Ain’t No Gooseberry Ranch

John Family was handing each new arrival a match and giving them a fanner.

Wisconsin and Montana struck out and managed to climb a rattler as it slowed for a tight turn before crossing the river out of town. They each spit out the door, as was their custom, before settling in behind a load of sawed lumber. They weren’t in much mood for barber, neither having had more than a corner of a square since yesterday.

Montana dropped off at the next town, saying he’d try battering the star routes. Wisconsin wished him well, and stayed on, heading north.

Prompt courtesy of the Friday Fictioneers. See more stories here.


15 thoughts on “Ain’t No Gooseberry Ranch

      1. There is a balance to doing dialect properly, I think. Cadence and word choice as well as sentence construction will keep it from soundin’ like sumfin de cat done dragged in!

  1. It’s very rare that I don’t understand at least some of a piece. But today is one of them. I’ll check out the comments on Friday/Saturday and see if they help me.

  2. I cotton too. My granddad was a short-staker.. deaf in one ear and ineligible for the draft in WWI he hit the rails from Carolina to California, waiting for the girl next door to grow up enough to marry. Hobo sprinkled his lingo for the next 65 years. Loved this piece!

      1. I guess that means someday I’ll have to write it… It’s already in the plans, but several WIPs away. He was my favorite person in the world growing up.

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