About
Most folks drive by Weyer's Cave and don't even notice the exit sign. And if they do, then it probably has more to do with empty gas tanks and full bladders prompting a further interest and making for some hurried decisions, lane changes, and then with a quick tap of the brakes, Route 81 is left behind for the unexpected and unknown.
Leave the superhighway in your rear-view mirror, and suddenly things look different and unfamiliar. Everything starts to slow down. And it's not just a figure of speech; words actually drip instead of falling free from lips, and in the time it takes to fill the tank and make use of the 'Ladies' life is 'some' different already. The first stop along the way to Weyer's Cave is always the 'filling station,' and it is both an education and a relief for most who visit here.
Northern folks seem most timid upon leaving the safety of their cars and have that particular look people have when visiting zoos and other foreign countries: a slightly glassy stare that seems to have doubts about the veracity of what is being seen and heard, 'tourist types' who sometimes speak slower, and louder so the 'native' can better understand. It's usually folks driving Route 81 that stop at this particular 'filling station.' If you're from around here, you go on over to Dave's. If you get your gas just off the highway, you're paying 12 cents extra a gallon for Northern convenience.
Now, if you were buying gas over in New York, you'd be pumping it yourself and probably not having any human contact at all, and if you found someone to ask for the key to the 'restroom,' you'd be told, "It's for employees only." You'd still be paying more for gas even if you were local and this your filling station. In the North, you're charged extra for owning a car. It don't matter a whit if you're Southern and just visiting. And, for sure and all you won't be told, "Y'all come back now." You won't hear, "Why I do declare it's almost noon. You folks are probably hungry as all get out, what with y'all getting off to such an early start and all. Why don't y'all go on over to Vi Barr's Luncheonette and sit yourselves down a mite. She's got the best mush in the valley, and that's saying something. She's right obliging too, and her cook ls from New York City just like y'all are. Maybe y'all know each other. It's been a real pleasure to make y'alls acquaintance. God bless you now, you hear."
Big cities are big and anonymous. Small towns are small and have big secrets. In Weyer's Cave, nothing is as it appears to be. Even a love story doesn't look the same. It just looks odd, and then...
Leave the superhighway in your rear-view mirror, and suddenly things look different and unfamiliar. Everything starts to slow down. And it's not just a figure of speech; words actually drip instead of falling free from lips, and in the time it takes to fill the tank and make use of the 'Ladies' life is 'some' different already. The first stop along the way to Weyer's Cave is always the 'filling station,' and it is both an education and a relief for most who visit here.
Northern folks seem most timid upon leaving the safety of their cars and have that particular look people have when visiting zoos and other foreign countries: a slightly glassy stare that seems to have doubts about the veracity of what is being seen and heard, 'tourist types' who sometimes speak slower, and louder so the 'native' can better understand. It's usually folks driving Route 81 that stop at this particular 'filling station.' If you're from around here, you go on over to Dave's. If you get your gas just off the highway, you're paying 12 cents extra a gallon for Northern convenience.
Now, if you were buying gas over in New York, you'd be pumping it yourself and probably not having any human contact at all, and if you found someone to ask for the key to the 'restroom,' you'd be told, "It's for employees only." You'd still be paying more for gas even if you were local and this your filling station. In the North, you're charged extra for owning a car. It don't matter a whit if you're Southern and just visiting. And, for sure and all you won't be told, "Y'all come back now." You won't hear, "Why I do declare it's almost noon. You folks are probably hungry as all get out, what with y'all getting off to such an early start and all. Why don't y'all go on over to Vi Barr's Luncheonette and sit yourselves down a mite. She's got the best mush in the valley, and that's saying something. She's right obliging too, and her cook ls from New York City just like y'all are. Maybe y'all know each other. It's been a real pleasure to make y'alls acquaintance. God bless you now, you hear."
Big cities are big and anonymous. Small towns are small and have big secrets. In Weyer's Cave, nothing is as it appears to be. Even a love story doesn't look the same. It just looks odd, and then...