CHIMNEY SMOKE

The blue-gray smoke is rolling from the chimney, indicating a recently lit fire. As the fire grows in the stove and the chimney warms, the smoke will gradually diminish, until it's only a ribbon of white against the cold gray winter sky. For now though, it drifts slowly upward and to the southeast, as the north and westward winds push it over rooftops and through the winter-bare trees. I stop and watch for a moment as it billows in the cold air. Its lifting, widening, up and down dance is hypnotic to me. There’s something about chimney smoke that gives a body a warm, peaceful feeling inside.

As a young lad I would climb the towering hills of Bullitt County, Kentucky to reach the very tops, and then look down over the beautiful Salt River Valley below. There, surrounded by green cedars and perched on a rocky ledge of white limestone, I could make out the houses and farms of friends and relatives along the narrow rope of country blacktop road that meandered between the hills.

From my stony perch I could see my maternal great-grandpa and grandpas farms. I could also see a family friends place, with their saw mill that was backed up tight to the hill behind it. The house was wrapped in old clap board siding that hadn’t felt a coat of paint for years. The roof was gray metal and slightly rusty. Old hounds wandered around usually, or stretched out lazily on the porch. The sawmill shed was rough sawed lumber and its roof matched that of the house. Piles of logs lay neatly along one side, waiting their turn to be ripped into lumber for barns and sheds along the valley floor. Some logs were shaved and squared, to be replacements for rotted logs in sheds. Up in the hills I could faintly hear the whine of the giant saw blade as it worked its way through the tree that would become lumber.

There were still a good many log outbuildings around in the 1960’s in Kentucky, and a few old timers still believed log structures to be the stoutest. A few of those log buildings are still standing solid today, proving the old farmers right. Leftover slabs of bark (slats) were piled high to be used for firewood. Smoke always rolled from the sawmill shed chimney, and in the winter and at meal time, from the chimneys of the stoves that provided warmth and food in the house. Smoke from the sawmill meant prosperity for those folks.

The valley was quite narrow in some places, maybe only 150 yards of space between where each hillside began its rise to the blue Kentucky sky. Some houses were so close to the rising hills, my great-uncle would say, that "folks had to throw their bath water out the front door. If they threw it out the back door it would just roll right back inside again". In other places, there were wide flat and level areas that made for good crop fields and pasture ground.

Tobacco was a good crop in the valley at one time, and big barns would be filled at harvest time with rows and rows of hanging or racked leafy brown plants. After the tobacco was hung in the barns, fires of smoldering hardwoods would be lit in containers to smoke and cure the leafs. Tobacco for snuff, pipes and chewing are fire cured this way yet in many areas. Many an uninformed city slicker has stopped at a house to excitedly exclaim to a grinning farmer that the barn was on fire, as the smoke from the hardwoods rolled from the long doors and gables. The barns are kept smoky for weeks at a time in some cases. Another old building, this one on my great-grandpas farm, was only useful when smoke rose from it.

The smokehouse provided a wide variety of good meats for cooking. The old log and wood plank structure was designed to allow air to filter just right through it, and surround the hams, bacon and other salted meats with curing smoke. The many days of curing from hickory and apple smoke yielded some of the best tasting pork a man can imagine. An old wood-fired cook stove in the kitchen of the house, always had some leftover biscuits and homemade sausage sitting on the back. A quick snack for hungry boys passing through. Yes, when smoke rose from that old wooden building, you knew that good food was in the making.That old smokehouse still stands today; but sadly smoke rises from it no longer. I miss the smoke that meant good family meals together.

While some of the houses had “coal oil” heaters in them, there was usually a wood stove or fireplace in sheds or some other part of the house. At some place, at some time, wood was burning and the chimney smoking on those little farms. Looking for miles out over the valley, seeing dots of houses, sheds, and barns, each sporting a puff of white floating over them, was a sign that all was well. It was if each chimney was answering roll call. Folks were harvesting, working, and eating there. Necessities were being met. Comfort was there. The smoke signaled that peace was in the valley, and day to day living was good.

So, as I head into my shop, I take another glance at the rising white ribbon passing over the rooftop, and I smile. The wood stove crackles and pops as I enter. It’s like being greeted by an old friend. I open the door to the stove and toss in another piece of oak.

The smoke from my chimney will answer the roll call today. It writes in wispy letters across the winter landscape, “Yes we are here at the Chicken Ranch, alive and well, warm and comforted, and pray others find themselves the same.”                                                                  Dec 2013

Our old family smokehouse.

Rust and Remembrance

Dan walked from under the green canopy, and blinked at the bright sunlight.He placed his  cowboy hat on his head, walked past the manicured flower beds, the rows of granite tombstones, then across the grass to his truck. He opened the door to climb in."Danny?" He heard the female voice from behind him, and turned.

 She wore only a hint of aging after all these years. Her laugh lines showed maturity, and there was a touch of gray in her hair, but her slender frame was the same as when they were young. "Hello, kid. Still sneaking up on me aren't you? How've you been?"

"Still calling me kid at my age?" she chuckled, "You always did, even though I was only four years behind you." Becky grew up on a farm neighboring Dan's grandpa's place. The first time she and Dan met, Dan was squirrel hunting in the hardwoods. He was aiming at an old hickory branch, and just about to the pull the trigger, when she had called from behind him "What are you shootin' at?" Dan had jumped, and so had the squirrel. "Geeze, kid,' he had complained, "you scared him away!" "I reckon I scared you more" she snickered. "Where did you come from anyway?" "Heck, I've been followin you for an hour" she grinned.They had made introductions and become friends that day. Though time and chance had sent them in different directions in life, they had a common interest that kept them in touch with each other through the years. They remained close despite the distance.

"I'm so sorry about your Dad, Danny. John treated me like a daughter."  "He loved you, Becks, ever since we were kids. 'Thanks' ain't enough I guess... for all you've done to help him."  Becky bit her lip and looked out across the lot. She cleared her throat, wiped at her eyes, then forced a smile, "You headed out to the ranch?" John looked away a second, then back to her, "Yeah... I'm headed there now." She placed her hands in her back jeans pockets , "Want some company,cowboy?"
He nodded, looked back at the burial tent, and then smiled at her "Yeah... hop in."

It was 15 miles from the small rural town to the three hundred and twenty acres that Dan had once called home. He knew every inch of the ground, and that of every farm and ranch adjoining it. Riding horseback or walking, he had hunted, hiked, and trailed every acre as a boy. When he left it age 18, he thought he'd be back someday soon, but life happened, and now he was fifty six, and had only come home a couple of times a year. He left, all those years ago, in anger, and each time he had returned, a little of that old anger had rekindled. He had loved his father, and the ranch, but there were circumstances that had made staying there impossible for him. He had moved out six days after his high school graduation. He went to an  agricultural college, where he became a  star for the rodeo team. He'd made his way over the years; from an active rodeo participant, to manager, to an event coordinator in the business. His present  job kept him travelling the circuit often.

" A penny for your thoughts, cowboy?" "Not worth much more than that,kid," he smiled, "just thinking is all." Becky nodded as she looked out the passenger side window, "You'll have a lot to think about." Dan looked a her quizzically, but said nothing more.

