REDN.E.K.

While I was in Vermont, I went to the Brown Cow, a local diner that only serves breakfast and lunch in Newport. I went with Mummy and Papa and one pancake filled me for the day, if that tells you anything. On the way out, I noticed a bumper sticker by the register. It looked like the old GB stickers, or, more recently, VT: The abbreviation circled in Green. But this one said NEK (North East Kingdom). The North East Kingdom is where I call home, and it really means something to be a member of this club.

I gasped dramatically and screamed "oh I HAVE to have this!" As I was pulling out my money, the proprietor shook his head and said "no way! Your money's no good here." I protested until it would have been rude to continue, and then thanked him profusely, leaving the Brown Cow with a full belly and a hefty smile.

Now, it may seem as though my joy were a little too much, but I forgot to tell you the best part of this sticker: right above the NEK in little letters it said "red" in red. Get it? REDNEK.

Now, to those of you who don't really know what a redneck is, or think that it only comes in one shade or dialect, it might be hard to fully grasp this concept. For example, a "Texas redneck" is a different race from a "Vermont redneck". And within the grouping "Vermont Redneck" there are many variations as well. A "Waitsfield redneck" is a far cry from a "Newport redneck". And although some would liken a "Saint Albans redneck" to a "Newport Redneck", I would argue that they are very different still. The one thing that I can see that ties them all together is a love of the land and a love of trucks. But the differences are what set them apart, and a REDNEK is the finest of the bunch, in my opinion.

Not that I'm a redneck. I'm most certainly a wanna-be, a poseur. I've only been on a snowmobile twice, but I did ride four-wheelers through the woods when I was young. And I have no problem shoveling shit or mucking in the garden. And I can build one hell of a campfire. Oh, and drink my weight in cheap beer when called to.

So, I left the Brown Cow torn. I wanted to put the sticker on my car, but no one in Cali would have any idea what it meant. And my car is fixin to bite the dust anyway.

Immediately, I thought of My sister and her Husband. Em is probably one of the biggest redneks I've ever met. Just ask her to revive her accent, it's authentic, I swear to you. But she's driving a European hot rod these days, and a sticker like this could get her car keyed, or worse. She doesn't put stickers on the Zipper, anyway.

But Kevin, Kevin's got a truck. Not only that, he works in Agriculture and goes up into the Kingdom all the time. Kev was in 4-h from a very young age, a sure-fire sign that your neck might be red. Kev listens to classic rock and country. And Kev talks like a farmer.

When I gave the sticker to him, he hesitated. My Dad said "If you put a cat in the oven and it has kittens, you can't call them biscuits!" His implication was that since Kevin isn't from the Kingdom, he's not a rednek. But I disagree. People don't choose where they're born. And certain people fit in to different locations more easily than others. Kevin is among a rare breed of people born in the city who naturally migrate to the countryside, like birds born with a map of who they are and where they need to go to get there.

A couple of days ago, I received an e-mail from Kevin with pictures of the sticker on his big huge truck. What a frickin reird.