Neighbors Visiting Neighbors 1992

Reflecting seems just the right thing to do as I bake cookies on a drizzly morning.  As I roll out the tiny dough balls and place them on the baking sheet, I remember that morning during the week past.  It could have been a morning fifty years ago — my quilting friend I were  engaged in serious quilt conversation.  We both belong to a new network quilting organization called, Quilt Alabama, and that opens up lots of room to talk quilts.  Also this friend is to teach the workshop for the Quilt Show on the Farm to be held here the first weekend in October, but it was loud barking of Jake that told us someone else had arrived.  As I answered a knock at the door, I saw the smiling face of a lifetime friend, who had stopped to visit a few days before and asked about how my Everlastings had turned out. I planted Everlasting seed last spring, but they didn’t come up.  As I opened the door, my friend stepped inside laden with blossoms.  He had a huge bouquet of zinnias,(which I took to the public library for many to enjoy); however, the real prize was the bunch of Everlastings — also called Strawflowers.  It was so typical of what my mother, or his mother, might have done many years ago — visiting a friend and bearing a gift of love by sharing flowers from their own yard.  This visit was so special and thoughtful; I shall never forget it.  I tied the Everlastings in a bunch and hung them on the sun porch to dry.  They will act as a reminder of this day for a long time to come.  Following a brief exchange of words and that friendly embrace we have shared over a lifetime, he was gone.

This friend is a wonderful teller of stories, and when he visited earlier, I asked him to again tell about his neighbor of many years ago. It was an old couple and they often called on my friend to do chores to help out.  This was before telephones, and they would send word by someone passing by that they needed this man’s service.  Frequently, he’d “jump” their car off, as batteries always seemed to be dead — especially on cold winter mornings.  It was this kind of day, cold and blustery, when a passerby brought word that the elderly couple needed help, but they didn’t say what kind of help.  With many chores of his own to do, my friend did not hurry to answer to call, thinking it again was a dead battery. When he did go, the lady of the house invited him into the sitting room.  Her husband was leaning back in the high-backed rocker with his eyes close — a plate of cold breakfast food setting nearby.  Friend touched the husband and looking at the wife, said, “Mrs. So and So, I think he’s dead,” and her calm reply was “Yeah, I think he is” – showing absolutely no emotion.  My friend felt remorseful that he had not gone immediately to see what his neighbors needed, and he never forgot that day.  My friend’s brother stopped by during this time and saw the cold breakfast food setting by the old man’s chair. The brother conjectured that the hard biscuits on the plate could have been the cause of death!

Living at the home place, unexpected visits of friends who share stories has to be the very best part of country living.

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