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I continue to hear from readers offering more of their favorite sayings. Some call, others email me, and still others pass along a favorite saying through a third party.

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I continue to hear from readers offering more of their favorite sayings. Some call, others email me, and still others pass along a favorite saying through a third party.

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I continue to hear from readers offering more of their favorite sayings. Some call, others email me, and still others pass along a favorite saying through a third party.

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I spent many an hour in our old feed barn. To a boy it seemed vast in its size and expanse. I became intimately familiar with each stable and hallway. I especially enjoyed the large barn loft which provided endless opportunities for exploring. But I suppose the old corn crib stands out most in my memory.

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Every year or two my late grandfather Herod Brim would make a trip in his 1951 GMC pickup truck from the Brim Hollow all the way to Willette, Tn., in Macon County to get a load of cook stove wood. Prior to the trip he would make arrangements with the sawmill operator to saw up a designated amount of rejected hardwood slabs into 12 to 14 inch pieces. When he returned, he would have his pickup truck bed loaded to the top with stove wood.

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My late grandfather, Will Herod Brim, had a few verbal expressions that were his very own. In the Riddleton Community he was known for one particular phrase. There were a few people who even referred to him as “Ol’ dad blame, you know what?”

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I’m a country boy who grew up on a small farm in Middle Tennessee. Thanks to a wise and nurturing mother and a great education, (much of which was acquired outside of academia) I managed along the way to take on a modest degree of refinement. But, you know what they say, "you can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.”

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I had a tooth pulled (extracted) last week. It was not an event to which I was looking forward. I suppose I should have considered myself fortunate. It was the first permanent tooth I have yielded to Father Time. I have endured fillings, root canals, and a variety of crowns, but I had never let a tooth go since my youth.

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I was returning from East Tennessee a while back by way of U.S. Interstate 40. In reasonably heavy traffic, somewhere on the east side of Crossville, I grew tired of this dude who had been dogging my back bumper for over a mile. “Boxed in” by a motorist in front of me who seemed to be in no hurry, along with a steam of tractor tailor rigs in the right-hand lane, I found it impossible to let the eager driver who was following get by.

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The late columnist, writer, humorist and avowed southerner, Lewis Grizzard once said, “The nearest thing to heaven is a home-grown tomato.” I think he may have been right, and if not right, close. A home-grown tomato is pure, natural and, at its best, southern. What could be closer to heaven than that?

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In the early days it was referred to as that “electronic box” that sat in the corner of the living room. I can’t remember the first time I watched television. I do remember it being in black and white. I also remember the time we visited a neighbor’s house on a Sunday evening to get our first look at television in Living Color. That was quite a treat.

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In last week’s column I wrote of my love for mules, my acquaintance with the Reese Bros. (world famous mule traders), of Grand Canyon Mule Rides, and how I introduced two of our granddaughters to mule riding. As I left a Reese Bros. mule sale, both girls were pleading with me to buy them a mule.