“Don’t Fling me in Dat Brierpatch!”

            “Don’t fling me in dat brierpatch!” is one of our favorite family sayings.  If you are familiar with this phrase, from Uncle Remus, then consider yourself old.  You were around before the PC police censored everything that could remotely offend- like Huckleberry Finn.  I grew up in Georgia reading Joel Chandler Harris’ collections of trickster tales, animals stories and plantation folklore told in the Gullah dialect of the deep south.  The effect of my exposure to these tales was far from detrimental to me, in fact, just the opposite.  They gave me an appreciation of the life and times of slaves during the post-reconstructionist era in Atlanta.  Their wit and wisdom were qualities I admired, and as a girl, I honestly didn’t even realize that the stories were about slaves- they were just people to me.  People and a culture that I came to love.

 The stories are difficult to read because the dialogue is written phoenetically, so that the reader takes on the Gullah dialect.  Reading this way makes the stories seem that much more alive to me and as a girl they completely drew me in to the culture and times.   Fables are safe stories because they expose truth without pointing directly at the offender or the dupe. 

The story of “Don’t fling me in dat brier patch!” is one that makes me smile.   Brer Rabbit has just been bested by the tar baby and Brer Fox is laughing at him.  Brer Fox declares that he is finally going to barbeque Brer Rabbit and have him for lunch.   Employing a cunning use of reverse phychology, Brer Rabbit says, “burn me, drown me, skin me, just don’t fling me in dat brierpatch!”  of course, Brer Fox does just that and Brer Rabbit ends up right back where he was “born and bred”- the place he most wants to be- the brierpatch.

So you can see why this is a favorite family saying.  It has all kinds of uses.  We often invert it.  For instance:

Sister 1 “I’m going to go to Macy’s, want to come?”

Sister 2 “Throw me in dat Brier Patch!”

You’re already killing time reading this blog so you can take 10 minutes and read an Uncle Remus Story if you’ve never done so.  I got this one from this site: http://www.uncleremus.com/sharprabbit.html. But dat’s needer yer ner dar.

HOW MR. RABBIT WAS TOO SHARP FOR MR. FOX

“UNCLE REMUS,” said the little boy one evening, when he had found the old man with little or nothing to do, “did the fox kill and eat the rabbit when he caught him with the Tar-Baby?” “Law, honey, ain’t I tell you ’bout dat?” replied the old darkey, chuckling slyly. “I ’clar ter grashus I ought er tole you dat, but old man Nod wuz ridin’ on my eyeleds ’twel a leetle mo’n I’d a dis’member’d my own name, en den on to dat here come yo mammy hollerin’ atter you. “W’at I tell you w’en I fus’ begin? I tole you Brer Rabbit wuz a monstus soon creetur; leas’ways dat’s w’at I laid out fer ter tell you. Well, den, honey, don’t you go en make no udder calkalashuns, kaze in dem days Brer Rabbit en his fambly wuz at de head er de gang w’en enny racket wuz on han’, en dar dey stayed. ‘Fo’ you begins fer ter wipe yo’ eyes ’bout Brer Rabbit, you wait en see whar’bouts Brer Rabbit gwineter fetch up at. But dat’s needer yer ner dar. “W’en Brer Fox fine Brer Rabbit mixt up wid de Tar-Baby, he feel mighty good, en he roll on de groun’ en laff. Bimeby he up’n say, sezee: “‘Well, I speck I got you dis time, Brer Rabbit,’ sezee; ‘maybe I ain’t, but I speck I is. You been run-nin’ roun’ here sassin’ atter me a mighty long time, but I speck you done come ter de een’ er de row. You bin cuttin’ up yo’ capers en bouncin’ ’roun’ in dis neighberhood ontwel you come ter b’leeve yo’se’f de boss er de whole gang. En den youer allers some rs whar you got no bizuess,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘Who ax you fer ter come en strike up a ’quaintance wid dish yer Tar-Baby? En who stuck you up dar whar you iz? Nobody in de roun’ worril. You des tuck en jam yo’se’f on dat Tar-Baby widout waitin’ fer enny invite,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en dar you is, en dar youll stay twel I fixes up a bresh-pile and fires her up, kaze rm gwineter bobby-cue you dis day, sho,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. “Den Brer Rabbit talk mighty ’umble. “‘I don’t keer w’at you do wid me, Brer Fox,’ sezee, ‘so you don’t fling me in dat brier-patch. Roas’ me, Brer Fox’ sezee, ‘but don’t fling me in dat brierpatch,’ sezee. “‘Hit’s so much trouble fer ter kindle a fier,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘dat I speck I’ll hatter hang you,’ sezee. “‘Hang me des ez high as you please, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘but do fer de Lord’s sake don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee. “‘I ain’t got no string,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en now I speck I’ll hatter drown you,’ sezee. “‘Drown me des ez deep ez you please, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘but do don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee. “‘Dey ain’t no water nigh,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en now I speck I’ll hatter skin you,’ sezee. “‘Skin me, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘snatch out my eyeballs, t’ar out my years by de roots, en cut off my legs,’ sezee, ‘but do please, Brer Fox, don’t ffing me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee. “Co’se Brer Fox wanter hurt Brer Rabbit bad ez he kin, so he cotch ’im by de behime legs en slung ’im right in de middle er de brier-patch. Dar wuz a considerbul flutter whar Brer Rabbit struck de bushes, en Brer Fox sorter hang ’roun’ fer ter see w’at wuz gwineter happen. Bimeby he hear somebody call ’im, en way up de hill he see Brer Rabbit settin’ crosslegged on a chinkapin log koamin’ de pitch outen his har wid a chip. Den Brer Fox know dat he bin swop off mighty bad. Brer Rabbit wuz bleedzed fer ter fling back some er his sass, en he holler out: “‘Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox—bred en bawn in a brier-patch!’ en wid dat he skip out des ez lively ez a cricket in de embers.”