Unique Way Some Folks Speak

"Dubuque Roots Members Contribute to Story"
On Face Book there is a community called "Dubuque Iowa Roots." I am the founder. I asked members to contribute the unique way some folks in Dubuque, Iowa used to speak. Over eighty members contributed. This story is based on their responses. All slang words were once used regularly where we were all raised.
Swiss Valley Park ©
The caravan of cars, vans and pick-up trucks honking horns with some fifty-one people waving out the windows startled the two brothers from Tennessee. The taller of the two went to his truck, bent down and placed his hand on the pistol hiding under the front seat. He wasn’t certain what was about to happen.
When he saw the smiles and heard the laughter he realized it was just a bunch of friends coming into Swiss Valley Park for a picnic. He released his grip on the weapon. Moments later he was once again sitting at a picnic table next to his brother. 
The two men from Townsend, Tennessee saw the sign at the same time. It read, “Dubuque Roots” on the side of a black Honda Ridgeline. They figured then it was some kind of reunion. Their eyes returned to Catfish Crick as they watched little kids fishing.
Yes, the caravan of people was from a social on-line community who had met one another on Facebook. The name was Dubuque Iowa Roots. They had come to share some camaraderie, food and laughter.
The brothers from the hollers of east Tennessee had never been to Iowa or to Dubuque County before this visit. The taller fella, whose name was Puddin turned his body to watch and listen to the commotion some fifteen feet away. Jimbo spit some tobacco juice to the ground and wiped his lip on the arm of his sleeve. “Hey, Puddin them folks sure knows how to eat from the looks at all them viddles.”
Puddin removed his University of Tennessee ball cap and scratched his head. “Listen to how they talk. I can barely understand some of em. This is kinda fun.”
As the two tourists sat and observed the activities, one fella from the group surprised them from behind. “Hi, youse guys. My name’s Warren. Welcome to Iway. Youse two are from Tennessee, I see by your license plate. We’re all here to have a little dinner. I’d like to bid ya to come join us if you want. Oh my garsh, I didn’t even shake your hands. Sorry, fellas. My hands are clean, I warshed em in the zink just a bit ago,” he said as he reached his hand out.
There was no verbal response. Both men nervously shook Warren’s hand. Warren noticed their furrowed eyebrows and tightened posture. He again offered a bid to join the group and walked away.
“Puddin, did you understand a thing that guy said?”
“Heck no. I’m trying to figure out what a zink is and why they are having dinner at twelve noon. Why didn’t he say lunch? Do you suppose they’s from some home or something? Ya know. Like a mental place?”
“I don’t reckon so ‘cause they look normal enough. Hey look, here comes a couple women with food. Looks like they bees bringing us something.”
“Hi ya fellas. We saw youse guys sitting here and want to share some dinner with youse, my name is Cindy Lou. This lady here is Deeann.”
Deeann extended her hand and shook those of the visitors. “We hope you’re hungry. We have lots of food,” she said as she placed one plate on the picnic table and Cindy Lou did the same.
“Just the other morning at breppurst over at Perkins Restaurant, a bunch of us were talking about what to bring today. We have punkin pie, mashed budadas, squarsh and all kinds of sandriches. There’s turkey and dressing, sweetloaf and even hamsausage.”
“Hi ya fellas,” Gail interrupted and introduced herself. “I brought you some more food from the beer cooler. This is headcheese and this one is Limburger cheese. Here is some pickled pig’s feet and blood sausage. Some of the others wanted to cook up beef tongue and beef heart along with ground beef but we decided against it. Youseknow, too much work.”
Cindy Lou became excited and asked, “Hey youse guys, I have a new battry in my camera and a full roll of filim.  Maybe later would youse would take our picture?”
The ladies noticed the dropped jaws of Puddin and Jimbo who said not a word. They each nodded their heads in unison as the ladies turned and walked toward their group.

The two Tennesseans picked at their food with the plastic forks and gradually began eating at a quicker pace. “Purdy good viddles, ain’t ‘em, Jimbo?”
Jimbo nodded in agreement, wiped the corner of his mouth with the paper napkin and leaned forward on the picnic table. He wanted to hear everything the strangers a few feet away were saying.
