Country Funeral

The sky is dressed in its winter coat today. The varying shades of gray hides the sun and makes the temps feel even colder than it is. The dampness settles around my collar and makes me wish I'd started my winter beard sooner. The thicker facial hair would warm me up a bit. My cowboy hat does its job of keeping my head warm though. Winter is upon us. This less than bright and shiny winters day matches some of my inner being as I reflect over recent events.

Yesterday I attended the funeral of a great friend. He was nearly the same age as me. We'd known each other a long time. His wife and I had had connections to my home state of Kentucky that went way back to our childhood. Their children had grown up as friends to our children; they remain good friends to this day. His family and mine share more connections than I have time to write about.  His faith in  God and conservative views were a strong match to mine. Like-minded, he and I have tried to live Christian lives despite our struggles with our own human nature; neither of us perfect men, just men determined to keep on trying to make each day a little better than the last. He was just much better at it than me.

In a small rural town in southern Illinois a few hundred folks from three or four states gathered to pay respects to the big man whose smile, laughter, and heart matched his girth. As we made our way from all directions to the town hall where he lay, the sky was a display of brilliant blue, and the wind had the chill of early winter beneath its wings. Doctors, law enforcement, corporate leaders, farm and ranch folks, ministers, and cowboys all drove in the night before, or got up before the sun did, to make it to this mans last gathering with his friends. Alan loved visiting with people. He loved to laugh, talk, tease, and just plain enjoy the company of other like minded individuals. He'd have loved the crowd. And the food...my goodness.

The meal after the burial was all that you'd expect from rural Americans paying their respects. Meats, salads, breads, deserts, and dishes of every conceivable type were brought in by the friends of this good family. Food comforts and strengthens the soul. At the time when our world has changed so dramatically and the shaky future is seen through a clouded glass, food and friends are the support system that never fails. No one knows how to bring that kind of comfort more than country folks do. Brought one loving dish at a time, hours and hours of kitchen dwelling was made evident in the feast  that was offered on the long rows of tables. Folks ate and told their favorite stories of the man whose love of life and family were legend. We were all glad to have known him...and glad to know each other.

Time and again the remark was made (as it almost always is) that "we need to get together somewhere other than a funeral." Everyone promises to call or see each other soon, "while we can." We all mean it, sincerely mean it, but our busy lives will likely keep us apart until another of us passes, and we all come together again in support. And that's okay. The fact remains that, when we're needed the most, we will be there. That's just what friends and family do. With country folks, the line between friends and family is often blurred. Love, after all, knows no boundaries.

So as I load wood in the stove for warmth on this chilly morn, I'm warmed inside by the thought of yesterdays gathering. While bittersweet, we were all brought together in fellowship and love. We'd taken time out of our often hectic existences to come together for a greater good. As I thought of my wonderful friends, from here and far away, that I was able to spend a wonderful day with, I was immensely grateful.  A powerful magnet of kindness, caring, and compassion drew us collectively to the side of those who mourned their loss...and we were all rewarded. Alan was that magnet yesterday. It was just the way he'd have wanted it. It was special to me, the joy and sorrow interwoven.

So, as I say adios to an old friend I also have to say thanks to him. Thanks for years of friendship, miles of smiles, a barrel full of laughs, and a shared love of all the important things. And as for bringing together the greatest folks in the world yesterday ? Well, as usual, Alan old buddy, I owe you.

Some friends and family who came to say goodbye.

WARM SIDE OF THE WINDOW

The rainy mist is cold upon my skin today as I feed the animals. The water beads on my duster and Stetson in little BB sized drops until gravity persuades them to the ground. My breath steams as I load the containers with recently purchased feed. The fifty pound sacks make my muscles work, and the heat from the exertion feels good.

The ground is soggy beneath my boots. The recent days of rain have left the ground  a damp multicolored carpet of brown, yellow, and red  leaves. The high winds from a recent storm stripped nearly every bit of foliage from the trees, and has left their winter skeletons bare before the gloomy gray sky. A huge late autumn storm passed by us before it unleashed the many tornadoes that left horrible devastation in their wake. I will not complain about the wet and cold; my shelter from both is still thankfully intact. I have a warm fire and a hot cup of java to comfort me. Some folks now have neither, and my heart goes out to them.

I move to the lean-to shed and grab a bale of straw. The dog house, for that chicken herding pet of ours, needs a little bedding. A fresh floor of straw will provide a warm and dry haven for this chocolate covered "mans best friend". Hershey sniffs the golden bale, then runs off to the chicken pen to harass the chickens as they feed. He runs by and gives one half-hearted woof. The hens look annoyed but don't respond. They have a meal to finish, and no dog, safely on the other side of the fence, will be allowed to disturb that.

I gather the eggs from the many nest boxes. Eggs are few in number today. We don't provide artificial light to our hen house to encourage more laying. We allow the hens to rest in the short lit days of winter. Our hens lay for up to eight years, partly, I believe, because we let the girls lay when they feel like it. Spring, summer, and fall production is plenty to provide us with 40 or 50 dozen eggs in the garage fridge at all times. We sell some, barter some, give some to family, and use the rest for good ole Chicken Ranch cooking. There is no comparison to store-bought eggs. Dark rich yellow yolks are much preferred here over the anemic Super Market type, which are six months old and hardly "farm fresh" when you buy them.

The wind picks up a little and ruffles the feathers on the hens. A couple of stubborn leaves are finally urged from their hold on the limbs, and they make their final descent to the wet ground. The wet olive drab and brown prairie grasses are bent low in one direction, looking like a bad comb-over on the bald soil. Here and there, dark puddles are garnished with colored leaves floating  like little sailboats in them. I look around and realize that much has  been altered in the last few weeks.  It is only the pines that stand resolute and unchanged by the seasons touch.

I stop by the woodshed to gather an armload for the fire. The pile is lean, time to call the woodman or head out to my daughters land and cut some more. Hmmm, think I'll call the woodman to get me by for awhile. I head up to the house and balance the wood in one arm as I open the door to the mud room. I give my boots a kick and walk sock footed to the rack by the fireplace. I unload my arms with a clunk clunk on the hearth.I arrange the longs so that small wood is available to start the fires, and larger logs are left to carry through the night. I notice that I need a little kindling, so I put on my boots again, and walk out the kindling pile.

As I make my way to the back porch, kindling in hand, the rain picks up again, and the wind blows a chilly wetness down my upturned collar.  It helps me hasten my steps a bit. There is a quiet moan in the pines as I walk by, and I recognize the sound. It is the whisper of Old Man Winter, warning that he's on his way. I smile to myself as I think of the warmth of the crackling fires in the shop stove and living room fireplace. And the hot coffee waiting in the pot. The hen house and Hershey's abode are freshly strawed and prepared for icy cold nights. My sheeps' wool lined Indian moccasins are waiting by the door. " I hear you old man", I think to myself, "we've been expecting you."

I step in to the mud room,  and set the kindling on the step to the kitchen. I put the door between me and the wet chill blowing across the back porch. I hang up my drippin' duster and cowboy hat. As I slip the warm moc's on my feet and gather up the kindling again, I take in the slight smoky smell of the fire that is mingled with the roasted aroma of the coffee in the pot. With the fireplace squared away, I walk over to the west window and look at the rain falling from the cold gray sky. It is a pleasant thing to be on this side of the glass on this cold and wet late autumns day.

Yep, Old Man Winter, we know that it's time. It's been a year since we've seen you. Come when you will, I think we're ready for you now.