There are valleys in the world, hidden from the imperialist invaders and the epidemic pathogens, places that, being insular, remain safe when the rest of the planet is ablaze with violence, pestilence, or anarchy. The Rushing River Valley and Warhaven are in many ways such a place. Since its settling in the late 1860s, the community has been fortunate to escape a lot of horror.
While we are not necessarily provincial, we have our unique, isolated culture. One of the benchmarks of ours, as with any special place, is local, distinctive language.
In Warhaven over the generations, we’ve crafted a number of adages that curmudgeons and younger wordsmiths have used to quip among ourselves. Our conversations are rich with such linguistic playfulness. The Warhaven City Council chambers may be thee tabernacle of such linguistic celebration in our small town — for meetings are well attended and attract those prone to vociferous, sometimes clever debate.
Recently Warhaven City Clerk Gwen Stokes met her sister Verna Smith, customer service clerk at New Hope County PUD, for lunch at Brown’s Lunch Counter. As sisters are wont to do, they began talking memories. Soon this evolved into a catalog of community adages. Given their positions in town, they had both heard a lot. And it should be remembered that these women were raised on the Lindley Compound, direct descendants of Rayland and Rowena Lindley, so our community of words and storytelling is stitched deep into their cloth. While the following may be selective, and not at all inclusive, it’s accurate reporting on the sisters’ part. It’s purely coincidental that all of the following adages come from the mouths of city councilors of recent history. All of us say such things. We’re proud of these colloquialisms and use them freely.
Gwen raised her coffee cup. “I remember, bless his heart, Stanley Humphly, was going on and on about toilet seats and Sheila Petrovich, Sheila Berry back then, coughed and rapped her knuckles of the desktop, ‘Mr. Humphly, that weighs less than a grain of sand.’ Stanley got the point, of course, and settled down. And we sure know Sheila’s gaze is something to be reckoned with!”
“I happened to be in the council chambers last month, after Louisa and Wilbur were sworn in. Do you remember those words of Wilbur’s?”
Gwen shakes her head.
“Well, they were talking budget. The chamber members present were grumbling about some new onerous burden the federal government was cooking up. Wilbur knows as well as anyone tax burden — from nearly every country in the world! Anyway, fundraising for the swimming pool maintenance was also being discussed. As so many councilors have said in the past, Wilbur sighed and said it again. ‘Less profit, more commonweal!’ I remember five or six check books appearing about then.”
“Oh!” blurted out Verna. “Gwen, do you remember down at Donald’s Western Wear? We were standing in line for the Christmas Eve pastrami sandwiches a few years back. George Ansbach was ahead of us aways, Angeline at his side, listening to a new constituent, that doctor who moved here from the city. He was pontificating on his own wisdom.”
“I remember, Verna! I nearly wet my pants!”
Verna continued, “That doctor was telling George how to do this or that and whatever it was was all cockamamie. George had quite the audience too as the two men seemed to bicker. I can see Angeline gazing up at George with her Mona Lisa smile. Remember? George looked at that MD impatiently and blurted, ‘Cowpies afoot!’”
The two women started laughing. Gwen caught herself. “And that’s what makes life worth living!”
And we in Warhaven know a lot about subsistence. Many of us hunt and fish and farm to fill the freezer. This is true of the folks not only out in the Craggies and up the West Hills, but everywhere in town, the Plateau, Uptown and even Downtown.
Verna continued, “Last week I was shopping in the L and M Merc and over across in produce Louisa Hershberger and her cart were pulled up to discuss life with a constituent. The woman was new to town and apparently had never raised her own food. Louisa used that line, the small farmer’s creed, ‘Twenty acres, three layers, a sow, and a cow.’ You could see the woman doing the math in her head.”
Gwen chuckled. “The city council meetings sure give me the giggles sometimes; sometimes I have to pinch myself. There was the time Tootie McDaniels was presiding and said to Superintendent Clammers, ‘Keep your briefs short!’ and Pete Petrovich once looked at George Ansbach who was exaggerating a bit and said, ‘That story would make a good center for the basketball team,’ which was a favorite of PP’s father, Vlad.”
“Oh, Gwen, it’s such fun having you as my sister! Growing up in Warhaven, I can’t imagine a better life.”
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The City Council is a work of fiction, written by Jim Tindall, appearing every other week in Columbia Gorge News.
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