Talk Around the Fire

One night last month, while Janie and I were sitting around the fire in back of my mom's place in Colorado, some folks joined us.   We'd bumped into one another several times over the summer.  At other times mom had talked about them.

I would guess the ability to remember names of persons you've just met is probably one of the first things to go when developing alzheimers, and if so I crossed that threshold decades ago.  I don't know any of their names, though we did full introductions.

A family of 6 or so, they had spent a couple of months earlier that summer living at camp in the woods.  Their kids were being home schooled.  The motel owner next door was providing them with a place to stay, in return for odd jobs I assume. 

When the father of the group asked me if I knew Jesus had walked among us in the flesh, I nodded politely.  He in turn, as close to apologetically as one could and still remain true to the calling, said "It's important that we ask that.  We're supposed to.  You know . . . "    Again, I nodded politely.

Though the conversation occasionally started to drift towards the final days, he and I had a very nice conversation and found we had many common interests, not the least of which was the fact I lived in the woods on and off for about 5 years when I cut wood.  For them, it seemed more a matter of recent economics.

He'd worked as a mason and block layer for maybe 15 years and found that okay, but it kept him from his family, so they sold everything and started a dairy farm, where he worked until the low price of milk eventually resulted in losing the farm.  Needing to feed his family, he remembered his mother showing him where to dig ginseng, and he found a buyer.  Unfortunately, he quickly dug and sold all the ginseng and found himself again at a crossroads.  The buyer told him he was also in the market for a variety of tree seeds he in turn sold to nurseries, and this was turned out to be good money, but seasonal, so not good year round.  Now he seems to be doing odd construction work in and around our Colorado town. 

We talked about gathering berries and vegetables.  He hadn't had much luck with asparagus, and I encouraged them to keep trying, because I used to gather hundreds of pounds each spring.  They'd found lots of raspberries, and I agreed the hills were full of them.   I thought I'd introduce them to serviceberries (pronounced in the Middle English way, "sarvice"), and he quickly assured me they'd picked many gallons of those around camp, and they made fine pies.

The fire burned down and they went back to their room.  Janie and I continued our evening inside.  We will likely see them some more in the few more days we have before heading back to Minnesota.  I don't look forward to explaining to him I have my own religion, that probably has one adherent on the planet - me.  I have no desire to convert him, and I just hope he's not to alarmed to learn I will be fine with dying and returning to the sacred dirt when my time comes.  Religion.  We all seem to have strange ideas, when viewed from the outside.