I did not come up with the last line of this story, that tribute goes to Patty Loveless the line is from her song ; “How can I help you say goodbye”.
The spring days with their beautifully colored flowers of pink, red, purple and yellow turned into a dry summer with brown grass. The usually somewhat active small town had become a pratical ghost town. The only activity to speak of was the hard working farmers, tractors could be seen working the land in the outer parts of the county in the early morning when there was a respite from the oppressive and relentless heat that would come later in the day.
Blanche had also gotten into a new routine that was more in line with the habits of the rural area, which was earlier than before as was starting the day keeping in line with the areas normalcy, learning canning and sewing, leaving behind her privileged ways of life for simpler more productive ways that made her feel as if she had accomplished something at the end of the day. The old Hogg house had also underwent some changes, it might have been the biggest house in Hazzard but, it was no longer the uninviting expensive place it had been, the rich, plush rugs had been replaced by casually ordinary looking area rugs and the ornate couches and chairs replaced by comfortable furnishings, however these changes remained true to the home’s original Victorian style.
Despite its dingy exterior appearance, the owner Cooter Davenport was a cheerful man and, helpful. The Busy Bee Café seemed to be the town gathering place to meet up with friends and, the food was good too. Blanche had found this out by eating there often in the beginning after her move to town. Shaking from her musings, Blanche stepped back from the window and, over to her walk-in closet. Donning a pair of light blue stone washed denim shorts, carnation pink silk button down sleeveless shirt with a pair of shoe-box flip flops adorned with pink rhinestones, Blanche moved back over to the bed, making it then heading from the room calling to the little Chihuahua;
Heading downstairs with the little dog in tow, toe nails clicking a fast staccato on the honey colored wood stairs, Blanche clipped the pink harness on the dog going out the front door, picking up the neatly folded, morning newspaper from the walkway on the way back inside after the dog had finished doing her business. Removing the harness once back inside, placing it in the wicker basket that sat on the table by the front door, muttering to herself.
“Hope the forecast is right and, it rains today. The plants sure need it and, it might cool things off too.” She said absently to no one in particular.
Sitting down on the comfortable hunter green couch, Blanche unfolded the morning issue of the Hazzard Gazette reading the front page headlines. Tractor Stolen getting her attention right away, Blanche kicked off her flip flops tucking her bare feet up on the couch next to herself along with picking Espresso up from the floor, sitting the little Chihuahua on her lap as she read. The article said that Harry Henderson’s tractor had been stolen from the hay field in his south 40 acers. Not only had the green John Deere tractor was missing but, the hay bailer that was hooked behind it. No tracks had been found leading from the hay field to the road that ran in front of it, so the equipment must have been loaded onto a waiting trailer or something and driven somewhere else so no one could trace the theft easily.
Uncurling her feet from the couch, folding the newspaper neatly laying it on the coffee table, Blanche removed the little dog from her lap setting the bundle of dark fur on the floor, putting on her flip flops once again and heading for the kitchen, giving her left thigh a pat calling to Espresso;
“C’mon Espresso, let’s go make breakfast”;
smiling to herself, Blanche reflected life’s about changing, nothing ever stays the same.