A gift from a stranger

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

There are times when I feel at peace with myself and our world, times when I am sitting on a rock ledge beside the creek and watching the water flow by, or times when I am leaning against the pasture fence and looking at our little herd as they graze the greening spring grass.

Then there are other times when I feel far from peaceful, as when I bring in an armful of firewood and wonder if we have enough to get through the variable spring weather. Or the times when rain pelts down in sharp sheets and I worry about the animals, if they’ll stay dry under their shelters, or if the wind will cut through their wet coats and they’ll catch a chill.

Really though, life in our valley is amazingly calming. There are standing dead trees that we can harvest for firewood any time we choose, and after every storm, the pasture critters trot right up to me for a treat and a good brushing. They tell me not to worry.

I remember when we lived and worked in the city that such calm seemed more elusive. Back then, my days felt hectic and I could never find any time to slow down. From getting the children up and fed and off to school, to hurrying off to work and sitting at my desk that was piled high with client files, only to grab one of those files and dash off to a court hearing, and then dash back to my desk, return a few hurried phone calls, collect the children on my way home, prepare dinner, make sure that everyone was settled down for the evening so I could open my briefcase and prepare for the next day's hearings or trial. 

It all took a toll on my sense of tranquility. Of course, Greg and I worked through our days as a team, but it seemed that our younger, urban selves ran along parallel tracks that rarely crossed. Our lives were far from being as contentedly intertwined as they are now.

There was one typically hectic day, though, that I shall never forget. It forever altered my younger self's perspective. On that day, a sense of calm peace collided head on with my harried daily routine.

I remember that I was headed to court, walking quickly along the sidewalk. My high heels purposefully clicked across the pavement. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a homeless man, sitting with his back up against an office building wall. His head was lowered. He wore a rumpled suit jacket and a dirty button-down shirt. His legs were drawn up to his chest. I did not look over at him, but in my usual urban fashion, I avoided eye contact and looked ahead to the courthouse, just across the next intersection.

As I drew near, he raised his head and said in a clear voice, "Excuse me." My pace slowed a bit and I glanced toward him. Our eyes met. I imagined he was about to ask if I could spare some change, but no.

"Do your feet hurt?" he inquired.

My pace slowed some more. I had almost reached him. Perhaps he thought I was walking too fast in my high heels. Still walking, I replied, "No, my feet feel fine."

I didn’t know why I was talking with this homeless man, but his eyes seemed to twinkle. He held my gaze. He continued, his voice clear, "I imagine that your feet must have hurt when you jumped down from heaven."

I stopped. I stood there on the sidewalk before him, a smile slowly spreading across my face, and for a moment I was speechless, a rare occurrence. He smiled up at me as I slowly replied, "My feet feel fine, but thank you. Thank you for asking."

He lifted his hand from his pant leg with a brief not-to-worry wave, and then his eyes closed, and he lowered his head. It appeared he was drifting back to sleep. I turned, once again heading to court, but now I was walking at a far slower pace, and with a broad smile washed across my face.

Perhaps this homeless man had used this line many times before, perhaps not, but it didn't matter. He had given me so much more than a line. He had given me the gift of a smile and a pause in my hectic lawyerly/young mother day. I may not have had a creek to sit beside, or a pasture fence to lean against, but I'd been given the opportunity to slow my pace, and pass through the rest of my day more at peace with my world.

I think of him often. I wonder at his story and how it was that he came to be sitting on that sidewalk as I hurried by. I wonder what became of him. I wonder if he realized the gift he had given me, or knew that I would carry that gift in my heart so very many years forward. I thanked him then, but now I say thank you, kind sir, for your special gift that’s safely wrapped in my heart with a smile.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.