During the nearly half century that I observed Isle of Wight and Surry counties as a local journalist, I had the pleasure — and the honor — of getting to know many of our community’s most talented raconteurs and homespun philosophers.

Amid the countless hours spent in often mind-numbing governmental meetings, one could occasionally find the rare philosophical nugget. Often more fruitful were morning coffee chats at the town’s premier gathering place, The Twins, on Main Street. And, of course, there were social gatherings such as the shad planking and countless Wednesday afternoon barbecues. And then, there were interviews and other encounters.

My great regret is that I failed to record much that I heard, but I did manage to capture some of the best, and am always happy to share them.

One that has always stuck in my mind, and which I think applies particularly well to northern Isle of Wight and Smithfield today, actually came from a legendary community leader in the far less populous community of Windsor.

The late M.H. Robinson, longtime and deeply admired mayor of Windsor, was never one to block progress, which he saw as inevitable and generally valuable. He did, however, foresee the negative side of unbridled growth. He opposed an eventually successful move by Windsor to expand its boundaries because he feared that the town was losing its much-loved charm as a tiny, close-knit community.

“I just hate to see a good jar get broken,” Robinson lamented. 

That description could be posted on a billboard in northern Isle of Wight County today and would be readily understood by county residents waiting for the traffic to move.

One country saying that came out of the horse-and-buggy era was a favorite of the late Segar Cofer Dashiell, a legendary Smithfield native who meticulously recorded much of its early history.

Her son, Harry Dashiell Jr., republished her work and was a caretaker of her philosophy, and it was Harry who I most often heard intone his mother’s way of describing any unpleasant but necessary job.

“I’d rather hold a horse in the rain,” she — and he — would lament.

Country folk of a different era often had their own way of finding solutions to disputes. In this litigious and badly divided world, we could take much value from their approach.

The late Carter Nettles, longtime commonwealth’s attorney in Sussex County, enjoyed telling of two men who lived in Isle of Wight County’s Sycamore Cross area, which is just beyond Mill Swamp Baptist Church. 

While driving home one evening, one of the men lost control of his vehicle and it plowed through his neighbor’s fence.

Early the next morning, the errant driver went to his neighbor’s house to report what he had done. To make matters right, he offered the following:

“I’ll fix your fence, or you can fix it and I’ll pay for it, or you can drive through my fence.”

There’s no record of which solution the neighbor chose, but I suspect they remained friends thereafter.

Mr. Stanley Gwaltney, who was known for his simple country wisdom, was approached by a cousin one day many decades ago. She told him a family member was thinking of marrying a man whom she did not think well of. She was basically told there was little she could do.

“Love,” the old farmer said, “is like a fly. It would just as soon land on cow manure as honey.”

Much of country philosophy, just like the preferences of flies, was based on observation. Farmers observed nature and their farm animals and often drew conclusions from what they saw.

Take cucumbers, for example. I love cucumber pickle, but can’t tolerate eating raw ones. Anne and I have actually swapped onions for cucumbers when we each order a salad in a restaurant. 

I’m not alone in that dislike. The late M. Rosss Minton was a prominent dairy farmer of the mid-20th century whose Holstein operation was located where McDonald’s and Hardee’s now sell hamburgers.

Ross said of cucumbers, “Anything a hog won’t eat, I don’t want.” And sure enough, back when hogs were fed slops, they would root around any cucumbers.

 

John Edwards is publisher emeritus of The Smithfield Times. His email address is j.branchedwards@gmail.com.