 Becky watched the hills and fields go by. The sun was warm through the windshield this cool autumn day. The trees in the hills and along the highway were a kaleidoscope of colors. The cattle and horses in the pastures were grazing contentedly; their tails swishing back and forth,  heads bowed to the grass beneath their feet. She looked over at Dan who stared out the windshield, one hand on the steering wheel, his left arm braced on the door. Searching for a subject, Becky said "John put the forty in hay this year, and it did great. Four cuttings." Dan turned from the main highway onto a dusty gravel lane. "That's good. Guess it doesn't make a lot of difference though, since she sold all the livestock as quick as she could. She'll need a buyer." The hint of bitterness in his voice didn't escape Becky. Dans' disdain for his step-mother had not softened much over the years.

They rounded a curve, then topped a little hill.  In the the valley below, the ranch lay before them like a painting, in the gap between the hills. Dan stopped the truck, leaned forward on the wheel, and looked through the windshield. After a moment, he said "Well there it is. Grandad used to say we had three hundred twenty acres, half of it straight up", he smiled as he looked at the hills. Then he shook his head a little, "She'll sell this place, that my great-grandfather settled, like a garage sale item. Then the 'Wicked Witch of the East'  will return to Boston living off of the money from my families blood, sweat, and tears. All because my dad was charmed by her." He turned to Becky, and forced a smile, "Sorry...old feelin's I guess. I know Dad was lonely after Mom died, but there's things in this world worse than loneliness. I'll take lonely over henpecked any day." He took his foot off the brake and drove on toward the ranch. Becky just reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

The old house was in a little need of repairs. Shrubs had grown too close to the house, and they hung a little over the front porch. The posts needed painting and the bottom step had started to rot. All this was evidence of his fathers illness. John Parker wouldn't have let this deterioration happen if he had been well. Dan never knew him to sit when he had work in front of him. His dad had always risen early and stayed hard-at-it till after supper. Hard work was as an every day happening on this ranch. But the evenings had usually been peaceful ..until his stepmother arrived on the scene.

The  rocking chairs on the porch were pointed west as always. His dad had loved to watch the setting sun each evening. Just a couple of months ago, Dan had sat with his father on the porch. John had sat wrapped in a blanket in his old rocker, "I love watching the world quiet down after a busy day", he'd said,  "it's been hustle and bustle since daylight, but now the evenin' comes, and it grows still and peaceable.' He had hung his head, looked at his boots, then turned to look at Dan," I'm runnin' out of daylight, Danny, I feel the sun settin' in me. The next time you come home it'll be to plant me on Cemetery Hill. I don't want a big to-do, son. Just keep it simple and quick."  Dan had looked back at the house, then said, "I doubt I'll have much say in the matter."
 John replied "Don't be too rough on Jill, Danny. She was a big city girl who never caught on to country life. She has her good points." Dan had too much respect for his ailing father to drag up old wounds, so he simply nodded, and said nothing more.

"Danny ? There's Bob Nolan's car". Dan left his memory behind, and looked in the direction Becky was pointing. Bob had been the family attorney for as long as Dan could remember. Bob and his dad had been high school football players together, and life-long friends. At six feet four, he was nearly as imposing as he had been on that ball field all those many years ago. He still wore the same flat-top haircut, though his hair was completely silver now. "Probably wants to break some more bad 'Jill news' to me". Dan pulled his truck up to the big white barn and got out. "Bob?"

 Bob pulled an envelope from the passenger seat of the car and handed it to Dan. "Figured I'd better catch ya while I could; before you decided to head back to the wild west again" he grinned. "Your Dad and Jill came in three weeks ago to draw up some final papers. John wanted me to ask you to do this."  Dan opened the envelope and dumped an old Ford key into his hand. "Everything you need is in the glove box," Bob gave Dan a handshake and a hand on the shoulder, "Best of luck to you, son," And after a hug with Becky and a tip of the hat, Bob got in his car and headed out of the drive. 

Dan turned the key over in his hand and frowned, "It's to grandpa's old truck."  Becky turned and started toward the lean-to shed, she came back and ran her arm through Dan's, "Well,come on, let's see what this is about." Dan raised his eyebrows, took a deep breath, and shook his head,"Strange."

They walked around the barn  to a gray metal lean-to shed that was attached to it. There, beside the lean-to, was the  rusty old Ford pickup that had sat in the same spot for years. Becky stepped up on the bumper, then sat down on the hood while Dan put the key in the door lock. The key worked smoothly, "Somebody WD 40'd the lock, I reckon,". The door moaned and popped when Dan opened it, "Shoulda worked the hinges over too," he smiled. Becky smiled while she pulled off a boot, and shook it to release some irritant that was inside.The heat from the closed up truck escaped into the cool air, and Dan slid behind the wheel. Without thinking, he put a hand to the steering wheel and one on the floor shift knob. He had learned to drive in this truck at 10 years old. He resisted the urge to put the key in the ignition, and reached to the glove box instead.

In the glove box, Dan found a large manila envelope curled up inside. He pulled it out and turned to read his name on the outside, "It's Dads handwriting all right," he said out of the door to Becky, who was still on the hood, looking at him through the windshield.

 He sat looking at the envelope for a minute, then sighed "Well, let's see what you're up to John Parker."

Becky slid down off the hood of the old truck. "Lets go in the house first and make some coffee. Want to?"  Dan tucked the envelope under his arm, and closed the truck door. As they walked toward the house, Dan filled his nostrils in a deep breath, then exhaled. "The smell of fresh hay in a barn has got to be one of God's gifts to man," he grinned "even Jill loved the smell of hay when it was cut and drying."
Becky nodded in agreement, "There are some things Jill came to like over time. She loved the horses, and she seemed to really enjoy harvest time around here. I think the scurrying of the wagons and trucks, the combines in the fields, and all the busy rush at harvest  is appealing to her. She has to be busy all the time."  Then Becky grinned, "Now, the smell of livestock? She never had any love for that... even if it was part of payin' the bills."

They stepped up to the back porch and Dan opened the door for Becky. Once inside Becky went to the business of making coffee. "Kind of cool in here." Dan nodded.  He set the envelope on the table and walked into the living room. "Jill hasn't been home since she went back to Boston over a week ago. So, I doubt the heat is on yet."

Dan walked into the living room and tossed his hat on the couch. "It worked out good that she had Dads funeral while I was away. I'm glad she didn't wait for me to get back. It was nice to have my own private time at his grave." He raised his voice a little so Becky could hear him. He opened the fireplace doors and found kindling and logs already in place for a fire. Dan smiled and shook his head. He and his dad loved the warmth of a wood fire on cool days and nights. 'It's all natural heat,' his dad would say. The smoky smell, and the feel of hardwood fires had always comforted them both. Now, here was a fire just waiting for a match to press it into service. "She couldn't wait to get back to the city life I reckon."  He watched the kindling glow and pop as it began to burn. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the room.

Becky came to the doorway, "Can we drink in here where it's warm?" "Sure... you know if you'd put a little meat on those bones you'd stay warmer, Skinny Minnie."  As she poured the black liquid in to two cups, she called back, "Oh Yeah? Want to arm wrestle, Cowboy? I was bucking bales all summer while you sat all cozy in a booth, and watched broncos toss men skyward."  Dan chuckled, "I'll pass on the arm wrestle for now; don't want to spill good coffee, kid." "Uh huh," Becky grinned as she sat the coffee on an end table near Dan, and at a table near the couch for herself. She returned to the kitchen, then brought the big envelope to Dan's table.

