When I taught in Jamaica, I encountered some fun language differences, moths were called bats, bats were rat bats, and moonshine was simply the light coming from the moon. Much laughter ensued from my Missouri definitions. A friend’s post today on Facebook reminded me of this . . .
The Sunshine Pump
Seein’ as how Grandpa’s farm was in a narry valley ‘twixt two high mountains, he didn’t git much sunshine. ‘Twas ’bout midmornin’ afore ole Sol could much moÊre’n peek down at the valley.
As the yars went by, they be more ‘n more younguns to feed. Grandpa ‘lowed as how ‘twould he’p iffin’ he’d put a windmill and pump on top of old Smokie to pump the sunshine down to his farm, which he did, and likewise which the pump did. Things went right well for a couple or three yars, ’til one day the wind didn’t blow fer more’n a week. Grandpa got plumb restless without the sunshine fer his crops.
Well sir, one morning he told his two fust born boys to take a couple of buckets and fetch down some sunshine. Them mountins bein’ as high as they were, hit took a whole passel of climbin’ to git to the top. When at long last, they stood at the very tip top, Eb cast an eye to the sky and said, “Zeb, look at that sun. Hit’s half gone and none too bright.”
“Don’t fret ’bout that,” answered Zeb. “We’uns is in the same fix an’ ah reckon ’tis no mind to no one nohow.”
Well sir, them two younguns filled thar pails and started down th·e mountain. Zeb slipped and bumped Eb, and ah’m tell’n you all, they skittered down a sight faster’n they climbed up. When at long last they rolled to a stop, thar be Grandpa lookin’ down at ’em and he twern’t smilin’ nohow. Zeb got up and tole Grandpa the sorry fix the sun were in.
Grandpa howled, “You addle-brained young’uns, that thar sun you saw were the moon!” With a howl and a growl, he yanked the pail outen Zeb’s paws and took a big swig. Atter that he was smilin’ happy. Yep, thar’s a mite bit of difference ‘twixt sunshine an’ MOONSHINE.