Among the words he maps are crawfish, syrup, caramel, lawyer, mayonnaise and pecan. He also maps regions by how they refer to a carbonated beverage (the age-old soda or pop question) and how people address groups of two or more people — though as someone who spent time in Pittsburgh, yinz seems to be conspicuously absent. — heidi
Fascinating, where I’m from is right on the line (although I’ve always heard either the devil is beating his wife or a fox is getting married when its raining while the sun is out)
I’m working in the garden with a friend, our knees black from the rich soil I’ve cultivated for years. Bon Iver keeps running down from the house to deliver strawberry lemonade, sunscreen, little picnicky snacks and compliments, and eventually I ask if he’d like to join us.
‘Thank you, but I have too many things to do,’ he says. ‘I need to bring you parasols and cakes, and sharpen your trowels, and I’m writing a new song to make the peas sweet and the sunflowers tall!’
The spring sunshine revs up Bon Iver like an engine. By the time I put the coffee on he’s made the rounds through the pastures, replaced a broken salt lick, practiced his bird calls, dug a post hole, climbed up on the roof to observe a suspicious dust cloud, and written me a love note and tucked it into my apron.
After breakfast he is fast asleep on the rug with jelly in his beard, a hammer in his hand.
What if she wasn’t even their teacher. What if she was just their acid dropping bus driver who would tell them to get in and then they’d dope up and just sit in the parked bus for hours mumbling about science and stuff.