"You know what this is all about?" asked Dan as he lifted the cup to his lips and reached for the envelope. "Some of it maybe, but not all. John confided a few things before he passed"

 Becky looked into the fire as she sipped, "Your dad loved you like everything, Danny. I think he missed you every day that you were gone. He always hated it that Jill came between y'all."  She looked up at Dan, "  I can't tell you the times I'd help him with a decision and he'd say ,'Wonder what Danny would think of this?' ...even after all these years..." She smiled a little snarl, " ...so what was my opinion worth any way?"  Dan smiled, "It was worth a lot, Beck, he thought you were the smartest woman in the cattle business."  "Oh yeah? ...and you?"  He winked at her, "I think you're one of the smartest women I know...period." She raised her eyebrows and grinned  "I'm going to hold you to that."

Dan took a look at the envelope, and set his cup down, "Well let's see what you have to say, Dad." Inside the large envelope were two smaller, letter size, envelopes. One was addressed 'Danny'. Dan left the thicker of the two envelopes on the table, and sat back in the leather chair. Becky sat on the couch with her legs curled beneath her. She looked anxiously at Dan over her coffee cup as he began to read:

Dear Danny,
"I'm not much for writing, as you know, but I'll try to say this as best I can.
 First, I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't stronger for you after your Mom died so suddenly. I loved her with all my heart and soul. When she died, well, I was lost. She had been my oxygen since we were kids. Now I was alone, and I had never in my life felt so cold and empty. There was just this big hollow place in me that I knew would never be filled again.
  I had you, thank God, and I loved you with all my heart, and to be honest, I was scared. I was afraid I couldn't bring you up like your Mom could have. You were just 12 years old then, and such a great kid. There was a whole lot of lifes journey in front of us, and now I had no co-pilot. I used to come into your room at night, when you were asleep, and stand in the door and pray. Just wanted God's help to bring you up right. I felt totally inadequate.
  I was also afraid that I couldn't manage the farm without her. Your mother was always the smart one in this outfit. I had the backbone, we used to say, and she had the brains. I knew cattle, horses, and all that, but it was Mom who managed the books, and she kept the money flowing. Working the livestock, keeping things repaired, was all I was really good at. I worked hard all my life, but, as you know, a ranch has to be worked smart as well. I was gonna need help. And that brings me to Jill. I believe that there was a reason we met at that convention.
  I know you said, when you were younger, that you thought Jill was using me for my money. Truth is, when Jill came along the farm was in bad shape. Honestly, she is the reason we made it through some tough times. I was probably more guilty of using her, than the other way around. She knew business and I needed help, and companionship. We both needed companionship. 
  She tried to fill the void left by your Mom's death, and I tried to furnish her with a new life after her failed marriage. She had never been a mother, and suddenly found herself with a teenage boy to help raise. She was born and raised in a big city, and came out here looking for a new and different kind of life. It just took a whole lot more adjusting than she ever imagined it would.
  When we met, we were both looking for something other than real love. Love came years later, but I know it was hard for you, at times, to watch two people trying to make the best of a less than optimal situation.
  I should have spoken to you about all this while you were still at home, but I have never been the communicator I should have been. Maybe my pride wouldn't let me admit some things. Fact is, Jill was a strong woman, and her strength came across as hard nosed opinionating at times. She was the exact opposite of your mother in demeanor, I know, but like your Mom, she was smart and determined. She worked as hard as she could here, and has lovingly cared for me since my diagnosis. Now, she is ill also.
  Not only has she had to help me with my illness, but she told me that she has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She would not let me tell you, for fear you would feel you had to leave your job and  come care for us old folks. We will manage until the end, and since you're reading this, that means my time has come. So,here is what we have planned...."

Dan put the letter down at that point, and looked over at Becky, "I didn't know about Jill. Did you?"
"Yeah, she told me about two weeks before she told your dad. She was afraid the stress of worrying about her would weaken him further, and it did, but there were too many business issues  involved to not tell him. They both told me I could not help them anymore if I told you. I dialed you a few times, but hung up because they were so adamant that I hold off telling you."  

 Becky put her feet on the floor, clasped her hands, and leaned toward Dan, "Jill sold the cattle and most of the equipment after John died, for two reasons: it paid off the remaining balance on the farm, it's free and clear now, and it allowed her to go to Boston for treatment. I guess you know about the ranch from the letter?"  He sipped from his cup and asked, "What about it?" "Better read on then."

Dan continued reading the particulars of his fathers business and funeral plans in the letter, and then read...



 "..Now, about why this letter was in the old truck. I wanted you behind that wheel again, remembering the feel and smell of that old Ford, and thinking of the good times we had when you were home. Those were some of our best days, driving that old truck back then. Windows down, dust and wind in our hair in the summer. Trying to squeeze every ounce of warmth out of the old heater in the winter. Just me, you, and Granddad. That truck's got a lot of rust, and a whole lot of memories. I want you to restore it completely, Danny, as a favor to me, and to yourself. 
  You are gonna need that old truck to begin ranching again. I couldn't have anyone else behind that wheel, or running this ranch either. In all the years, I never tried to get you to return to the ranch, no matter how bad I wanted it, but now, I want you to come home. Its time you retired from rodeo life, and settled down with a good woman this time. 
  Jill worked out the finances so that the ranch is free. We both wanted you to have a chance to ranch unimpeded by previous debt. Jill never wanted this place, she always felt it was yours to inherit. I know you'll make it just fine. You work hard, and you have your mothers smarts.
  One final thing. Please  find it in your heart to make peace with Jill. It would mean a lot to me, and to her. She has little family besides you now. Danny, walking through this life is hard enough without carrying the added burden of old anger to weight us down every day. Try to let go of the anger,and lighten your load,son.
Best of luck to you,Danny. I know you will make the ranch all it should be if you decide to stay. You've made me proud every day of your life. I love you son.

Love, Dad
P.S  If you finally decide to settle down with a good woman, you know you don't have far to look."




Dan smiled through misty eyes and folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. He opened the next envelope to find legal documents that made him owner of the family ranch. He placed the envelopes on the table again, and stood to his feet. Becky looked up at him, "A lot to take in, isn't it? More coffee?"  She  gathered the cups. " Yeah, thanks, I will." Becky headed for the kitchen, "Be right back".

 Dan opened the door and walked out onto the porch. He sat down in his dads rocker and looked out across the pastures toward the west. He sat with his leg crossed and his hat in his lap. Becky came out, handed him his steaming cup, and sat down in the other rocking chair.  Nothing was said between them for several minutes. They just sat and watched the sun lower in the lavender and neon orange sky. Finally, Dan  turned to her.

"So, Jill has been getting chemo treatments in Boston?"  Becky sat with her hands wrapped around her cup and looked at the porch floor. "Yes, it's been a little rough I hear. Wish she would've stayed closer, but a family friend is her Oncologist there in Boston." Dan nodded. He stood up, and walked to the edge of the porch. He leaned against the post, and sipped from his cup as he looked out across the ranch. After a few minutes, Becky asked "You have any idea what you'll do, Danny?"

Dan took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He put on his hat and nodded affirmatively, "Yeah...I do." He reached for Becky's hand and they walked across the yard together to the pasture fence. Dan put a boot on the bottom fence rail, then placed his forearms across the top rail. After a bit he looked at the ground, "Well... I have a rusty old truck that I have to get to Troutman's Garage for a tune up and body work. I have a resignation letter to compose..." he took another sip from his cup, "...I need to think about getting some feeder calves to winter over, maybe some cows." 

