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On occasion I would stop by
Mrs. Donahoe’s son and daughter-in-law’s place. The stylish, sprawling
ranch house was back off the road a way. On this morning Mrs. Donahoe was
on her tractor working the ground around the young corn plants. She
carefully drove up between the plants. The machinery she pulled was set
just at the correct width to till the ground there between the corn rows.
Instead of people having to hoe her tractor was doing that for all of at
least twelve rows at a time.
“Patsy! Are yah home?” I
tapped on the window of the sliding glass patio door.
“Hey!” Patsy had a grin
that went from ear to ear. “Come on in, we are just fixin’ to take a
break. Come on in, sit down.”
It looked like some of the
workers were already taking that break as they wandered around and about
the over large pool table in the air-conditioned living room and directly
behind me one of the women came through the door. She was holding a baby
on her hip and went to the refrigerator to get its bottle. When the young
mother had retrieved that she came to sit around this massive round table
in front of me and proceeded to feed the child. Another man came in who
visited with Bud as though they were old friends.
“You want a bite of these
peppers? They’re good.” Bud pushed a jar of what looked like jalapeno
peppers toward the man.
“Hmmmm Bud, you’ll have to
try a better one than that. I’ve already tasted them peppers.” Whoever
wrote the story of the Dallas sitcom must have studied the local folks
well. The personality of J.R., leading character, was here in the room
with us.
Behind me I could hear the
motor of the refrigerated semi’ running while it kept the vegetables cool
after they came up the conveyor belt. They had already been sorted and
put in boxes. One of the leading chain store’s sign was lettered on the
side of the truck.
“What’s Mom doing?” Patsy
asked.
“She was hoeing the corn
last I saw her.” Again Bud was leaving a space for thought in a person’s
mind.
“Oh she’s off and gone with
a load of produce for the neighbors.” One of the men around the pool
table grinned.
“I know it.” Bud was
shaking his head. “She can’t stand to see things wasted. We can’t sell it
but she can give it away. Was Dad with her?”
“I don’t think so.” The man
was being careful about getting involved. It was a testy subject. Mrs.
Donahoe tearing down the country roads in her heavy, country pick-up truck
on her way to deliver fresh vegetables to someone or another of her
acquaintances was fact, but it wasn’t exactly what her sons wanted her to
do. Her age and heart were at risk but this subject wasn’t going to be
discussed.
Rather than possibly be
witness to the talk about their mother I rose from the large table and was
ready to leave.
“Are you leaving?
Already?” Patsy was busy in her kitchen but she watched every action of
her guests.
“Oh yes, my chores at home
are calling to me. I’m sure your mom is headed up toward my place, too. I
had better get along.” And with that I was away and driving back toward
the little Donahoe rental place at the end of Donna avenue. |
