A Good Day

 A Good Day

November 20, 2014

 

I met a young, black, truck driver in the parking lot of gas station in the tiny, cross-roads town of Roans Prairie, TX.   Our eyes met and he said, “How are you?”

 

“Good,” I replied. “How are you?”

 

“Very good,” he said.

 

I entered the store, found an experimental, feta cheese-spinach hot roll to snack on while driving toward Huntsville. There were a couple of guys in line in front of the cash register and I joined the line. A young, white guy came walking by from behind who was also ready to check out.   He looked at me and said “The girl at the other cash register is free.” OK, here was a fellow who could have simply gone to the other resister ahead of me and I would never have though much about it.  But he showed the kind of courtesy one often finds in small towns and offered for me go first.  I was in no big hurry, but I think that folks who do you a favor usually feel good about their act of kindness, so I chose not to deny him his pleasure. 

 

The lady at the second cash register had been calling to me to explain that she could check me out -- but I didn’t hear her.  So when I bellied up to her checkout counter, I explained that "I’m a slightly deaf fellow and didn’t hear you call.”

 

She smiled and said, “I understand.” Then she proceeded to pull a hearing aid out of her ear, and said “It drives me nuts when the microwave alarm goes off.” 

 

I hurried to finish the checkout because the courteous fellow was standing in line behind me and it did not seem right to keep him waiting any longer then necessary. I smiled at him as I passed and said “Thanks.”   He smiled back.

 

I followed a tall, handsome Mexican-looking fellow to the door and he held the door open for me.

 

So, in the spate of maybe 10 minutes, I experienced pleasant interactions with four different people. Knowing that there are plenty of unpleasant folks somewhere down the road, I cherish these simple acts of civilized people.  I try as best I can to reciprocate.  I realize that my advanced age has something to do with their behavior — but what the heck — that’s OK.

 

Pat found a preferred small, country road on the map so that we could leave the very busy, two-lane, Highway 30 that connects Bryan to Huntsville. Our new route took our little motorhome through the Sam Houston National Forest and we soon found a gravel side-road that led to a parking lot at the head of a forest walking trail. We understand that sitting for extended periods of time while driving is unhealthy, so we decided to take a walk. But first, a short nap was essential. I woke to the mellow sound of a breeze blowing through pine trees and all was well in the world -- especially after we cranked up the generator and microwaved a bag of hot, tasty popcorn.

 

We tried to walk reasonably fast so as to get some exercise, but we kept getting side-tracked. “Look at this tiny, pretty, white flower,” Pat said. 

 

Then “What is this tree with the leaf showing three lobes,” I asked.

 

“Let me think,” Pat replied. “Is it a Sassafras?”

 

“I think you got it. Good for you,” I said.

 

We wondered if we could grow this fern in our forest or if that shrub is a myrtle. It slowed our walk, but made it interesting. 

 

After walking and enjoying nature for maybe 30 minutes, we decided to return. “I’m gonna walk fast,” Pat said. I tried to keep up with her, but failed.

 

We drove a few miles further till we found a handsome, well maintained, country cemetery on the top of a hill. For us, a cemetery is like a kind of museum where interesting stories can be found. And, of course, they are a place where it is easy to imagine the incredible sorrow of families burying their dead. In this cemetery, the story that we found of most interest was that of Hezekiah Faris. He came to Texas in 1835, fought at the battle of San Jacinto, and for his service, received 640 acres of the land on which this cemetery is found. Many headstones in this cemetery are testament to the fact that the Faris family have lived continuously in this community ever since Hezekian cut down his first pine tree here.

 

Later, after eating some tasty pot roast at the Golden Corral in Huntsville, we checked into Huntsville State Park, had a long, one-sided, conversation with a fisherman about the 10-pound black bass that he almost caught there one time, the best state parks in Texas, the alligators that will eat your fish on your stringer, the demise of horned toads — and such. 

 

Finally, we retired to our cozy motorhome. 

 

It was a good day today. What new gentle adventures await tomorrow?

 

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