H Is for Homespun

Hey, wanna hear about the bear that almost ate granny (before she shot it)?  Or how my shoes used to be an alligator?  Well, come on down to Louisiana and sit a spell and hear some homespun stories.

Now, every place I've visited has had homespun stories, both in the States and abroad. Homespun stories are good fun laced with the wisdom of the ages. Within the States, the South is particularly known for sitting-on-the-stoop stories.  Distances between houses meant people had to entertain themselves prior to television's birth.  Also, the heat -- it was more comfortable to sit outside and talk while waiting for the house to cool. (My grandmother would hose down trees/bushes near windows so the evaporating water would cool off the interior.)

Whether one lives along a bayou or in the city or in the suburbs, it's still very much the custom in Louisiana to sit outside many evenings and talk, just talk.  There's no event planner, no way of knowing which way the talk will go.  A good bet, though, is that some talk will revolve around food, politics, religion, and/or sports.  After that ritual, someone will say, "Remember the time . . . " and, from there, a story will evolve.  Now, if you want to believe this story in its entirety, well, that's your choice.  But, if you want to be entertained, sit back and go with the flow. (Translation: It's okay to laugh at the fish that got away.)

"Homespun" originally referred to fabric woven at home.  Since it's a natural leap from weaving fabric to weaving a story, the word's domain spread, until "homespun" and "homemade" often reference the same product.  Both words evoke life in a simpler era, more specifically and deeper in time, to a rural era with few amenities.

To my way of thinking, a perfect evening would be sitting on the stoop, sipping real lemonade, and listening to homespun stories.

The trick to enjoying a homespun story is to realize something had to trigger the story.  For a long time, stories about riding bicycles enjoyed an audience.  Why?  Well, in 1898 a brouhaha existed in the U.S.: What to do about women riding bicycles?  Many (er, men) feared a woman's reproductive abilities would be harmed.  Others feared women would spend so much time riding bicycles they wouldn't be able to cook and clean properly.  Of course, there was the modesty issue about a woman's ankles showing. Tsk, tsk!

The brouhaha passed (I think).  Along came the microwave, Swifter, and the sports bra. Homemade lemonade's sometimes served with a sprig of greenery. Or comes frozen, just add water. Dang!

But homespun stories remain the same.  Hey, remember the time we were . . . ?

(Wikipedia)