There is no such thing as the Queen’s English. The property has gone into the hands of a joint stock company and we own the bulk of the shares! (Mark Twain)
A wet snow falls as a man outside the post office asks about our day.
My husband smiles and answers, “Fair to middlin.”
“You know where that expression came from?” the man says.
We don’t. I have never thought about it because it isn’t an expression I would likely use. However, the gentleman’s friendliness intrigues me. Mother Nature is in one of her icier moods. He doesn’t seem to care.
“I’m a country boy.” He grins displaying a huge gap where at least five teeth are missing.
I guessed he has a southern background by his accent.
“Well,” he begins at a slow, mellow pace, as if this were a gentle April afternoon. He must peg us as city folk because he gives a full explanation about where the bacon is found on the pig, the loins, the better cuts versus the less choice. “The middlin is up from the end, not the best quality. It’s still mighty fine though, the part that’s not bad at all. So, fair to middlin is good stuff. Makes up a great breakfast.”
I am not a big meat fan, but I listen anyway. No thanks to slaughter stories.
We wish him a fair to middlin day, better if possible, and move on. The next day I ask Google. The pig story does not appear. It is neither verified nor proven untrue.
The Urban Dictionary refers to the phrase as a term coming from the deep south. It describes cotton that fits the definition but lacks quality.
Later I find a closer explanation to this man’s tale. In America somewhere in the mid 1800’s fair to middling, often pronounced without the g, referred to the quality of livestock. The term did mean better than average.
Perhaps the friendly grown-up country boy with the optimistic, good-enough definition comes with another point of view. One that morphed over time. And gave him strength to ignore bitter circumstances, like ice and snow.
Today I walk in sun that has quickly melted the white. Same month. Same city. The cold continues. For now. Today is all I can experience.
The historian tells only part of any one story, and it contains bias. The future is made up of speculation.
Now, I celebrate the gift of life.
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terrypetersen 