During the waning years of the depression in a small south eastern
One particular day Brother Miller was bagging some early potatoes
for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but
clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I
paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green
peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas
I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Brother Miller
and the ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas...sure look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?"
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize aggie-best taw around here."
"Is that right? Let me see it."
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort
of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"
"Not 'zackley .....but, almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip
this way let me look at that red taw."
"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.
With a smile she said: "There are two other boys like him in our
community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain
with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back
with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like
red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green
marble or an orange one, perhaps."
I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A
short time later I moved to Utah but I never forgot the story of this
man, the boys and their bartering.
Several years went by each more rapid than the previous one. Just
recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho
community and while I was there learned that Brother Miller had
died.
They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends
wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.
Upon our arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the
relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and
the other two wore short haircuts, dark suits and white shirts
obviously potential or returned missionaries.
They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed,
by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her,
kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved
on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them
as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed
his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.
Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and
mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening she
took my hand and led me to the casket. "Those three young men, that just
left, were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they
appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim
could not change his mind about color or size...they came to pay their
debt.
We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she
confided, "but, right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in
Idaho."
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her
deceased husband. Resting underneath were three, magnificently shiny, red
marbles.
After a while, you learn the subtle differences between holding a
hand and chaining a soul; and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't mean security; and you begin to learn that kisses
aren't contracts and presents aren't promises, and you begin to accept
your defeats with your head up and your eyes open, with the grace of a
woman, not the grief of a child...you plant your own garden and decorate
your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. And
you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong, and
you really do have worth. And you learn and learn.
With every good-bye you learn.