The air was chilly now, and a gentle breeze moved the limbs of the pine trees. The Whippoorwills' lonely evening call came from the woods. Becky pointed, "Look."  Fifty yards in front of them, two deer walked from the woods edge to the pasture, then bowed their heads to nibble at the ground. Dan and Becky stood silently and watched them for a few minutes. Becky shivered a little and turned up her collar.

 Dan took another deep breath and sighed, "Yep, there's an awful lot to do."  He turned around, and he and Becky started back across the yard toward the house. "There's one thing that I know I have got to do first of all, though." Becky looked over at him, "Yeah?"  He stopped and turned to her.

 With a smile he asked, "Have you ever been to Boston, kid?"



Moist Summer Morn

The "dog days of summer" are upon us at the Chicken Ranch, but it feels a bit more like autumn.
It has rained, off and on, for three days . At times the rain has been thunderous on the metal porch roof, like a parade of hooves across a covered bridge. At other times, the rain has fallen in a whispering ghostly mist, allowing the drops upon the leaves to answer the call of gravity in a slow hypnotising dance to the earth beneath it.

The rains earlier this year were hard downpours that pummeled the garden soil into a flat, hardened,  and unforgiving surface. The recent rains, however, have been freshening. Slowly, the moisture has massaged the plants and dirt, has freed the trapped roots, and encouraged garden and grass to breathe and bloom.The gentle rains have chastised their harsher cousins, and offered the gift of softness in apology for them.

Pumpkin blooms stand taller, brighter now. Like bonnets to be worn over a grandmas' bun, these blooms dress up the huge dark green leaves along the vines. By October, there should be several plump balls of orange, ready to offer up a wonderful pie or two, or become a scary-faced jack-o-lantern to light up  a cool Halloween evening.

All the plants that labored to grow under the oppressive heat, have now sighed in relief, and renewed their strength. The weather is an all-important factor in ranching and farming. Weather is predictable only in that it is unpredictable. The challenge is in being prepared and accepting of what may come.

Mother Earth can be harsh, some would even say cruel, at times.  Tornadoes and hurricanes, earthquakes and forest fires; all destructive and frightening. But, the balance in nature is evident in the green shoots that rise from the  ashes of the inferno, or the pristine lake that forms from a quake- altered river. Science proves that the Earth was born in violence, but the violence brought forth a planet teeming with life.

Nature has always taken from us; but has given so much more. The terribleness of some of natures fury is not as prevalent as the charitable giving of unspeakable beauty and sustaining life. Sometimes, Mother Nature reminds us that some things are fleeting and temporary, so we should cherish them, and care for the gifts we are given. Give back to the Earth and she will continue to give to us; rob her,  and we will suffer the loss.

As I walk the vegetable and flower gardens here at the Chicken Ranch with a coffee cup in hand, I'm grateful for the kinder side that Nature has shown here in recent days . I survey all that's around me now that the rains have ceased. The breeze is soft. The sky shows the promise of a glowing sun; once the sheet of fog lifts and drifts away.

All life glistens, as the rising sun plays on the cleansing moisture that dresses it. The plants and trees are alive and refreshed this early summer morn... and so am I.

Morning Drive

Like many of the other folks in these parts, our day at the Chicken Ranch begins before sunrise. Today is no different. My eyes open slowly and take in the dim light of the bedroom. I look across the bed and see the reassuring rise and fall of the quilt on Patty’s side and appreciate that she is sleeping good this  winters morn. And, as I do every day, I say a silent “thank you Lord for another day of life and health. I don’t take it for granted.“

A glance at the clock tells me it’s 5:07. I quit using an alarm a long time ago. I don’t like my actions (or inaction's) being dictated by an electronic apparatus. That goes for phones and seat belt buzzers too. I jokingly tell Patty that if I wanted some shrill, irritating thing reminding me what to do in a car, I’d bring my mother-in law along every trip. This usually awards me a ceremonial thump on the head.

I slide out quietly and look out the window. No rain today. Pull on my jeans and shirts hangin on the dresser knobs, and gather up my boots and socks. I finish up in the kitchen so Patty can rest a bit more. The kitchen holds the coffee pot, and coffee holds the stuff life is made of. I do believe the good Lord told us we couldn’t “ live on bread alone” because he knew good coffee was comin in the future, and He didn‘t want us to miss it. I know the Lord had something more spiritual in mind, but I think he might have enjoyed a good cup himself. After finishing up my morning obligations, I grab a  cowboy hat off the peg and step outside into the morning chill. Georgie the cat begs for food but I tell her Patty will be along shortly to feed her. The grey old Tabby looks a little disgusted with me as I continue down the brick sidewalk. I climb in “old red” and set out for a drive up the highway this day.

Only a few lights are on in houses as I in my red Ford truck roll along the black belt of road. I see only a few cars too. I meet the Sheriff along the way and we give each other a rocking-hand windshield wave. Good man that fellow. Our Sheriff is one of the most charitable men I know. Not the kind of charity that gets photo ops, but the behind the scenes, Christmas and Thanksgiving hams left on poor folks doorsteps, kind. We count him as a good friend.

The trees along the road go by looking like a mass of black spiders until the sun begins to rise in the east. Slowly it grows lighter and the sky reveals clouds that look like a gray and white wrinkled blanket. I think that two giant hands need to grab each corner of the firmament and give a big shake to smooth it out a bit. 

I see some geese are making a V as they head south. They look in a hurry. I think they’re running late; like the house at a farm along the way maybe.

I noticed that none of the lights are on; they always are when I go by at this early hour. Unusual. Some mighty hard workin folks live there. They have green houses that supply me with garden plants and flowers each spring.They farm too, but their green houses are their bread and butter. Some of the finest plants you can buy. Hope everything is okay there. I’ll check on that farm on the way back through.

 A funny thing how our routines can become remotely intertwined in others routines without our ever realizing it. You know, like that car you meet every morning on your way to work. You have no idea who they are, or they you, but every day you meet on the highway... until the day when you don't, and you look for it for days, and wonder what happened to that person. What changed their routine? A new job? A death? You'll never know maybe, but their change in routine made a little change in yours.

I park the pickup at my destination, but leave the truck running for a minute so my favorite country music station can finish the latest cattle prices report. As I get out, the door pops a little and so does my right knee. Both of them are telling me we’re getting old. A friend of my mine waves across the way and says glibly “let the day begin”. I smile and wave back but think,  "you’re a little late, old buddy, that happened a while ago''.

Dec 30 2011

The last Wagon Ride

The wagon wheels creaked and moaned

Over rock and sand and grass

As the horses pulled their cargo

Off the road, up the stony pass

The driver eyed the precious load

Then  eased the two horses on

“Easy up, Jack and Duke”, he’d goad

“The hard work is nearly done”

Cowboys and women folk stood mute

And waiting in their best dress

The boys had even shined their boots

And buttoned up their vests

The wind caressed dresses and grass

As it blew briskly up the hill

Everyone held a hand to their hats

But otherwise stood quite still

The wagon finally groaned to a stop

And six cowboys filed behind

And quietly unloaded the sacred box

Hand made of solid pine

They carried it in reverence

To the place where it would lay

Hats removed, and on bended knee

A solemn “ Now, let us pray”

K.L. Dennie   2012

Morning With Willie and Ethel

“Cavin, your Mamaw has breakfast ready”. It was my great-grandpa Willie Armstrong I saw through the lighted gap of the door. “Okay, Papaw” I muttered as I got myself awake. The smell of pork frying filtered though the door into the darkness of the room. I threw back the blankets and quilts and felt the chill of the old house on my skin.
Part of the old house is the original log cabin Papaw built on to after he drove cattle from Washington County to settle here; on land bought from his new brides father. It was a simple gabled roofed house that sat on a knob, in a little valley of Bullitt County, Kentucky. Truth be told, Papaw probably had more money in the big barn down the knob than he did in the house. But I loved the place and loved coming here. As I tossed the pillow and quilts back against the headboard, a solitary feather escaped the pillow seam and floated gently across the room to land in the dim light of the window. Dawn was barely breaking over Peacock Hill as I peered through the glass.

