It’s funny how sometimes someone crosses your path and leaves an imprint on your day, sometimes your heart.
I was at the deli counter with my husband when from behind walked a very seasoned and erect gentlemen who had the look of Wendell Berry. He carried a small package from the butcher counter in his hand and stopped suddenly. He smiled with childlike glee about the entire assortment of delicacies behind the glass where pastas and cabbage salads, glazed and teriyaki salmon, eggplant parmesan, and brisket were all appealingly displayed.
“You gonna eat all that?” he said gesturing to the counter.
“Probably just chicken or fish, today,” I said amused.
He must have heard me say fish because his cheeks and eyes lit up. I recognized that look immediately because growing up, my family of origin was, and still is, a fishing family. It’s what we did.
That’s when he spoke about his own beloved fly fishing, pinching his knobby fingers barely apart to display the size of a tiny trout fly, and smiling so hard his eyelids crinkled closed.
I tell you I wanted to reach out and hug him.
“Lived in Wyoming and Montana with more fish in the rivers than anywhere,” he said.
“And grizzlies?” I added (my grizzly phobia coming through).
He nodded assuredly.
“Now, I’ve a cabin in Deckers…”
“Texas?” I said, not quite hearing him clearly because his voice seemed to drop in volume.
“Deckers, Colorado!” he said loudly, maybe a tad annoyed, “but the drought and high heat have hurt the fish. They soon die if you release them after the catch. No fishing in the afternoons.”
There was melancholy in his words.
“And the bears—oh, a bear dug up my dog I buried three feet underground. Terrible problem this year with the bears.”
He shook his head and I was touched by his confidentiality about that beloved companion.
But then he perked up again and stood tall with his chin in the air. He seemed pleased to simply converse with another human being, scrunched his eyelids together under the silver rims of his glasses, then walked a few steps all cheery-like with a final thought.
“Have a nice life,” he said with a huge smile.
Have a nice life. Have a nice life. Have a nice life. Aw, didn’t I just know he would say that?
And I realized in a blink that it would hopefully be on the other side of this life that I might run into him again. He was one of those people who touch something deep inside, in some sort of universal place where human warmth is welcomed and understood. It was obvious to me that he was a lover of the wilderness, and of course, fishing, and he was instantly my friend.
If I make it to those advanced years like him, I hope to carry my countenance as positive, albeit bubbly, as that ole geezer with the great smile who touched my heart.
Blessings to all unexpected messengers who happen to cross one’s path bestowing joy.
Thanks for stopping by. ♥