Welcome to The Club Winter 2023

Welcome to ...
During the waning years of the
depression in a small south eastern
Idaho community, I used to stop by
Brother Miller’s roadside stand for farmfresh
produce as the season made it
available. Food and money were still
extremely scarce and bartering was used,
extensively.
One particular day Brother Miller was
bagging some early potatoes for me. I
noticed a small boy, delicate of bone
and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily
apprising a basket of freshly picked green
peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also
drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I
am a pushover for creamed peas and new
potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn’t
help overhearing the conversation
between Brother Miller and the ragged
boy next to me.
“Hello Barry, how are you today?”
“Hello, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Just
admiring them peas, sure look good.”
“They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?”
“Fine. Getting’ stronger all of the time.”
“Good. Anything I can help you with?”
“No, Sir. Just admiring them peas.”
“Would you like to take some home?”
“No, Sir. Got nothing’ to pay for ‘em
with.”
“Well, what have you to trade me for
some of those peas?”
“All I’ve got is my prize marble here.”
“Is that right? Let me see it.”
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The Red Marble
“Here ‘tis. She’s a dandy.”
“I can see that. Hmmmm,
only thing is this one is
blue and I sort of go for
red. Do you have a red
one like this at home?”
“Not exactly .... but,
almost.”
“Tell you what. Take this sack of peas
home with you and next trip this way let
me look at that red marble.”
“Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller.”
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing
nearby, came over to help me. With a
smile she said: “There are two other boys
like him in our community, all three are
in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves
to bargain with them for peas, apples,
tomatoes or whatever. When they come
back with their red marbles, and they
always do, he decides he doesn’t like red
after all and he sends them home with a
bag of produce for a green marble or an
orange one, perhaps.”
I left the stand, smiling to myself,
impressed with this man. A short time
later I moved to Utah but I never forgot
the story of this man, the boys and their
bartering. Several years went by each
more rapid than the previous one.
Just recently I had occasion to visit some
old friends in that Idaho community and
while I was there I learned that Brother
Miller had died.
Don’t let old age get you down - it’s too hard to get back up!
They were having his viewing that
evening and knowing my friends wanted
to go, I agreed to accompany them.
Upon our arrival at the mortuary we
fell into line to meet the relatives of the
deceased and to offer whatever words
of comfort we could. Ahead of us in
line were three young men. One was
in an army uniform and the other two
wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white
shirts... very professional looking.
They approached Mrs. Miller,
standing smiling and
composed, by her husband’s
casket. Each of the young men
hugged her, kissed her on the
cheek, spoke briefly with her and
moved on to the casket. Her misty
light blue eyes followed them as, one by
one, each young man stopped briefly
and placed his own warm hand over the
cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the
mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I
told her who I was and mentioned the
story she had told me about the marbles.
Eyes glistening she took my hand and
led me to the casket. “Those three young
men, that just left, were the boys I told
you about. They just told me how they
appreciated the things Jim “traded”
them. Now, at last, when Jim could not
change his mind about color or size...
they came to pay their debt. We’ve never
had a great deal of the wealth of this
world,” she confided, “but, right now,
Jim would consider himself the richest
man in Idaho.”
With loving gentleness she lifted
the lifeless fingers of her deceased
husband. Resting underneath were three,
magnificently shiny, red marbles.
Moral: We will not be remembered by
our words, but by our kind deeds.
Canning Time
By Joanne vanDam, Lucknow
from Daytripping July-Aug 2020
The cucumbers are dilled.
The chili is chilled.
The canning is done for the season.
By the stove I have toiled.
The jars have been boiled.
Good food from the garden’s the reason.
It’s a comforting feeling,
When I hear the jars sealing,
And each jar is filled to the top.
That sound makes me smile.
Says, it’s all been worthwhile.
When I hear all those sealer lids POP.
All that peeling and chopping,
And constant brow mopping.
Hard work is all part of the bargain.
There’s no time to be bored,
And I thank the Dear Lord,
For each blessing that comes from our
garden.
‘Cause when winter comes calling,
And the north winds are squalling,
And we suffer from lack of the sun.
There’ll be no lack of food,
To darken our mood.
‘Cause in August, the canning
was done.
Welcome to ... winter 2023
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P A G E
10
Where were you when you had your first kiss?