“Cavin”, I smiled as I pulled on my jeans, thinking about the way my great grandparents pronounced my name. Armstrongs had been in Kentucky and Virginia since 1690. Some of the phrases and terminology they used was certainly Scottish and Irish. I suppose Cavin made more sense to their inherent Scottish inclinations than the more Irish/American ‘Kevin’ did. At twelve years old I thought it bit funny, but at the same time I liked the way it sounded when they said it. I pulled on my boots and headed for the table, buttoning my shirt as I stumbled toward the light of the kitchen.

The old wooden table was set full of biscuits, slab bacon, eggs, potatoes and butter. Every bit of it from the self-sustaining farm they called home. Papaw and Mamaw were waiting as I sat down to eat. We bowed our heads while Grace was said. Mamaw had poured me a cup of coffee. When I was here, or at my grandparents, I was allowed to drink it, and I loved it. Still do. We talked about the weather and today’s squirrel hunt, the reason for my stay, and chores that needed done. I watched them, Willie and Ethel, trading barbs and laughing, even at this early hour. They were quite a pair.

Willie was a slim man, of average height. He still wore bands on his long sleeves just above the elbow, like men did in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. Round glasses sat on his nose under a hat that he was seldom without. He wore a straw hat in summer, the kind with the green visor in the brim. He wore a felt/wool hat in the winter.At other times a ball cap. Most of the time he was dressed in bib overalls with laced up work boots on his feet. Great grandma Ethel was plump and jolly. She always wore dresses and stockings. Her long hair was worn in a bun that shook a little when she laughed. And she loved to laugh. They both did. Conversations with Willie and Ethel would always be rich with jokes and chuckles. To me they seemed like the happiest people in the world. They saw their share, and then some, of troubles in this life. And no marriage is bed of roses always. But, happy, that’s what they were this day, and how I remember them now.

We finished breakfast and Mamaw put the extra biscuits and bacon on the back of the cook stove. They’d be gone before the day was done. Plenty of hungry boys and men around this farm. Papaw and I headed outside into the early chill, past the smoke house and down the sloping path to the barn and blacksmith shop. The guineas raised the alarm as I went by.Their shrill call startled me at first. "Well, if anyone was still asleep around here, they aren't now" I thought. . With the chores done, we headed back past the log shed toward the “holler” in between the hills.

Guns tucked under our arms, we walked quietly along the road. Only the crunch of dirt and grass under our feet gave away that anyone was up and about. The sun was just beginning to light up the hilltops. A mist was rising like blue/white ghosts out of the valley floor and hanging in the peaks far above us. Off in the distance a dogs bark was echoing through the valley. Hard to say where he was, sounds travel long distances in between the hills. We crossed the creek and opened a gate. “Remember” Papaw said “ If you open a gate, you close the gate behind you. Or you could wind up chasing cows all day”. I closed the gate and we made our way along the creek bank, following the grassy dirt and creek rock road.

The holler was such a magical place to me. It was a pasture in a hollowed out area surrounded by hills of hardwoods. You were wrapped in trees with a circle of sky overhead. It was like stepping into another world. My Uncle Butch Armstrong later built a house in this holler. I always envied him living there. Papaw headed up the creek to the right and sent me into a little draw on the left. I sat down in the thick autumn leaves, enjoying the woods and anxious for the squirrels to move. A crash in the distance told me a squirrel was leaving his nest. I would be ready, and so would Papaw.

What a morning this was. A noisy woodpecker was calling in between hammers on a tree trunk. blue Jays, Cardinals and Meadow Larks all voiced there opinions of this glorius morn.The air was cool and fresh. I took in all that was around me, and drew in a deep breath. I felt then that I was in the most beautiful place on earth, on the most beautiful morning ever. I felt happy to be alive and to be a part this family of mine. Parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. And for this morning spent with my great grandparents, Willie and Ethel. I knew that there just couldn’t be a morning better than this one.
And now, looking back many years later, I would have to say that few have been.

Old Charlies Gone

We gathered ‘round the chow wagon today

Quietly kickin at the dust,

Not wanting to hear what the boss had to say,

But say it, we knew he must.

We had a notion what was goin on.

With saddle on, but rider missin,

Old Charlies' Bay stood all alone.

We saw the boss comin in the distance.

“You boys gather round me now”

He said as he trotted in,

“ I’ll find the way to say this somehow,

Old Charlie was my friend.”

“He was cheerful in all weathers

And he never shirked a task..

As a cowboy, there was never better.

He did all a man could ask.”

“We camped in canyons, and mountains steep.

Worked weary to the bone.

But he got throwed today at McCraney Creek,

And now old Charlie's gone.”

“If you can live your seventy years

And wear the wounds he wore…

Well, .. maybe y’all can measure up.

Now, I’ll say no more”

He rode away leavin dust in the air,

A tear in the corner of his eye.

We took off our hats, while Pete said a prayer.

The Boss had already said ‘goodbye’.

 All rights reserved.
 Cannot be used  without express permission from the author
K.L. Dennie July 2012

Early Summer Morn

It is a beautiful early summer morn. The sun is breaking over the horizon in a pin wheel of gold/orange strands.  The fog lays like flattened smoke just over the prairie grass. Here and there a black dot appears in the mist, as black cattle amble along, grazing on the damp grasses.

The deer are at woods edge, browsing quietly and peacefully.Their long  slender necks reach for the tender twigs, and they tug and chew contentedly. Nature enjoys early summer morns; before the sun radiates all its strength upon the Earth, and the business of daytime marches in. It is a beautiful morning, I might try to write today. I haven't written much lately.

Creative writing requires a free mind. Like a river that flows through the valley, touching every rock and tree trunk along the banks and rolling uninhibited toward the sea, the writing part of me must be able to flow, amble, or rush headlong into spaces, without dam or obstruction. There have have been many obstacles to clear thinking lately, and my mind has not been free enough to put pen to paper.

As I roll down the country road in my truck this morning, with the windows down, the moon roof open, and the wind blowing across my cowboy hat, I feel rested and alive. The sun slowly burning through the mists pledges a new day. Every sunrise brings hope and promise; every sunset offers rest and renewing.

I feel a little water trickling over the dam, and think that perhaps soon my mind will flow, and my senses will be invigorated.

For now, I will enjoy this day of days, this quiet peaceful drive. I will soak in the cool wind, the smell of fresh cut hay, and let the quiet simple strength of nature empower me.

