Not every thing that occurs in Varmint County is humorous, ludicrous or outrageous; I just prefer to share that type of story with our readers. But we do have our somber moments as well.
People pass on, couples get divorced and a few folks occasionally get laid off from their jobs, although most of the factory jobs hereabouts are over in neighboring Burrville and the coal mining jobs dried up decades ago.
Come to think of it, with the exception of teachers, county employees and the staff here at the War Whoop & Exterminator, most everyone in the county is self-employed. You have the Hockmeyer Clan, who dabbles in agribusiness, namely the cultivation of hemp. You have the members of the Haig Clan, who are deeply invested in chemical engineering through the distillation of powerful jet fuel additives that also can be used as liquid refreshment, pesticides, herbicides or embalming fluid.
We also have marina operators like Ike Pinetar, lawyers like Philbert McSwine, restaurant owners like Mama Capizzi, bar owners like Little Poison Haig, a variety of farmers and a myriad of folks who hunt, fish and dig ginseng for a living. Unfortunately, like many other areas in ruralAmerica, we also have some backyard chemists making a living cooking methamphetamine and a small population of local meth addicts.
Not that drug addiction is anything new to Varmint County. After World War II, a number of Varmint County's returning veterans had been wounded in battle and pumped full of painkillers at field hospitals. One druggist in Lower Primroy, Jay Will Walburn, was known to locals as "Doctor Jay" because he freely distributed morphine to a dozen or so old addicts from the time they came home from war until most exhausted their bodies and expired in the early 1960s.
Doc Filstrup refused to write prescriptions for any of the local morphine addicts, offering instead to help get them into rehab programs. Some were able to get their prescriptions from a quack over in Burrville, but Doctor Jay really didn't worry about whether his customers had prescriptions or not.
Of course the meth cooks around here don't rely on prescription medications, but range over half the state buying up quantities of over-thecounter cold medications like Sudafed to produce the necessary chemical brew. Some of the local drug czars, however, are a few pounds short of a load when it comes to IQ levels.
Pee Wee Blinker was one such chemical wizard. Somebody told Pee Wee that he could cook cold medications into Meth, but failed to specify that only certain cold medications would work. Pee Wee discovered that Pop Sweet down at Lower Primroy Pharmacy & Tobacco Mercantile refused to sell the antihistamine medicines he needed, so he stopped at Camilla Clotfelter's herbal medicine shop and bought two pounds of her special cold & sinus poultice. Camilla's poultice is derived from ramps, a particularly strong wild spring onion found growing hereabouts.
Pee Wee's lab didn't explode like some meth operations. Instead, it just cooked down into an unidentifiable paste, leaving Pee Wee, his girl friend Pokey Millsap, their single wide trailer, their three dogs and half the neighborhood smelling like an onion cannery for the next six months.
But meth addiction is no laughing matter. Many addicts, to get the money needed to feed their drug habit, have kicked off a minor crime wave in parts of the county. The recreational cabins down along Mud Lake are particularly hard-hit, since they are vacant much of the time after Labor Day.
Every once in awhile, Sheriff Hiram Potts will bust somebody who has moved into a vacant lakeside home to cook meth, but more commonly, the homes are just burglarized for tools, furniture or appliances that can be quickly sold.
Burglaries of local residents' homes are much less common, due largely to facts that I have related before, namely that every Varmint County native, from teenage boys to 90-yearold grandmothers, is armed to the teeth.
A couple of young fellows from over in Burr County mounted a weekend burglary spree last summer, They cleaned out four houses in the Scenic Pointe subdivision along Mud Lake, then made the mistake of breaking into Annie Hendon's house at the top of the hill.
Annie used to drive a cab before her eyesight failed her, but she's nearly blind nowadays. Her niece Cloretta comes by a couple of times a day to cook up meals that Annie can just plunk in her microwave, and the old lady spends most of her evening hours sitting in the dark, either listening to Gospel Music on WVMT-AM or crocheting by feel.
