Pineapples permeate party shirts, yogurt,
the sexy knobs topping four-poster beds,
and welcome mats of country inns, in Colonial
Virginia. If it were a Hawaiian word, pronounced
pin-E-apple-E, would that motivate field hands
to greater productivity? It goes back centuries:
are we better off working for others, or
for ourselves? Sure landowners lay down the
welcome mats to anyone willing to work
in trade for a place (albeit without running water)
to stay and a few greenbacks to send home.
This place, full of folks we call cubical farmers,
stressed by lack of time, have earned their
High Life, rented movie, lawn darts and twice
annual roll in the hay with the wife. Indeed,
some would claim they’ve earned more than that,
maybe a trip to Orlando with the kids (whew, there’s
a vacation from the rat-race) or a grand tour of the
in-laws, and their cousins in West Virginia, by God
if that’s not away from the rat-race, what could be?
You betcha the pineapple sign of hospitality flies
freely at my joint. See, here we got four to ten Korean
visitors at all times. Heck, they’re now proposing an English
camp with 10-15 youngsters running around learning
grammar from a poet. To this I say “YEAH!”, as the house
will actually have English spoken in it again. Pineapple
or no pineapple this is just the break I was looking for!
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2006. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.