Friday, July 29, 2005

The Neighborly Thing To Do

It's amazing how the basics in small towns have managed to remain intact while, for better or worse, the world around them continues to change. I was driving along Texas Highway 60 yesterday morning about 11 o'clock, just taking in the views. To my right were lush, green fields of turf; sod being harvested for someone's front yard in Houston or Dallas at $.80 a square. To the left was a herd of cattle huddled beneath the cool shade of a cluster of oaks in a browning pasture. But, what really sent me off on a nostalgic flashback was up ahead. As I cruised at 65 mph in my little red pickup, I noticed someone walking along the side of the road heading in my direction. I slowed and could see from his appearance that he had to be a farmer or some other laborer. His face was aged and weathered from years in the sun and his baseball cap was ringed with sweat and dust. He wore soiled jeans and a sun-faded red t-shirt with some logo on front that had all but disappeared. His work boots were caked with dirt and his heavy canvas gloves had definitely been used for more than pulling weeds and tending the flower garden on Sunday afternoon. As I whisked past, this gentleman raised his hand to wave and without hesitation I automatically waved back. It was a southern courtesy rooted in my upbringing that I hadn't thought of in years. I immediately remembered sitting on the porch with my Mema Maude and Granddaddy Stuart way out in the Georgia country as a kid almost 50-years ago. It was just like yesterday. Up the road bounced an old pickup truck. The trail of red dust it left behind coated everything on either side of that one-lane road as it settled back to the ground. I can remember that truck load of folks waving as they rambled by and my granddaddy waving back as if they were old friends. I asked, "Who was that?" Granddaddy Stuart just smiled and said, "Don't know." I asked, "Then why did you wave?" He leaned over to me and said, "Because it's the neighborly thing to do." Lesson learned. Thanks granddaddy.