A small, impromptu Community Meal was held one evening with a few of the Farm’s residents, both present and past. George was telling everyone about Wendy, who had recently moved to the Farm and was living in one of the remote cabins. Though she was relatively new, folks had been going out of their way to avoid her once they found out her choice of faith. For most, a first impression was all it took.
“Did you know there’s a religion called Jehovah’s Witness and they don’t celebrate birthdays or holidays like Halloween because they think it’s full of bad spirits?” George announced to the group with an amused fascination, as if he were a teacher talking to a room full of inquisitive seven-year-olds.
“There is?” asked Nigel, feigning interest. George continued with what he had recently learned from Wendy’s bold proselytizing, going on avidly about witchcraft, a dozen dozen-thousand chosen people, and the fiery End of Days apocalypse. Nigel couldn’t take any more and cut him off mid-sentence. “We were raised as Witnesses and it ruined our childhoods. That church is a terrible place filled with terrible people, take my word for it.” He turned to his sister, Nancy, and she nodded in agreement.
“So, then what are they witnessing?” Lenora asked, giggling with Eva on the couch beside the dinner table.
“Jehovah, probably,” said Eva, trying to keep a straight face.
Lenora and her husband Hilo had recently left the Farm after a year-long stay. They missed having company and invited everyone over to their house in Sandpoint for a housewarming party. A date was set, and the group planned to meet up again over the next weekend. Word spread around the Farm that everyone was invited to a party in town. Where there was a party, there would probably be booze, so nearly everyone penciled in the date on their calendars.
Copyright © 2019 J.J. West. Fiddlesticks! Tales From A Country Ghetto.
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