Sarah and I have been blueberrying together off and on since the summer of '64. This morning, armed with our pots and pans, we went out and picked two quarts of wild berries and then came home and made a cake.

Who did beſeech your loues, for our ſucceſſion, / Cannot ſo lightly ouer-iumpe his death / As leaue his woes revengeleſſe: […]

The bulk of this humor was pure corn, but as hillbilly material it was meant to be that way.

I'm probably going to shit-can the program, 'cause I don't think it's worth the money.