for rural wisdom on such pure-blooded natives as the

for rural wisdom on such pure-blooded natives as the “whittlers at the Comer Store in Sperryville.”

“I like to get their point of view,” McCarthy said. “The things these people think about and the way they think about them are centuries different from the thought in Washington, D.C.”

He characterizes “old boy” thought as “uncluttered.”

McCarthy’s respect for “the boys” is evident in a passage from his essay Computers Haven't Found Rappahannock Yet. In it he discusses how computers such as the one at Reader’s Digest bombard his mailbox with offers and “ultimate offers.” One computerprinted letter from the Smithsonian Institution assured him “that I was ‘one of a small group’ of Woodville Residents (capitalized) invited to become National Associates of that prestigious Institution.”

Whom did McCarthy turn to in hopes of verifying if other “Woodville Residents” really were among the select few chosen by the Smithsonian Institution?

“I have not checked with the boys who sit on the post office stoop each morning, waiting for the mail to be distributed, to see which of them is included in the small group that has been favored and identified by the Smithsonian computer, but will do so next Monday.”

McCarthy himself grew up in a rural farming town—Watkins, Minnesota, pop. 600—where he became familiar with country scenes such as the boys sitting on the post office stoop. “We all used to hang around the cream station.”

McCarthy is forever examining curious rural sightings. He told of a drive through Amissville during which he saw a dead groundhog hanging by its tail from a tree. He wondered why. “Is it so the dogs won’t get them” or is it ‘ a symbolic act of some sort,” he thought to himself. He couldn’t figure it out and no one else was of much help.

He asked at least six natives from the county what it was for.

“Why was a groundhog hanging six to eight feet above the ground from a tree?” Their casual reply:

“Yeah, I’ve seen that.”