Evenin'

Neighborliness is something that people around here pride themselves on. And it’s something that struck me as one of the greatest differences between eastern Kentucky and Long Island from day one. Sharing is a given; since so many people do without, those with are almost always happy to lend a hand. There’s a strong sense of community and hospitality that I’ve never experienced anywhere else.

This evening, one of my housemates was baking bread for the dinner he’s preparing for tomorrow. We did most of the shopping for it last night and, when confronted with the conundrum of whether or not to purchase eggs, I assured him that we had plenty in the fridge back home. Well, turns out we didn’t. He discovered this halfway through the dough-making process; the recipe called for two egg yolks that were not currently in our possession. Luckily, they would be brushed onto the risen dough, meaning we had plenty of time between the braiding and the brushing to go out and acquire the necessary comestibles.

See, the problem with Smalltown, USA is that nothing stays open very late - something to which I’ve yet to grow accustomed. So, when we set out at just past nine, I figured we’d have some luck somewhere. First stop was IGA. Closed at nine. Then, RiteAid. Closed. The gas station? Well, they had milk, Lunchables, and bologna. No eggs. My friend had the idea that the Hilltop Pizza across the street from the pumps would be able to sell us a couple of eggs. Unfortunately, they had none on the premises, though they did genuinely seem like they would have been glad to assist us if they had.

We surveyed our options. Being that we currently reside in farm country, we contemplated trying our luck with finding an actual egg-laying chicken which would be willing to part with some of her handiwork. Ah, but where there’s a farm, there tends to be a sawed-off shotgun. So, that was a no-go. We figured that our best plan of attack would be to head west through Sand Gap; there are a few convenience stores there, and surely one of them would be open and have eggs. If all else failed, we’d drive straight on to Berea, home of the nearest Walmart.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. The nights are getting warmer here, and the front-porch-sitters have begun to make their way out to their nocturnal posts. Why not test this Southern hospitality theory and try our luck?

We passed by a Church of God that had a large white colonial next to it. There were three figures sitting on the front porch. It was decided that the following would make a better story than “we drove all the way to Walmart.”

“You’re doing all the talking,” I told my friend as I turned the car around on a dirt road and pulled into the driveway.

I parked my New York-plated Cobalt and we both nervously climbed out. As I sauntered away from my vehicle, trying to project a more confident air than I felt, I heard the word “evenin’” escape from my lips. Straight up dropped that “g” and replaced it with a casual, folksy apostrophe. The silence I received in response indicated that I wasn’t fooling anyone.

My friend chimed in, playing the Christian Appalachian Project volunteer card like I’d never seen it played before. The man and woman on the porch looked at us warily, but not in an unfriendly manner. My friend went on to explain the situation, and before he could even finish, the lady smiled warmly and asked, “How many eggs do you need?”

As she ran inside to help us out, her husband informed us of his love for eggs, particularly the fried variety. We small-talked about the places from which we came until his wife returned and, beaming, handed us our two coveted eggs. We thanked them profusely and, cradling those eggs like they were newborn babies, scurried off to our car. We were practically giddy as we drove home, so excited were we to have been treated with such grace and good will by two perfect strangers.

My friend’s bread turned out beautifully. And Glen and Penny - because those are their names - will be getting a loaf of it tomorrow night.