I live in a farming community and buy my produce at a farm store. On my way down the dirt path to the store I counted about 12 nigs working in the fields. Picking tomatoes, picking melons, picking squash, picking snap beans, the kind of work they are perfectly suited for. I get to the farm store and there's not a single nigger to be seen. Genteel southern charm exudes from the old lady working the counter, her granddaughter and son also work there.

Everything was yes ma'am, no ma'am, yes sir, no sir. A nigger came up to the back door of the store with a basket full of cucumbers and waited there quietly, waiting to be recognized. It never knocked, or spoke. The son saw him, walks back to open the door and takes the basket, the nigger never uttered a word or attempted to enter the store. He returned back to the fields to continue his labor. I stood in utter amazement at how well trained their niggers were. If I closed my eyes I could just about imagine how life was on the plantation in the early 1800's. How can one yearn for a time they have never lived in? But I yearn, yearn for those genteel southern times of plantation life before the war of Northern aggression.