My grandfather was a redneck from Louisiana. He was the salt of the earth. I have never met anyone so kind and giving in my life. He would give you the shirt off of his back. My uncle told me he had to buy a house where his father could live, and not give it away.
I remember him smoking his corn cob pipe and talking to his dogs after feeding the chickens. He lived on a property what could be described, with some kindness, as a dirt farm.
My grandmother was a battle axe. She had lived a tough life and it had made her tough. She never lost her Irish accent. She took in Irish boarders, illegals. And Philippine nurses. She was hard as tacks, as they say. My mother told me she even made us pay rent when we visited; probably an exaggeration.