Food for Thought

The Old Swing

It seems forlorn, just hanging there

 

 With only the breeze to cause its sway

 

Oh it rocketed so into the air

 

Back in our childrens' day

 

 

The earth beneath once was trodden bare

 

By happy dancing feet

 

Now the twisted rope needs repair

 

And moss grows on the seat

 

 

Time moves us ever on

 And leaves behind a thing

 

A joy that was, has come and gone

 

And now grass grows under the swing  

K.L. Dennie July 2006

Happy Anniversary

I re-post this poem each year on our wedding anniversary.
This beautiful woman will have  put up with this cantankerous old cowboy for 50 years on March 29th. She deserves a medal, but I hope this poem will do.



I Have Not Forgotten

I have not forgotten, the first time I saw you

As you glided softly into your chair

How your smile overtook the lighted room                                            

And your eyes seized all the air


I have not forgotten, when I held your hand                                                       

And felt the spark of your fingertips

Or the dizzying taste of sparkling wine

In the kiss that fell from your lips



I have not forgotten, how you looked

When day gave gently into night

And the moon lay soft upon your skin

While your eyes reflected its light


I have not forgotten, promises we made

Or the tests we faced time and again

When storms, we oft brought on ourselves,

Sought fiercely to bring us to an end


I have not forgotten, the love that bound

While other ties were sadly broken

When the words “I’m sorry, and I love you still”

Were real when they were spoken


I have not forgotten, how you've stood

For all you believed was right
                                                                        
Or the comforting touch of your gentle hand

All through life’s uncertain nights


No, I have not forgotten, I should not forget

And certain sure I never will

For all that caused me to love you then

Does cause me to love you still


Kevin Dennie

Happy  50 Anniversary, Patty Gooding Dennie.

I love you honey, Kevin     

A Sense of Spring

 

 

It felt a bit like Spring today

 

But not upon my skin

 

The air was cold, the sky was gray

 

And my jacket was too thin

 

 

The new calves were sitting tight

 

Against their mothers backs

 

 Pools of water reflected light

 

 In the cattles frozen tracks 

 

 

 

It was not a bright warm sun

 

Nor  new buds upon the trees

 

(Though those can't come soon enough

 

For an old cowboy like me)

 

 

No, it must have been the sound

 

Of the Redbirds' "pretty" call

 

The Robins coming back around

 

After leaving us last Fall

Could've been the shoots of green

Of  Daphodils on the rise

Or thousands of honking geese

Flying north across the skies


Yes, I felt it in my bones

Sure as a man can feel a thing

At the ranch, Winter's come and gone

And I  sense the birth of Spring
 

K.L. Dennie 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Begining at the End

Jim placed a stick of wood in the Warm Morning stove, then shut the door with a clank. As he stepped back behind the store counter he asked, “ Refill on coffee anybody?” Bill raised his elbows off his knees and straightened his back, “ Yeah, I will.” As Jim grabbed the blue metal pot, he quipped, “ I need to start charging you fellas real money for this Jo.” Wilson raised his cowboy hat a bit and snorted, “ Be alright…if it tasted like real coffee.” All four of the men chuckled. “Well now, you could stay home with Erma in the mornings and drink good coffee with your wife,” Jim winked at the other men and grinned. Wilson smiled, and looked out the big plate glass window as he nodded, “Yeah, guess there are a few things around here that’d be worse than your coffee.” Everyone laughed a bit and then the room fell silent again.

The bell above the counter clanged as a rusty old pickup truck pulled up to the single gas pump outside. Jim threw on his coat and headed for the door. The driver of the pickup honked his horn once. Jim said (more to the men inside than to the driver)  " I’m comin’, hold your horses… gee whiz!” Ed  sat up straight to get a better view, then chuckled, “That’s Fred Simpson. He’s probably out of corn squeezins. Gotta get to Harry Lee’s place.” Bill nodded affirmatively, “Ole Harry Lee’s  had that old still a cookin’ for many a year now.” Then Wilson said “ He would’ve been shut down long ago if he didn’t live so far back in the woods that he has to pay rent for sunshine.”  “ Well, them fifteen dogs he has hollerin’ up the valley, gives him plenty of warnin’ when the Sheriffs on his way,” added Bill, “ not that the good Sheriff Leonard is beyond an occasional snort of his own.”

 

After a minute, Ed looked out at the pickup and said with a barely audible sigh, “Old Shorty would’ve given that driver ‘the what for’ for being so impatient.” “That’s puttin ' it politely," offered Wilson, then he added “Gonna miss that old cuss.” The room went quiet again.

The tinkling of little bells above the entrance door announced Jims' return to the inside of the old white clap board store. As he took off his worn out denim coat and hung it on the hook, he looked at the three men around the stove… and the empty chair nearest the counter. As if he could read Jim’s thoughts, Ed looked up at the others,“ How long’ve we been coming here in the mornings?” After a few seconds, Bill said “Well, ever since I farmed the Shelby place, so… I dunno, forty some years I reckon?” “Sounds about right,” said Ed. He adjusted the strap on his overalls and leaned his chair back on two legs, “ I’m seventy nine, and I started comin' in right after Shorty put that gas pump in. That was back in ‘24 or ‘25 I think.”

Jim put money in the cash register and rang up the sale, “Used to be a lean-to shed where that pump is, remember? Dad kept coal in that shed for a long time.” Jim had moved from Cincinnati back to his hometown after his father had become terminally ill. He hadn’t planned on keeping the store open or staying here at all after his father died. The building, with the 'Armstrong Feeds' sign on the gabled end, was old and drafty, and the inventory was dated mostly to an earlier time. In the last fifteen years or so, his father, Shorty, hadn’t cared much about making money or keeping the store updated. It wasn’t falling down, Shorty had always kept the building in solid shape. It was just that after Jims' mother died,  his father had seemed to lose much of his enthusiasm for life in general.

 

He looked over at the three old men in the corner by the stove. These were his fathers true friends. They had helped carry his mothers casket to the Knob Hill cemetery all those years ago, and just two days ago, they had laid his father to rest beside her. They were family, these three men, and they were part of the reason he had decided to stay. He had hung a “Help Wanted” sign in the window this morning. He needed a hand.

Jim had gone to college in Texas.That was a rare thing in this tiny rural eastern Oklahoma town in the 1920‘s. There, he had met Jane, the woman of his dreams, and they were married one year after graduating. His vocational life had prospered over the years, and his income reflected that. His married life had suffered under the strain of two careers unfortunately, and a little over two years ago he and his wife decided not to grow old together; a fact that he tried to keep to himself during his fathers illness. 

 

His explanation for Janes’ absences was that she was too busy with her job overseas. But, Charles ‘Shorty’ Armstrong was no easy dupe. One day, just before he died, his father had asked “ You gonna let Jane know in plenty of time for her to get here for the funeral? You know that she will want to come, even though you two foolish kids have given up on each other.” Jim smiled at being caught, and the thought of being a middle aged "kid". He had looked at the floor beside the bed and just nodded yes.

Jane loved her father-in-law, and she did come; for Shortys' last two days of life, and the funeral. It was the first time she and Jim had been together since the divorce. Neither had ever had any interest in another relationship, it was just that life had vacuumed the joy out of theirs. She had sat with him during the service, and stood next to him as the bagpipes sounded from that chilly and windy knob, and out over the valley below.  As the pipes played Amazing Grace, she had placed her hand under Jims' arm, leaned her head on his shoulder, and sobbed.

 

They talked to one another that night like they hadn't talked in twenty years. She was still in town, staying at his fathers house. She planned to leave for Ohio today.

