The Peaceful Little Man

I feel so blessed to live in an area where I have several options to get home. For instance, if I have to pee, it's interstate all the way baby! If I'm feeling the need for a little fresh air and scenery, then it's the back roads @ 45 mph.... even slower if I can help it. The whole back road situation brings my country soul so much joy. This is where I get to see that the little man hasn't totally disappeared. The old churches, farmhouses, pole sheds, fences, and one stop gas stations (very few of those left and fewer that have gas)... not to mention the smells. Krispy Creme doesn't have anything on the smell of fresh hay bails, horse farms, mowed lawns, and people grilling out. It surely makes the move way out of town feel worthy. 

This month marks a year that I've been driving these back roads, and to celebrate I stopped a few weeks ago at an unknown house on my way home. However, this is not just any house. This house looks at me in such a sultry mysterious way every time I drive past. Actually, it's not so much the house, but the aged rocker on the front porch. The house doesn't look like it could be more than 600 square feet. The front has a concrete porch that runs the length of the house and is about two feet off the ground. There is something about this rocker that just draws me in. Maybe because it stands all alone, as if it is the only one who has survived the storm of life.

It's peaceful the way it sits there under the small awning as the sun shines around the corner, as if to get a quick peek at it before setting behind the trees.

It's so picturesque, almost as if it's just waiting for someone to take a snapshot and publish it in a book or magazine. Anyway, I stopped at the house. I figured the person who lived there couldn't be too much of a looney since a few weeks prior they had a sign out for fresh peaches for sale. I knocked on the door and a very petite elderly man made his way out. I kept thinking "he's going to think I'm crazy for stopping because of a chair." I noticed he had a hearing aid (not that it helped). I told him how I drive home from work in anticipation of seeing the lonely standing rocker. He smiled, then laughed. I'd come to learn that it was his wife's, whom passed last year at 92. He is 82. After he invited me in (yes, I was leery, but had pepper spray) I'd come to learn more about him. He served in WWII and was going to Washington D.C. next week to be honored. He grew up in the area and that his family was located all around the area with his daughter residing next door. I have a thing for the older generations. I love their stories. His home was probably just as it was when he and his wife moved there. It had brown shag carpeting, a floral brown couch and chair from the 70's, a photo of their only child from years back, one wood stove in the corner, and all white walls. The bare minimal of decorations adorned with years of living. He was a joy to visit with and I could tell he was pleased that I stopped to share my thoughts about the old weathered rocker. He invited me back anytime and I plan to take him up on that offer.