Nana brings fried squash over here from across the holler.
I don’t want to hurt her feelings but nobody wants it. It goes straight into the trash can as she’s driving back.
Reminds me of fried snot
The dogs won’t even eat it.
Deers will, an if'n you tosses some leeves and scheidt over there with it, y'all can call it a composet pile and y'all kent be akused of baitin' them deers. Normall agrokultyer practises.