Annie's sight deprivation has meant that her other senses, such as smell and hearing, have really sharpened over time. Having driven a cab for years, Annie also learned how to take care of herself, including the expert handling of a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson that she always keeps in the front pocket of her housecoat.
The two burglars, Tim Buckwaller and Oney Scruggs, slipped up to Annie's house, saw no lights, no car in the driveway and no sign of habitation. They listened and heard no sound from within, since Anne had dozed off with her crochet needles, sitting in a padded rocking chair in her living room.
She heard the sound of glass breaking, however, along with the soft footsteps and whispered conversation of her two uninvited visitors. The two boys got about halfway across the room when they were stopped dead in their tracks.
"Jest what do you two think you're doing in my house?" Annie asked softly.
The two turned to bolt from the house when a shot rang out from the dark along with the command, "Freeze - or I'll shoot you both where you won't sit down for a month!"
Tim and Oney were, of course, blind in the dark house while Annie, with her sharp hearing, knew exactly where they were standing. "If you move a muscle, you're shot. Now move over to yer left a little and you'll find some straightback chairs. Sit down in 'em, and I'll know if you don't sit. I can hear every breath you take."
The two burglars stumbled over to a card table in the corner, found the chairs and sat down.
"Alright, now. I can tell from yer footsteps and yer breathing that you're young men, about 5-9 or 5-10. How old are you, boys?"
"I'm 18, ma'am. We didn't mean you no harm. We thought this house wuz empty."
"That's no excuse for breaking into someone's home, boy. You, the other one, how old are you?"
"I'm 16."
"Don't lie to me, boy, you're older than that. I can read voices like a book.You're at least 20."
"I'm 21. Please let us go. We'll be gone from here and never bother you again."
"We'll see about that. I don't get much company anymore. You boys sit there and behave yourselves and tell me who you are, who your kin are, what you're doin' in this neighborhood and answer any other questions I put to you. If'n I like what I hear, I'll let you go. If not, I might have to shoot you."
Tim began to spill his guts. He told Annie his name, that he was Luke Buckwaller's son from Lick Skillet Hollow in Burr County and had dropped out of Burrville High School the previous year. Oney, meanwhile, had adjusted to the dark well enough to see Annie's outline and thought he could slip around behind her.
Oney eased out of his chair and took one small step when another shot rang out, chipping the floorboards at his feet.
"That's far enough, young man. Sit, or the next one will ruin your prospects with the ladies."
At around 6:30 that morning, just as a soft morning light began to filter into the room, Cloretta Hendon walked through the front door to cook Annie her favorite breakfast of hog jowl, grits, eggs and hoe cakes.
There sat two forlorn-looking young men, slumped over the card table while Annie sat across the room, the .38 still pointed at them.
"Come in, dear. Meet our visitors. I was just about to let them go home."
After hearing the explanation for the presence of the two burglars, Cloretta protested, "Aunt Annie Mae, they was fixin' to rob you. You can't just let them go."
"Well, honey, this is the most entertainment I've had in years. I know these two boys whole life stories, from who their grandparents are to their last girlfriends, what kind of car they drive, how their last fishin' trip went, and how they got hooked on that old meth and turned to robbing people to get money. I'm of a mind to give 'em another chance."
"Chance to do what? Slip up here some night and knock you in the head?"
"Well, no, dear. I don't think they'll do that. They's basically good boys, just got in with a bad lot. Plus, they'd never know when I'm asleep or just sittin' here waiting with my old pea shooter for another night of conversation.
"But before I let `em go, Cloretta, you need to go out there to their pickup truck and take the younger one with you. He's gonna unload everything they stole from them Yankees down by the lake. We'll call Sheriff Potts to come retrieve the stuff this afternoon. After it's all on the porch, they can go."
As the two exhausted would-be burglars accepted their ignition keys and prepared to leave, Annie had one last warning for them. "Boys, I know your family and I know lots of people over in Lick Skillet Hollow. I'll be checking up on you. If you keep your noses clean and leave those old drugs alone, the Sheriff need never know who left all that stolen property on my porch. If I hear you're back in trouble, he'll be comin' for you."
")