We should be so lucky

A few weeks ago, heck, probably a month ago at least, Cash was having a particularly tough time going to bed. He had a cold, he was teething, he had anxiety, what else could the poor child do than cry in his crib? I hate to hear him scream so I did what I'm not pediatrically advised to do, I picked him up and took him out for a walk at 7:30pm. Probably should have allowed him to cry it out because not getting to bed until 9pm really threw us off schedule for the rest of the week but I'm glad we did what we did. It must have been two months ago since I just remembered it was still light out at 7:30! Anyhoooo... We went for a walk on our usual trail, the Papermill Trail, aptly named for it's prior use as a logging road to the papermill. The trail is 5 miles start to finish. It's a really nice walk through the trees and farmed fields. Since it was so late we decided to park at the top of the trail and forgo the creepy walk through the trees in the dark. I was, after all, raised by parents who instilled the fear of "axe murderers who will throw you dead in a ditch somewhere" into my psyche. We turned onto Upland road and I was greeted by this:



Sunflowers as far as we could see. Unimaginably beautiful. We get out of the car and I am pulling the stroller out of the trunk when I hear, "That's quite a contraption you've got there." I turn around and see an old man in a neon orange hat holding an old 35mm camera. He stares at me for a moment, half squinting into the sun and the briefest shine in his eye tells me that he is lonely. He's shuffling his feet in the dirt,turning his head from the flowers back to me putting Cash into the stroller; he walks a few feet closer toward us but still on the other side of the road. I can tell he wants to talk but he doesn't want to feel like he's burdening someone so he shuffles real slow in case I should turn and walk up the trail and forget about him. Cash is buckled and looking quite pleased with the steering wheel on his new stroller so we cross the road and meet our new friend.




"Sunflowers!" he says to us. "Planted 'em for a lady. Her memorial. Whole field of 'em." He had a large hearing aid in his ear but I'm sure he didn't have it on because every question I asked was unanswered so I was left to smiling, nodding, and creasing my brow to convey what I thought. I learned that he was from one of the M states. Michigan, Minnesota one of those. He moved here when his wife died 3 weeks shy of their 50th anniversary. He lives behind his son's house where he does everything for himself except his laundry; son's wife does that for him. "I do it all on my own you know!" he tells me. He had planned a joint anniversary party for his wife and some friends of theirs who were also celebrating this rare milestone but his wife got sick and left him here alone. I think he said that was ten years ago. He's 87. His son wanted him to wear reflective clothing when he walks on the road but he feels silly so they settled for the neon hat. He still feels silly. He collects old beer cans with naked ladies on them and carries around pictures of his collection in his pocket. He also collects old milling stones. Stones bigger than he is tall. His son drives him all around looking for these stones. He has pictures of them too. But his true passion is squirrels and "chippies". He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out an envelope that was probably fabricated before I was cutting teeth from the weariness of the creases. The envelope contains pictures of squirrels on a ladder, chippies in a boot, squirrels next to pumpkins, on snowmen, in a squirrel house, atop an L.L. Bean catalog. Squirrels photographed in every way you can imagine. He builds squirrel houses connected by tall ladders. He decorates the ladders, houses, platforms for each season and lures the squirrels with peanuts so he can photograph them. He looks at a particular picture of a squirrel next to two pumpkins, "You take this one home with you. You'll like it." We talked for about 30 minutes about the houses being built on the hill, babies, his family, squirrels (of course), the weather, everything you can imagine. He wants to know where I'm headed and I tell him I walk the trail every day. He offers a "really slow escort" and I tell him I'd love to walk with him. He was so chivalrous although I know if we were to be attacked by a creepy-farm-beastie it would be me protecting him instead of he protecting me! He did carry an awfully heavy stick though. He walked with Cash and I for about a half mile before he turned left to head home. "Thanks for walking with me." he said, "I'll see you 'round again soon." He shuffled back toward his house as the sun was setting on those beautiful flowers. We only walked a mile that night because the sun was quickly turning out our light. When we got back to the field I crossed the street and got these last pictures:






That night when I got home I got a call from Travis in Texas. I told him all about the man I met and the sunflowers. I couldn't stop talking about the squirrels and stones, the flowers and the sunset, the old man in his neon hat and the lucky woman who was given a few acres of sunflowers that the world would never forget. It was one of those moments that stop time. Like the moment snow begins to fall; rain that shakes the house with it's power; Cash's uncontrollable laughter; late night fires in the backyard; blowing bubbles with Cash and hearing him giggle every time they pop on his skin; snow cone syrup dripping down your chin in the summer; getting stuck in the mud in a big truck; swimming in the ocean; decorating the Christmas tree; an unexpected package on your doorstep. Those are all moments that make me remember how short and perfect life is. It's short but it's wide and I'm trying every day to not take things for granted no matter how small they seem. I think about that old man every few days. I didn't even get his name. The things he must have seen in his life and the hardships he most certainly endured have led him to a place where he can sit on his porch and watch his squirrels all day and be perfectly happy. I'm sure he stuck with me so strongly because I can picture Nana sitting in her sun room watching her deer and taking hundreds of pictures of her cats. I wish I had loved her cat pictures as much as she did because that's what was important to her. At the time I rolled my eyes and thought, "MORE cat pictures?!" Life is about the big things that seem so little not the little things that seem so big. Love who you are and who loves you. It's all we have.

Whoever loved Anne Botma loved her completely and adoringly. Every morning sunflowers lift their sleepy heads toward the east to welcome the sun on her field and every night they bow their heads to her in rememberance. We should all be so lucky...