt road while eating Cheetos and smoking a GPC Light, or cracking open a cold beer before (and while) mowing my three-week tall dandelion lawn. Barefoot. Hell Yeah!
Art Farm Oregon 