Look Out, Town

So, we’re making some waves in Irvine, Kentucky. Those old boys who eat at dawn at the Lunch Box couldn’t leave us alone…you know how it is when there are two new women in a roomful of small-town old timers. They asked enough questions to figure out what we do for a living, and that sent ripples all through town. When I went back to our little table to pick up the Irvine Citizen Voice & Times, I caught them asking, “Do you think them girls is married, or…?”. It’s that “or…” that makes this so much fun these days.

And then we went to the hardware store. You know how I love pocket knives, Reader, and I found myself standing before a huge display of Case knives. The guy who owned the place said he just got in a bunch of pink knives. “The ladies all love them,” he said, and then he went to get one. I looked at him. “Look at me,” I said. “Do I look like I’d want a pink knife?” He looked me over. “Well, do you want to buy a couple of draft horses?,” he asked.

Now we’re talkin’.

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Falling in Love with Irvine, Kentucky

Can’t someone turn off this RAIN? Okay, it’s better than snow, but I want to get outside and do something more than cut the grass between cloudbursts.

We spent last weekend at the farm without running water and without electricity. Pipes had burst in the house, and we knew we’d have no water; but then while we were there, a tornado whipped through and knocked the electricity out for a good number of hours as well.  All of this to say that on our second morning, we wanted breakfast out. So we drove to the little town of Irvine (pronounced “ervin”) about…what…10 miles from the farm. We seldom spend time in Irvine…I don’t know why. It’s so Appalachian that we both just love it when we’re there.

Anyway, we found a little hole-in-the-wall joint called the Lunch Box right on the courthouse square, and it was full of locals at 9:00 am, so we headed in and grabbed a little booth. Only men were there when we sat down…men who look old when they are not—wrinkled in the way that comes only from a life of sun and work and tobacco. And I fell in love. I fell in love with Irvine, with our sweet sweet waitress, with all the men in the booths, and with the women who soon followed them. I fell in love with cigarette smoke. I fell in love with bacon and eggs and toast and pancakes and syrup and biscuits and gravy and sausage and coffee.

Soon after ordering our sweet breakfast and falling in love with our waitress, Deb and I looked at one another and our eyes welled with tears. We’re still not quite sure why this happened. I think we just felt so in love with that little town and with those simple wonderful funny sweet small-town people. I think we could actually see ourselves living out our days right there in Irvine, Kentucky. Deb would hang her shingle out on the town square; I would resurrect the quirky movie theatre. We would eat breakfast every morning at the Lunch Box.

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