The Tidewater Sisters: Postlude To The Prayer Box - Plot & Excerpts
The pavement is still sticky black tar that swishes like water beneath the tires. Quiet farmhouses, old barns, and hired-hand trailer homes look like they’ve seen better days. The fields, always ripe with tobacco, muscadine and scuppernong vines, and corn tassles towering head high, paint a patchwork of summer growth clothed in morning dew—short, tall, leaves, fringe, blooms, myriad shades of green. Mailboxes still cling to leaning posts. Electric lines sag lazily. The canals, kept clean and in good repair by farmers, are still crisscrossed by occasional trails worn into the surfaces by livestock and kids on bicycles. Crossing a bridge that has been in place since long before my mother was born here, I slow, look down the trench, and remember pedaling hard toward it, then at the last minute throwing my feet out straight, waiting for the old Columbia 3-Star to fly for an instant before toppling off the edge, then careening down the slope and popping up the other side. Now, bicycles like the ones we found in Pap-pap’s barn are a hot item on American Pickers and Antiques Roadshow.
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