Ponderations
He was a farmer, an honest to goodness hitch ‘em up early and walk behind all day long except for a “pinch of time out for lunch and a short lean back in the big easy chair.” He wore “overhauls” with patches in the knees
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Ponderations
He was a farmer, an honest to goodness hitch 'em up early and walk behind all day long except for a "pinch of time out for lunch and a short lean back in the big easy chair." He wore "overhauls" with patches in the knees and the behind side, a straw hat that was coming apart around the brim and a sweat bandana around his neck. It was easy to see he was accustomed to the hardest kind of work, in the longest kind of days and never getting time off to travel or just do nothing for a few days.
For some reason he sticks in my mind, though there were men like him in our family and in neighbors' families. I cannot recall his name, only the few words of a short conversation we shared so long ago. His place was a short walk down the road from my grandparents' farm. And that is how I came upon him. I was walking. Killing time. Probably a little bored.
I stood there, watching as his mule pulled the plow toward me. The old guy stopped him and gave me a big smile. I asked him why he farmed since it was so hard. He said he couldn't do anything else. I felt kind of sorry for him until he said he was "tending God's garden" and if he didn't do it, who would? I had to get a good bit older myself before I realized what he meant by saying he couldn't do anything else. I figured he was not capable of doing other work, until in my middle age the light came on in my head. He had a calling, and he took that calling seriously. He was not interested in seeing the world. He was only focused on tending a very important garden.
That man brought a change of thinking in me. He was dirty, sweaty, raggedly attired, but as I look back I see a man who knew who he was and at the end of the day could look in a mirror and say, "Well done, old fella. Well done."