I was so focused on the Farmer’s story that I didn’t notice Rachel had entered the doorway of the Farmer’s office.  She lightly tapped on the door and I spun my head left to see Rachel and Evan, the Farmer’s grandson.  “Hey honey, how long have you been standing there? Hey Evan, I’m just talking with your Grandpa.”  “About the posters?  I’m guessing,” asked Evan, again showcasing his big brain.  “Yep, we were just talking about these amazing posters, Evan.”  I looked at Rachel and asked her first with my eyes, then with my words, “Are you mad?”  Rachel shook her head no and I believed her.  I looked over at the Farmer who was now staring at another person in his home.  Visitors were not commonplace inside the farmhouse.  “Do you want to pick this up another time?”  I asked the Farmer.  “I can show Rachel my photos from the Air and Space Museum, would that be okay Grandpa?”  “Do you want to go see a jet plane, honey?” I asked sort of jokingly.  “Right after we have a chat in the hallway, can I see you please,” answered Rachel with not a hint of a smile on her face.

“What the heck is going on, you have been in here for 25 minutes,” started Rachel.  “This guy is about to bare a major league secret to me about some part of his past that he has buried for a really long time,” I answered.  “Is he responsible for plutonium or something, because my patience is on fumes right now.”  “It’s a long story,” I began to paraphrase his story, “Basically this guy worked at Topps Baseball Cards, he took some liberties with cards he produced, I think they are worth millions of bucks, he found a soft spot here on the farm like 50 or 60 years ago, and he is taking me down memory lane here.  Can I have just a short leash here to finish this off and then the rest of the day is 10000% yours/ours?”  Rachel tapped my face and stared me down, “oh you are going to owe me big time for this one.”  And with that she called over to Evan, “yo, Evan let’s crack open that photo album, dude?”

I walked back into the office and sat down and motioned with my right hand for the Farmer to continue.  “Evan is part of this, I’ll explain that later.  Right, so I walk out of the barn, my car is there in the driveway, gas tank is full, no one around.  I could have easily taken off in my car and headed to Florida and probably never saw this guy nor this farm ever again.”  “But you didn’t,” I said, “what stopped you?”  The Farmer looked out at his crop, his land, his salvation.  “I had never seen anything so beautiful.  The sun was rising up through the corn fields, the air was so clean, I could hear chickens clucking, and absolutely nothing else.  I had never felt so at ease.  I looked up to the skies and mouthed something to my mother. Something like, Mom I found a home.”  I could see that even though the years and decades had piled up since that moment, it was still as impactful to the Farmer.  I walked up to the Farmer and put my arm on his shoulder.  “Wow, that was beautiful, what a moment for you, especially with nothing left in the tank of your Rhode Island life.”  “Well said, Hemingway,” joked the Farmer.  “Hey, he is my favorite writer,” I joked back.

“I walked up to the farmhouse door and was greeted by a beautiful middle aged woman.  She asked if I was looking for her husband.  I nodded and added ‘yes, ma’am.’  She laughed and pointed to her husband standing just past a huge apple tree.  I walked over to the man who had greeted me the night before.  He was holding a black mug filled with steaming black coffee and he was just staring into his fields.  He greeted me with a handshake and said, ‘Jules Carpenter.  I shook his hand, thanked him for his hospitality and told him that this morning was one of the best days of my life.”  I made my way back to the couch but remained glued to his every word.  “I asked Mr. Carpenter if I could repay him somehow, that I was hard working, strong, and eager to show him my gratitude.  He asked me if I had ever worked on a farm.  I answered, no.  I was a city kid and looked every bit of it.  Mr. Carpenter chuckled for a few seconds and then invited me to join him and his wife for breakfast and they would figure something out.”  “So, you walk up with Mr. Carpenter or solo?” I inquired.  “No, I went up ahead.  I got to know that Mr. Carpenter had his routines and I wasn’t going to interfere with them.  He literally scanned his farm, his fields, his property, like a computer, and knew where to get working.  He was a wonderful man and an amazing farmer.”  

The Farmer paused for a second, remembering his mentor and I was guessing his father-in-law.  “Mr. Carpenter’s wife, Audrey, greeted me at the door and handed me a cup of coffee.  I didn’t drink coffee at the time, but soon grew to love a nice hot cup of Joe.  By the time I sat down, Jules had entered the kitchen, the one you see right down the hallway there past the bathroom.  Audrey and Jules sat north and south at the table and I sat about northwest closest to Audrey. The first thing he said was that he felt he could trust me on my word. He said you had the opportunity to leave and bag me on the car and the room, but you didn’t. That kind of person was his kind of person. And with that said, Jules began with a few ideas that involved me as his assistant in the fields and I liked all of them.  His thought was to use me for a few days, if it worked out, I could stay and help on the farm.  If it didn’t, I had made good on my request to repay a debt of gratitude.  We shook hands and the kitchen was filled with a lot of happiness.”  

The Farmer, seemingly putting himself in that kitchen 50 or 60 years ago, then recalled the most unforgettable memory of his lifetime, “The sound of the screen door shutting broke the three of us out of our happy arrangement.  A glorious aroma of fresh flowers hit my nose.  And then I saw the most beautiful human being in the entire universe. She had her mother’s beauty.  She had her father’s bone structure.  Her hair flowed down past her shoulders, reddish blonde strands of gorgeousness.  Her jeans were tight.  Her flannel shirt was not.  Her voice was as sweet as anything the South had ever created. ‘Who’s this Mom?’ she asked, staring right into my eyes.”