Anyone who has known me longer than 32 years can attest to the fact that I now use much better grammar when I speak than I did in 1981. My writing has improved vastly, as well, from the time when I submitted the first draft of my dissertation one Friday afternoon only to have it returned to me the following Monday morning, covered in red marks. I can still hear my major professor, whom I admired immensely, saying as he handed the papers back to me, “Where in the hell did you go to school?”
Oh, I still have the hillbilly accent and when I get with a group of ‘my people,’ I’m still happy to lapse into the comfort of traditional hill-folk dialect, complete with double, triple and even quadruple negatives – but, at least now, I know I am misusing the English language. I didn’t know that before I met and married my wife.
Judy has always spoken with perfect grammatical technique. It’s a trait that would have normally prevented me from asking her out on a second date except for the fact that she had an accompanying southern drawl which made her command of English tolerable to a hillbilly. Even so, if I had a nickel for every time she corrected my grammar the first five years we were married, I would never have to work another day for the rest of my life. You can either credit or blame her (depending on where you live) for the way I talk and write now.
Interestingly enough though, as much as she abhors my incorrect use of grammar, she is fascinated with language and has always been intrigued by hillbilly phrases that come out of my mouth about as often as I butcher the King’s English. When I first told her that she was, “cuter than a speckled pup under a red wagon,” she didn’t know whether I was giving her a compliment or calling her a dog, but she looked it up and concluded it, and I, were OK.
When I once stated that some rare item was, “scarcer than hen’s teeth,” she corrected me by saying it should be ‘more scarce,’ and then proceeded to go to the library to find out where the saying originated. She didn’t rest until she had all the information on the phrase.
Considering how long we’ve been married, I would have thought Judy had heard all of my expressions and sayings, but just last week I used one she claimed she had never heard. On an exceptionally hot and dry day in the hayfield, I told her that I was worried the hay was quickly becoming too dry to bale safely. She asked me why I didn’t then wait for nightfall and bale it after dark. She was baffled when I answered, “Because the hay will ‘come in case’ to the point the baler won’t even bale the stuff.”
Judy asked me what the term ‘come in case’ meant. I explained that shortly before nightfall, or even on a heavily clouded day, dry hay will draw in enough moisture to become damp and tough and that is called ‘coming in case.’ “But why is that the term?” she begged.
“I don’t know,” I replied, “I use the term because my father did and I imagine his father used it before him. Why don’t you Google it!”
She did, to no avail. She even called up the Extension office and, after getting transferred six times, talked to a forage specialist who knew what the phrase ‘come in case’ was, but had no idea how the phrase originated. She has called every university, crop scientist and machinery dealer in a four-state area and is still without an answer. She asks me at least twice per day, if I have found out the origin of ‘come in case’ and, of course, I haven’t even looked.
So, if any readers out there know how the term came to be, please let me know as soon as possible so my wife can ease her curiosity and I can finally get some rest before I end up ‘in a case.’
Jerry Crownover farms in Lawrence County. He is a former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University, and is an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry, go to ozarksfn.com and click on ‘Contact Us.’
Editor’s Note: If you know the origin of the phrase ‘come in case’ send your thoughts to: PO Box 1319, Lebanon, MO 65536, email to; [email protected] or fax to; 417-532-4721.
