Texas County. On my way to a speech in the hometown of Porter Wagoner, I paused beneath golden arches for lunch. Minutes earlier a radio bulletin informed me that Porter Wagoner’s most famous protégé had just died.

I found a table, began to eat. Shooed a fly from my meal. The restaurant was not crowded. Across a wide aisle a lady sat and began to eat. She shooed the fly away from her meal, and said, “I’m sending the fly back to your side.”

I laughed. We ate in silence for a few minutes. Then I asked her, “Did you hear the news?” She had not.

When I told her, she expressed sadness. She said her favorite song was “A Coat of Many Colors.” I told her I just learned it was Dolly’s favorite, too.

The lady, maybe a few years older than me, said, “Dolly’s husband died little more than a year before. My husband died four years ago.” She said they had been married 60 years. Dairy farmers, all their lives. Now her sons are trying to make a go of it. I told her my godparents were dairy farmers.

Unprovoked, she said she didn’t understand why the president was going to import beef. “Cattle farmers are struggling. This won’t help.” I agreed.

Texas County. A dairy widow concerned for the cattle farmers. Her neighbors.

I bid her farewell and good luck. Driving south to the home of Porter Wagoner, in my mind I rewrote my speech.