Seeds of Insight

I noticed the old man sitting in his lawn chair again. This time I was going to introduce myself to him. I had passed by his house in the chaparral several times after church and saw him working or relaxing in his yard.

“Hello sir!” I raised my hand in the air to get his attention.

He did not answer.

“Hi there sir!” I waved my left hand and walked closer knowing that I was trespassing on his property in the South.

He noticed me and stood up from his chair, while lifting his left hand to his left ear as if to capture the sound of my voice.

“Hey there. I do not hear very well.” He stood up.

“I have been admiring your home for quite a while.”  As I walked closer I noticed some small polished wooden toys on a little table on display in the evening sun.

“What is that?” I pointed to what I thought was a miniature jewelry box.

“Oh, I made it for a little boy. It is a candy box.”

“Do you sell them?”

“Oh no!” The old man barely sighed and gently shrugged his shoulders almost unnoticeable to the naked eye.

 “Come on in here. Let me show you.”  He walked towards a dusty white door and pushed it open.

Suddenly, I was in the middle of his workshop feeling like Alice. The entire room was covered with fine powdery orange-brown sawdust.

“Be careful now. Do not get your dress dirty.” He held out his arm in pride as he walked ahead of me.

I was careful not to touch anything.

There to my right on the top of a high shelf was a perfect unpolished wooden toy train. It was the most beautiful unfinished product I had seen in recent times.

“Come over here.” He took a few steps deeper into the basement.

There were a few wooden boxes and pieces which appeared to be unfinished tops.  Amazed, I wondered why I was so privileged to be given a tour of the stranger’s basement.

Another unpolished train almost identical to the first rested on a distant shelf above a machine that must have been sitting in the middle of the basement for at least twenty years.  While there were hundreds of bits of wood stacked neatly everywhere, I did not notice a workbench.    

   “I collect scraps of wood from all over and join them to make just about everything.”  He began to walk towards another door.

I followed him noticing a white medium refrigerator with the words, ‘US Marine’ written in red; the only item in his basement that was not camouflaged in fine orange-brown sawdust.

He entered through the door and then I saw the words, ‘Wyllie’s Work Shop.’ I knew not to enter.

I was so thankful that he allowed me to enter into his basement.

Who is this man?

The tour lasted less than ten minutes.

–

Outside he continued to share vignettes of his life as he sat again in his chair.

“I see the red and black wooden butterfly up there…” I wanted to know why it was nailed on to one of the six trees in his yard.

“Oh yes and there is the gate that goes nowhere.”  He turned slightly to his left for me to appreciate the gate.

The gate was also perfectly unpolished with an old train lamp hanging from the side.  Above the gate above ten feet in the air and a few steps to the left, a birdhouse designed as a toy train and also painted in red and black was securely nailed to another tree.  I could see the following words: Southern, Railroad. 

“Is he a retiree from the Railroad?”

“Are you a marine?” I asked knowing the Marines’ pride would elicit an honest response.    

“No, my son is though.”

As I listened to him share a part of his life, I gazed at another tree; a tree with a face. This tree had soft metal eyes, a funny nose and thick lips.  This tree was standing next to another with a sign that read, ‘Nude Beach.’

“Oh my son gave me that sign.”  He probably felt the need to explain even though I did not ask about the sign.

“My wife loves all this.”  

Feeling that the tour was over, I started to express my gratitude.  Turning to walk away, I was stopped by a tiny yellow and orange butterfly dancing easily in a garden no more than about three feet wide.            

He must have sensed that I saw the butterfly and that I really appreciated his trains so he said, “My neighbors are the best.  Jane and Adam, they are really good neighbors.”  I knew he was at peace with his neighbors and I smiled.

As I walked away from his backyard, I saw that he had a rear wooden verandah with at least two unpolished chairs away from the evening sun. I wanted to ask him about his chairs but I did not. He makes trains, tops and candy boxes for children and he was not selling.