If there is a sight that you’ll probably NEVER see in a big city or suburb, it’s the sight of tall, uncut grass and weeds.
Wait, I think I’ve seen stuff like that in Chicago.
On the other hand, maybe it’s the old 55-gallon drum in this painting that doubles for a burn pit and a target for everything from .22’s to shotguns. You’d NEVER see that in a big city or suburb, I bet, right?
Wait . . . yeah, Chicago.
But back up on the mountain where we used to live in Soddy Daisy, TN, there was a rusty old drum beside my grandmother’s place. Before there was a such thing as trash service, we’d use it to dispose of burnable trash. Later, as it sat there rusting away, it found new life as a target for each new handgun we wanted to show off or try out.
Sights like the one in this painting aren’t that uncommon in the South, at least they weren’t for a lot of us growing up. It was a time when things were a lot simpler – and safer.
Some people would look at this and think it represented lawlessness, disorder, danger, and fear. I look at it and see something – even a time – that’s been left behind. I see an old target where people used to have fun, didn’t fear their neighbor, and nobody got into serious trouble for fear their God-fearing mom, dad, or granny might tan their hide.
Nowadays there’s a whole lot less old targets and a whole lot more of missing the mark.