5 minute read
Touch of Dutch
Submitted by Larry Gradwohl En Scheede-brief
Dernoh hot sie die Zucker-bool verbroche un ich hab en wennich gscholde. Dann hot sie gsaagt ich waer mien un geizich, un mir hen en ganz Woch net zu nanner gschwetzt. Ee Daag hen mir en Fecht grickt wege em Himmel, un so iss es fattgange bis mir aggriet hen en Scheede-brief griege un yeklick sei eegner Weg draewele.
Die Polly waar eemol en bummeraalisch schee Maedel. Sie hot sechs Laayer un fimf Dokder der Henshing gewwe fer mich. Fer eeweil nochdem dass mir gheiert waare, waar ich gkonsidert der glicklichscht Mann am Barrig, awwer ich hett glei gaern mei Glick verhandelt uff en scheener Hunt, un dernoh der Hunt gschosse.
Mer hen nanner net recht verschteh kenne. Sie hot en guder Zann ghatt vum Schtardt un ich waar net weit ab wanns ans Fechde gange iss. Es iss uns en Kuh verreckt. Sie hot gsaagt sie hett der Wolf am Schwantz ghatt un ich hab
Ich bin nooch em Schteddel fer en Laayer griege fer die Ardickel uffschreiwe, un ich bin net heemkumme bis schpot. Es waar en dunkli Nacht un es Licht in Kich hot mich aagheemelt, awwer ich waar am Schtickel uffziehe un es waar nau ken Zeit gewest fer schtoppe.
Ich bin nei un do waar es bescht Nacht-esse uff em Disch, as ich in meinem Lewe gsehne hab. Die Kaffe-kann hot gschmokt uff em Offe, midde uff em Disch waar en grosser Deller voll Panne-kuche gschtanne. Sie hot gewisst as ich Panne-kuche gleich. Em Laayer sei Babier waar
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in meim Rock-sack gschtucke, un weil ich am Esse waar hot sie es gwatcht wie en aldi Katz en Maus.
Wie ich faddich waar esse hawwich em Laayer sei Babier aus meim Sack unne ebbes gschwetzt un ihre es gelangt. Sie hot en wennich glese, was sie kenne hot, un sell waar net viel – weil me Laayer sei Babier hatt zu lese iss, wanns eemol kalt iss – dann hot sie gsaagt, „Gottlieb, du hoscht mir zu viel gewwe. Es Haus, die Kuh, die zwee Sei un die helft vum Geld. Du hoscht, yo, nix glosst fer dich selwer.“ „Well,“ hawwich gsaagt, „Ich kann schaffe fer em Lewe un du kannscht net. Ich hab verschproche dich zu onnerre, wie ich dich gheiert hab, un ich zehl, wasewwer as happent mit mir, sell verschpreche will ich halde.“
Die Polly iss uffgtschumpt, mich un der Hals grickt un mich es erscht mol gebussst in etliche Yaahre.“
Ich hab ‘griement in Offe gschmisse, un selli Nacht hawwich sie widder gkarresst wie in alde Zeide. Mir hen aggriet die Kuh newich die Zucker-bool vergewwe, un so weit as der Himmel konsernt waar, hen mir ausgmacht an Branch-establishment uff der Erd schtarde.
Des iss der Fall mit viel Familye in daerre Welt. Sie duhne nanner net verschteh, bis es bescht deel vun ihrem gheiert Lewe fattflogge iss. Wann mei Experience eenich Blessier bringt zu deine Leser, dann sin sie Wilkumm dezu. -Gottlieb Boonastiel (Thomas Harter)
A writ of divorce
Polly [his wife] was once an exceedingly lovely girl. She gave six lawyers and five doctors the glove [jilted them] for me. For a while after we were married, I was considered the luckiest man on the mountain, but I would soon trade off my luck on a dog and then shoot the dog.
We could not rightly understand each other. She had a good temper from the start and I wasn’t far behind when it came to fighting. For us, a cow died. She said she had the wolf by the tail and I said she has hollow horns. We argued about it for a whole week.
After that she broke the sugar bowl and I scolded her a little. Then she said I was mean and miserly, and we did not speak to one another the whole week. One day we got into a fight about heaven, and it went on until we agreed to get a writ of divorce and each go on their own way.
I went to the village to get a lawyer to write up the article, and I did not get home until late. It was a dark night and the light in the kitchen gave me a longing for home, and I was pulling up stakes and it was no time to stop. [Hurrying home as fast as I could go.]
I went in and there was the best supper on the table that I in my lifetime have seen. The coffee pot smoked on the stove, in the middle of the table stood a large plate full of pancakes. She knew I liked pancakes. The lawyer’s paper was stuck in my coat pocket and while I was eating she watched it like an old cat watches a mouse.
When I was finished eating I took the lawyer’s paper out of my pocket and without saying anything handed it to her. She read it a little, what she could, and that was not much – since a lawyer’s paper is hard to read when the ink’s dry [when it becomes cold] – then she said, “Gottlieb, you gave me too much: The house, the cow, the two pigs and half of the money. Yes, you did not leave anything for yourself.”
Polly jumped up, grabbed me by the neck, and kissed me for the first time in some years.
I threw the agreement in the stove and that evening I caressed her again like in the old times. She agreed to forgive me about having a cow over the sugar bowl and as far as concerned the heaven argument, we decided to start a branch establishment here on earth.
This is the case with many families in this world. They don’t understand one another until the best part of their married life has flown by. If my experience brings any pleasure to your readers, then they are welcome to it.
[Thomas Harter is one of those writers that likes to throw in “Dutchified” English words instead of traditional Dialect terms. That can make for some interesting looking words if you want to maintain the Buffington- Barba spelling system. But in a few cases, like the words, “Branch-establishment,” I just arbitrarily decided to keep the English spelling.]