Bill got up from his chair, and that brought Jim back to the present. “Hand me a can of snuff, will you Jim.” Jim reached under the counter and pulled out the tin, “You know they’re beginning to say this stuff and smoking will kill you.” Bill nodded and said “Yeah, so they say, but at my age ranchin’s gonna kill me first.” Jim just shook his head and smiled. Ed sat his front chair legs on the floor, “Well if that kick to the head from that mule didn’t kill him when were kids, I reckon a little Kentucky tobacco won’t.” He chuckled, then he added “Does explain a lot though don’t it?” Bill grinned at the good natured ribbing. He slapped the tin in his palm a few times and went back to his chair. “You never smoked or dipped did you, Jim” Wilson asked? Before Jim could answer, Ed spoke up and said “No Jane wouldn’t put up with that.” There was a nervous silence for a second, so Jim forced a laugh and said “ Jane wouldn’t put up with a lot of things.” Nothing was spoken after that for several minutes. Finally, Wilson pushed his big hat up on his head and changed the subject. “ You figurin' on stayin' and keepin' the store open now, Jim?”

Jim looked around the old dimly lit store. He knew that there would be little income from this place. He’d pay the bills that operating it would accrue, and make a little profit, but that was about all. He was already set financially though, and coming back home, working the store, well, it had satisfied a need in him that he hadn’t really been conscious he had. These shelves full of canned goods, old lanterns, tack and ranching gear, the smell of leather mingled with the sweet smell of livestock feed, and the feel of warmth from wood burning in the stove on cold days, they all appealed to him now as they never had before.

 

 Is it possible to start over by going back to the past? He often said he couldn’t wait to leave this little “hole in the road town” when he was a young man. Now, middle aged and discontented in life, the place was comforting to him somehow. The three old fellows that came for coffee every morning, just as they had since he was a boy, reminded him that a simple life could be a hard life at times; but it could also bring more peace.

 These men had survived the Dust Bowl, the Great Depression, and world wars. They had lost sons to war and other children to Pneumonia and Measles. They survived it all because they had deep roots.They had roots that went deep enough to find the  nourishment needed to feed and heal a wounded soul. Roots. Jim now felt like it was time to re-establish his.

“ Yep, I might be crazy” he answered, “but its time to come home.” With a wink and a look at Wilson he kidded, “Besides I feel responsible to have a place for Wilson to get a break from Erma every day.” That drew a laugh from everyone. “Thank God for that” Wilson joked, and with that he got up and hung his tin cup on a four pegged board on the wall, then zipped up his coat. He looked at Jim,“ Better head back to the ranch. I’ll be in next week, after I sell some steers, to settle my bill.” Jim held up his hand and replied “ No hurry, Wilson. All kidding aside, give my best regards to Erma, and thank her for all the food after the funeral.” “I will, Jim,” said Wilson, and as he headed out the door, he stopped for a second, ”Good to have you home, son.”

Ed and Bill also got up. “ I best be hittin’ the road too, I reckon,” said Ed. “Yeah, me too,” Bill added as he brought a bag of cattle mineral to the counter. “So long Ed ,“ Jim said as the old rancher went through the door. Jim looked past Bill to see Jane pulling into the drive. She got out and spoke to Ed, who gave her a hug and a pat on the back. Bill saw her too, and then turned back to the counter. After Jim wrote the purchase on a ticket and placed it in the drawer, he looked up to see Bill staring at him.

 

 “Something else you need, Bill?” he asked. “ Nah, that’ll do for today,” he replied.“Let me carry that out for you” Jim said, as he rounded the corner of the counter and started to grab the bag. Bill shook his head and said “ Nope, I can get ‘er,” and he tucked the bag under his arm. After he placed his hand on the door knob, he turned slightly, hesitated, then said “ Jane still loves you, boy. That’s as plain as the sun in the sky at noon.” He paused a few seconds then added, “Your Pa spent his last few years mighty lonely. I know old Wilson kids about Erma, but he don’t wanna be without her, you know that. My point is, you’re young yet and they’s a chance o’ fixin’ whats broke if you’re of a mind to. After all, no better place to start a thing over than going back to where it began. I reckon sometimes a mans future is in the past." Jim just nodded and said "Thanks, Bill."  "Yup" and Bill went out the door.

 

 Jim watched through the glass as Bill talked for a minute with Jane. She gave him a hug before he got in his truck. Jane paused outside for a minute or or more, and stood looking at the storefront.Then she grabbed her coat tight to her and headed inside.

Jane entered the store with a jingle of the door. As the latch clicked behind her, she looked around and said “ You’re going to need help to run this place.” She walked over to the counter and looked up at Jim with a sweet sentimental smile. Jim nodded and walked across the creaking old wooden floor and took the help wanted sign from the window. He walked back behind the counter and slid the sign toward her. He looked into her eyes and noticed tears in the corners of them. He looked back down at the sign and said quietly, “The job is yours if you want it.” Then he glanced over at the four now empty chairs around the wood stove and said, “You come highly recommended.”

Jane  stood there and looked into his eyes for several seconds, then took off her coat and walked over and hung it next to his. She pulled a white apron from under the counter. While she put her hands behind her back and tied it,  she nodded her head sideways towards the chairs, smiled through her tears, and said “ They asked me to fix the coffee from now on.”



　

Mr Greens Summer School

It was the summer that I was 16 years old. Like most of the kids my age, I needed a part-time job to earn spending money, and keep fuel in my car. I was dating a girl some distance away at the time, and when I was able to make the trip from  Kentucky to her small town in rural western Illinois, it got in my pocket a bit. Long distance relationships, I learned, could be a bit expensive. So, I took a position at a hospital working as a groundskeeper. I learned some valuable lessons  because of that summer job; few of which were about landscaping.

My great-uncle was the Chief Electrician at this particular facility, and when I had mentioned my need for part-time work, he pulled a few strings and secured a summer of mowing, pruning and planting at the hospital. "The fellow you're gonna be working with is a little out there," he told me, "and everyday you'll see him head for the cafe a time or two. He'll come back in a happier state after each trip cross the street" he said with a wink. The cafe was famous for it's chili, and was the hospital community favorite, I would learn. It was the bar at the cafe, however, that my uncle was referring to, and my supervisors trips weren't for food always.

My supervisor, Mr. Green, was a tall skinny man with the kind of Errol Flynn pencil mustache that a lot of older fellows sported back then. He was bent slightly,  and when he walked he swung his arms out in front of him a little, as if the pendulum-like motion helped propel him forward. His  baggy pants were out of the 1950's, and cinched by a thin belt that fought to hold them to his scrawny waist. The day I showed up for work he was bending over a water hose, screwing it on to the faucet. I introduced myself and without more than a glance he grouchily said "Your uncle is a good worker...won't take long to find out if it runs in the family I reckon." And off he went, leaving me standing there. He turned around and said " Well, come on then." I followed behind him to the old brick and stone shop where I would report each day for work.

Over the next few days I was given mowing jobs, hoeing a vegetable plot for the Nuns, and pulling weeds as daily tasks. Each time I reported for work, Mr. Green would rattle off curtly what the day would include and get me the needed tools, then set me me off in the direction of my work. He was the grouchiest  man I had ever met at times, and I didn't think he liked me much. Some of the other maintenance men introduced themselves over time and would ask with a wink " How's old Green treating you? Making any trips across the street?" And with a chuckle they would be off. Mr. Green was making trips to  the cafe often; at breaks in the morning, at lunch, and in the afternoon. I had to say that his work never suffered from his trips across the street though.

