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July 07 Mr RobertsI wonder what Mr. Roberts, the old man next door is thinking about. He sits on a plastic chair in his blue zip up jump suit. It's his house, his land. And he is alone. He doesn't look sad, I can tell that much, by his posture. He looks more like he is pondering something, his arms resting on his knees and his foot scuffing at his concrete porch. He has been sick. His grandchildren tell me over the fence that it doesn't look too good. They just shake their heads and say "He's pushing 85, now." He has some kind of chest ailment. Mr Roberts wife died about 20 years ago. He has lived in his house since the '50's. Since we moved in 5 years ago, we have always seen him puttering about outside. He has an old fashioned blue tractor that he rides on and plows the whole field behind his house. Like a Norman Rockwell painting, he drives it with a pipe in his mouth, a hat and his blue jump suit. I have never seen him wear anything else. Some days I see him just standing there in his yard with his hands in his pockets looking around. Old people do that, I notice. Younger people are too busy to reflect it seems. Or too self conscious to stand in the middle of the yard and just look up at a tree. Sometimes he faces our house. I notice him through our semi-open blinds. This, at one time was all his land. A very long time ago, he sold off pieces of it to family and friends. When we first moved in, we put up a privacy fence on the other side of our house. He asked if we were planning to put one up on his side. We said no. How could we even do that? "This is all he has." I said to my husband. His land, his scenery. Of course, we never even thought about putting up a fence on his side. Part of what keeps him alive is his neighbor's company. To remind him that even in his solitude, he is not alone. If but from afar, he can look over and see into our dining room and see me cooking by a warm yellow stove light. I know his soul needs to see people living , doing simple things, like watering the roses and mowing the grass. I would never dream of taking that away from him. I try to keep my poodles from barking at him. I'd hate to have him end his peaceful years on his land with my dogs annoying him. I keep running out there every time they start barking. Hopefully they will learn. He is a nice quiet man. But when his family visits, you can hear him speak loud and clear as day. Every word. He is sharp as a tack. He has not slowed down, at least not until recently. It's his activity that has kept his health. Always doing something outside. I hear him hammering away in his tin barn/workshop sometimes. Or I will see him ride out on his 4 wheeler all the way to the horizon, checking something on his land. He has grown tomatoes and collard greens the last couple of years and offered some t us. "Pick all you want" He said. Sometimes his grandsons will come out and they will shoot their gun at a big target. I feel him come alive when his family comes to visit. I can not point out enough, though that he is not in the least bit feeble or sad looking like you might expect someone of his age, that lives alone to be. He has a good natured air to him and still resonates as the patriarch of the family. His voice is clear and distinct, with a slight southern drawl. When we first moved in, and we would sleep with our windows open, in the early morning hours I could hear his voice speaking as my head lay on it's pillow and he talked to early morning visitors. I'd listen and doze back off, thinking about how it must have been back in the day. Back in the '50's when his back was strong and he worked the land with a strength and determination. Where farming was the pride of the land, THE way of life.
Now, I wonder what he thinks about. Since this last illness hit him, does he think about how his life has been. Does he examine all it's pages and know that soon he may pass away? Is he prayerful? Does he think about his wife who has passed and wonder about seeing her again? I just don't know. I just smile and am thankful to know him, know of him and wave when I see him. His arm shoots up instantly to wave back. He is a silent example. He keeps things simple. That's how I want to be. How my husband and I both want our lives to be. Comments (1)
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