Originally published Oct. 27, 1983
By Zola Sample
In my young days when things were a lot less modern, people had time to chat with a friend, to comment on politics, or on ordinary farm and household topics, or on the health of their neighbors or friends.
I can recall wash days in particular. I’ve seen my mother start to rub a tub of hot white clothes from the black kettle boiler, start to rub the articles on the rub board and someone would drop by, either from the bottom or from the Old Basin Road, which was a cut-off to other neighbors living in the bottom.
Some might be going to the sawmill with a load of logs, or maybe hauling a load of hogs or other stock. They would stop to rest the team after a long haul up the mountain road.
If there was a wife along, the hot suds would be left to cool in order that the womenfolk could bring each other up to date. Father and the guy would go to the barn to show off some newborn livestock or look at some machinery he had purchased or made-do.
Under the old round tree (native blackjack) was a summer table and chairs that made for comfortable chats. Folk them days did not hurry to punch a button to start their washer or rush around to thaw something to cook for dinner.
They heated the tea kettle on a wood stove, sent a youngster out to catch a chicken, ring its neck and fix a dinner, maybe several.
Folk of that sort stayed friends for a lifetime. They were friends indeed when it came to death, sickness, burnouts or drownouts, or even droughts. Feelings those days went deeper than skin deep.
What a change in this modern world as the earth spins faster and faster, hours seem shorter to some when it comes to getting things done. Why, you can’t even catch up with your shadow.
Try talking to someone on the phone, maybe to visit or warn them of some important matter, but they are in such a rush to tell you all the things they got to do as they go blub, blub, blub. The things they are telling me they must do, I could do most of them while they are talking about them.
Why are folks in such a rush?
There is an old adage, “Time waits for no one.” But I’ve coined an adage of my own. “No time for nuthin'”
The Mannford Museum 