“Hey, Julie that combination of baking soda and water pritner got all the stain off the top of my davenport. I appreciate your tip on how to warshout the pop stain.”
“Awe you’re most welcome, Catherine. Glad to be of some help. So it didn’t schmear?”
Jim set the empty Styrofoam cup on the picnic table. “This unsweetened tea sure is nasty, ain’t it Puddin?”
“Show is. Hey didn’t we drive through Davenport yesterday on our way up here? They just mentioned cleaning a davenport. What the heck is that?”
Puddin flicked his wrist toward Jimbo as if to say “hush” and once again continued to eavesdrop.
“And I told those kids I was gunna tan their hides and give them a good lickin if they stood with the ice box door open and just staring into it,” Greg was overheard to say to a bunch of guys.
Jim patted his full stomach. “I’ll bet they were on pins and needlesat that point. Oh my garsh, that’s too funny.”
“Hey, Pam what do we owe youse for the plates and things,” Ted yelled out.
“Awe nothing, but thanks for asking. I bought it all at K-Marx so it didn’t cost anything at all. Maybe one day youse can borrow me some money,” Pam laughed.
“Borrow me some money? What does that mean, Puddin?”
Neither fella spoke after the question was raised. Now each of them was sitting on the table and looking directly at those strange Dubuquers. Funny thing is, nobody seemed to care.
Deb placed her hand on Vicky’s left shoulder. “So did yousehave to hoover the carpet before coming out today – like you said you were gunna?”
Vicky smiled and exposed her gooms and teeth. “Yes I did. Mark brought those beagle hounds into the house again. They made such a mess on the carpet with their dirty paws. One of them even got mud all over the hassock. I had to warsh it extra good to get it clean.”
“Hey Vicky,” Randy interrupted. “Throw your plate into this waste paper basket and I ‘ll throw all the trash into the dumpster.”
“Whoa! Waste paper basket?” Jimbo snorted as he arched back on the table and gently slapped Puddin on the shoulder. “That’s about a twenty-gallon basket. Ain’t no waste paper basket at tall.
Meanwhile, Vicky was still telling her story about the beagle hounds. “I was so mad I wanted to climb on the rufand yell as loud as I could. I would have had to hold on to the chimley. That thing isn’t too stable. So I stayed in the house and yelled at the whole kitten cabuttle. Yep, I yelled at Mark, at those dogs and even the kids. Youse should have seen them scatter out the door. Pretty funny.”
Warren returned to the two visitors from the south with Mick and Wes in tow. After some more introductions, Mick asked Puddin and Jimbo if they’d ever been sleigh riding.
“Nope, I’ve done seen them sleighs on television in Central Park up in Ney York City. They seems to hold quite a few people. I often wonder how those horses must feel after a full day.”
Wes and Warren laughed. “No, sleigh riding. Right over there on those hills. Right by the sliding boards, see where I’m pointing? If you fellas come back here in Dezember it can be a lot of fun.”
“Hey, Puddin, he means sledding,” Jimbo reported.
“Oh yes, I knew that,” Puddin lied.
“Well fellas, if youse get thirsty there’s a bubbler right over there by the Men’s Can. All of us are leaving now. We’re going into Dubuque and putt the guta while. It sure was nice meeting you folks.
The Dubuque Roots gang left Swiss Valley Park like they arrived. There were horns honking, people yelling and lots of laughter. It must have been two minutes before the sounds disappeared into the rows of corn down the road.
It must have been another five minutes of total silence between the brothers from east Tennessee. Puddin spoke first. “Do you have any ideal what those nice folks was a talkin’ bout? I have lots of cats, but I sure ‘nuf never had no kitten cabuttle. And beagle hounds, what was that all about? That’d be like us saying Doberman dog. It truly don’t make no sense at tall. No sir, no sense at tall.”
“Awe, don’t pay ‘em no never mind. I thought it was funny. How about the lady up on the ruf? That’s what my dog says when a stranger wanders on to the home place.”
They both laughed. Jimbo continued. “I sorta likes schmear, garsh, warsh and hoover the rug. I guess we needs to be sayin’ Windex the windas.”
Jimbo continued. “Well they was indeed nice folks. What say you and I go into Dubuque. Maybe we can putt the gut – whatever that means.”
David Nelson