Mr. Green was meticulous in his approach to landscaping. He trimmed bushes as neat as a haircut, he knew the names of every plant and flower, and how much water each piece of fauna required on hot Kentucky afternoons. I remember once that it started raining while he was watering a flower bed, and he just kept watering the whole time it rained. I was on break, and several of the hospital staff were watching out the window and trading jokes about "crazy old Green" not knowing enough to come in out of the rain. "He's drunk as usual", one person said, "he can't feel it.", and everyone laughed, including me. "But, " she added " he does keep these grounds beautiful." Most agreed.

Mr. Green would tell me how to point the mower in one direction and mow the same way every time so the pattern was just right. He insisted on attention to detail, and would let me know in no uncertain terms when he was less than pleased with my work. And he hated weeds with a passion. Once, he took me to a flower bed early one morning and told me to pull all the weeds. It hadn't had attention for a while and the task looked daunting. I took a deep breath and started to work. I pulled weeds in the sun for hours. Finally, I finished and headed for the shop for lunch. While I was eating my sandwich, old Green came in and said "You gonna finish that weeding after lunch?" I was miffed. He went on,"There are still a few left you need to get." "I've pulled at least thousand weeds from that bed," I said trying to hide the irritation in my voice. "Well, you didn't get all of  them, go back and finish after you eat." and with that he went back out the door.

At the end of the day, and after I had  removed every single thing that wasn't a flower, I was washing my hands and preparing to leave. Old man Green came in the cool dimly lit shop, sat down in his old swivel rocker by the desk and lit his ever present pipe.  He then smacked the arms of the chair lightly with his hands. "Boy, there's something you need to learn. When you pull weeds from a garden, folks passing by later won't know or talk about the hundreds of weeds you removed, they won't know how hard you worked, or how much sweat you poured in to it, the only thing they will see is what you left behind." He let that sink in then said" You have to see a thing through all the way to the end, then folks will appreciate it better...and so will you." Lesson Number One. I didn't quite get it then, and I wasn't listening as well as I should have to a skinny old drunk who watered flowers in the rain, but over the years what he said has come back to me time and again.

I wasn't enjoying my time much at my job but I had committed to the summer, so I would stick it out for my uncles sake. My uncle was a WWII veteran of Patton's Infantry, and had seen the worst of the war, including liberating concentration camps. I held him in high regard. Old Green, after all, certainly was not abusive, he was just cantankerous much of the time. I laughed about him (and complained about him) to my friends and parents often. One day we were visiting my  aunt and uncles farm and during the course of conversation my uncle said "I've heard that Green is a little hard to get along with." I nodded but didn't want to appear ungrateful for the job, so I said nothing. "He likes you though," he said. "He doesn't show it if he does," I gruffed. "Ole man Green don't show his cards to anyone, but he told me you were a good worker and a decent kid. That's a compliment from him." After a bit of silence he added "There is more to the man than you know." A few weeks later I learned what he meant.

Old man Green was not at work one day when I got there. I waited a bit, then decided to just finish mowing a plot I had begun the day before; until I saw Green and got further instruction. I looked for the keys to the shed where the fuel was stored, but didn't see them hanging in their usual place on the wall. Mr. Greens desk drawer was partially open, so I pulled it out to see if the keys might be there. What I found instead was a bottle of Vodka, and an 8 x 10 sepia photo in a slightly rusty old frame. In the photo was a  handsome young man in a WWII Army uniform sitting next to a very beautiful dark haired young woman. It was the pencil mustache that caught my eye. This couldn't be old man Green in his younger days...could it?

"That's Green you know." A voice from behind startled me. It was Greens boss, the Operations Director. "I was just looking for the fuel shed keys," I said, trying to explain myself. The Director smiled and said, "He was an Army Air Corps pilot in the war, and a damn good one too. He once circled over a plane shot down in Germany, protecting the pilot from the enemy.He stayed and fought until he was so low on fuel that, after he landed, the plane ran out of gas before he could get it taxied to the hanger. He spent enough time up there that the US was able to get to the pilot and rescue him." "Gee whiz" was all I could say.

The Director took the picture from my hands and looked at it a minute. "The woman with him was his wife. They had a son." He put the photo back in the drawer and went on, " Old Green was discharged after the war and headed home to surprise his wife. On the day he arrived,  his wife and son weren't there. Just the night before, while he was on the train home, they were both killed in a collision with a big truck. His next door neighbor had to give him the news.Green was never the same after that, and he's been living out of a bottle ever since." I looked out the door and then back to the Director, "I didn't know" I said. He sat on the corner of the desk and crossed his arms. " I know people think he's crazy, a drunk, and all that. But like you, they have know idea who he was. I put up with some things because I do know.. and because the pilot he saved from capture was my dad."
He got up after a few seconds, reached in the middle drawer, and then handed me the fuel shed keys. "Green won't be in today, he doesn't miss work often, but he has been sick lately. Just do what you normally do. He should be back tomorrow."

After the director left, I pulled the photo from the drawer again and looked once more at the movie star-handsome couple. I sighed and hung my head. I never had a clue who this man was or what he had gone through to shape him as he was. I had judged him so cruelly, and I felt ashamed. I had always looked at him as though he had been old and broken down his whole life. I had never once considered that he wasn't always old; that he had once been young and full of life, and had hopes and dreams just like I had now in my youth. Some people I realized, were  much more than their appearance. Lesson Number Two.

After that talk with the Director I held a whole different view of Mr. Green. I found myself smiling more at work,and not the least bit fazed by his sometimes gruff demeanor. I looked at his trips to the cafe bar as pain killing time. I never made fun of that again, just felt sad for him. I never mentioned the photo, but I did converse with him more.

One day he mentioned  my uncle, and I said "He was in World War Two. I have nothing but respect for war veterans, they are owed a lot.  I have kin in Vietnam right now. Someday, I think I may join the military myself."  Mr. Green didn't say anything back at that time, but he did what he didn't very often do...he took a puff from his pipe, winked at me, and grinned. He and I began to be more at ease with each other. I found myself working harder for him, and found him more friendly to me. We even shared a laugh or two before the summer was over and I had to head back to school. I looked at him differently and treated him with respect; as a result he looked at me in a kinder way too. Lesson Number Three.

On the last day I worked, he took me to the cafe across the street and bought my lunch. Before I left, he tapped his pipe into his hand, refilled it from his tobacco pouch, then said "I've enjoyed workin' with you, boy." The only real compliment he ever gave me personally.  He turned and headed back to the shop, his swinging arms helping him to push on.

I hadn't been back to school long, when one day my uncle stopped  by our house on his way home from work. He wanted to talk to me. He told me old Mr. Green was found dead at home after he didn't report to work that day. He had been laying on the couch, his pipe beside his head, and a picture of his wife and son on his stomach. "I asked him how you had worked out for him just last week when I met up with him at the cafe. Old Green said that you were a good worker, that you were smart... and that you'd make a good soldier someday."  High praise indeed, from the old man many called Crazy Old Green. He had finished another war, fought his last battle against painful heartache, and was on a train bound for home again.

Today, sometimes when a hard rain comes while I'm watering my flowers, well, I find that I just keep on watering. Hard rains usually don't last long, and much of it runs off. If the flowers need a good soaking, you just have to help Mother Nature out a bit. Might look a little crazy, but nobody knows and understands the need of the plants like the  master gardener does. Thanks, Captain Green.
Call that Lesson Number Four.