After having looked for several weeks for some old barn wood for a customer, I had about given up. But one evening I checked in on Craig’s List again. There it was. Exactly what she wanted and at a decent price. The only problem was it was an hour’s drive away. It was three hours I didn’t have to give during my normal workday (an hour there, an hour doing the deal, and an hour back to home). I suggested she get one of her kids or grandkids to get the wood and I’d come do the project when she had it. She either didn’t want to bother them with it or she knew they wouldn’t do it, but it was going to fall on me.
Such is life.
So, through text messages, I arranged with the seller to meet him one evening that week. It would have to be after I finished work that day. I knew I’d be tired, and dirty, and desire to do nothing other than go home, take a shower, eat dinner, and go to bed. Instead, I’d have to go home, empty the back of my truck and head out to buy some barn wood.
Lately, with uneven success, I’ve been consciously working on keeping a good attitude about things like this. Here was a chance to practice good attitudes. The weather was nice. That helped. A good time to roll down the window and just enjoy the drive. After passing through Chelsea and Vinita, I continued north on State Highway 2. Then, following the GPS instructions, I turned off the highway and soon found myself on a freshly graded gravel road.
I drove by a few homes, mostly sitting far back from the road, fronted by barbed wire fences and mailboxes tilting slightly roadward as if leaning out in anticipation looking for the daily visit from the rural mail carrier. Making a right turn, I passed a small, old white, lap-sided home where two teenage boys were out front, baseball gloves on and playing catch. When I passed, they stopped, turned toward the road to see who was driving by (a sure sign not many people pass that way), and then, with arms fully extended up, vigorously waved a greeting. I waved back.
Just up the road a bit further I came to my destination. An old farmhouse with an equally old barn thirty yards to the side with a dirt drive in between. I pulled in. Two men were leaning against a truck at the back of the drive. As I stepped out of my truck one of the men, a tall, slender man with tanned arms and face quickly walked toward me, his leathery, callused hand extended.
“I’m Sam Jones,” he said, grabbing my hand firmly in his and shaking it.
“I’m Steve,” I replied. “I’m the guy who has been texting you about the barn wood.”
“Yes sir. It’s right over here.”
He wore a whiteish cowboy hat. The hatband was sweat stained as was his long-sleeved western shirt. He smelled. Not the smell of someone who doesn’t care about personal hygiene, but the odor of a man. A man who works hard, builds fence, bails hay, and feeds cattle.
We looked over the wood. He called me “sir.” I said let’s load it up. He said he and his friend would do it. He didn’t care for the condition of a couple of the boards, so he and his friend went out to the barn and retrieved a few better ones. I handed him the money we had agreed to. He thanked me. Called me “sir” again.
As I drove home, I realized I was glad I went. Glad there is still a part of the world where boys still wave at strangers, where men look and smell like men, where younger men still call older men “sir,” and tough and rugged doesn’t also mean unkind. That world is still out there.
Growing up we visited my grandpareht’s farm in southwest Missouri for one week around Christmas & one week in the summer every year. It was either really cold or really hot —no Hvac of course. In the summer we would fall asleep with the fan on us, but my grandpa would get up in the middle of the night & turn it off because us “city kids” were using too much electricity. There wasn’t much to do as far as entertainment, but we used our imaginations. I feel fortunate to have had those experiences. I immediately knew the exact smell you were referring to. And I too am glad those places still exist.