County of the Hidden Bell

Bedminster Township, Bucks County, Pa.

"Hey, You want a piece of cherry pie," trumpets the animated woman from the front porch of the house I was walking past? It's four in the afternoon, and the day is winding in. I think for only a second. I love pie. My plan to cover another five miles falls on the hard snow. "Come on in. I make great cherry pie. Come on, come on. " Although Joye has white hair, she is very much a young spirit. I like her before I meet her. Joye laughs at herself as she holds open the door. Joye was given the perfect name.
Joye told the truth about the quality of the pie. Even after I swollow the flavor is playing in my cheeks. The sun is one fist from the horizon, and snow falling in sparkles was already duely noted, and enjoyed. No matter how beautiful the sun caught in each flake is, it cannot match homemade pie, and the conversation of new faces.


It has been a day of pages flipping backward. This morning I asked directions to get me out of the maze of country roads I was tangled in. I was in the middle of nowhere without the ability to right myself. It turned out to be Casey's boyfriend's house that I ended up at although there is no way on earth I could have known this. I met him once, and that was miles away without a last name. That story played out in Frenchtown a good two days ago.
Out into the yard Dillon spills into the snow in a t-shirt. "Dad, this is Jesse. This is the man I was telling you about." I had been asking Dillon's father directions when Dillon's huge blue eyes ran out to me in his yard. The odds of this moment happening hit us both with surprise. We laughed. "Tell Casey I said hello," I said after a few minutes of chit chat. I waddled away thinking that I just might clear this town.
A few miles later, on a hill with horses far behind a black plank fence, I stopped to rest. I made sure no cars were coming, then I tried to pull the pants that were climbing up the top of my back down into a more comfortable location somewhere closer to my waist. I finished my dance sitting down believing nobody was watching. I read a few pages from a paperback , while eating frozen swiss cheese that tasted like rubber socks. I tore away pages as I read(to save weight). Casey"s father pulled up in a new pick -up. "I saw you from my ranch. You must be the man my daughter went and bought socks for?" We shook hands. Now here I was in front of Casey's house. Casey and I met at The Bridge Cafe, in Frenchtown where she works.
After Casey heard my story, about how I left my liner socks to dry in a bush in Clinton, remembering to retrieve them twenty miles too late, she wanted to help. Casey offered to run with her boyfriend Dillon after work to find me some new liners in a city not far away by car, but too far to run to quickly by foot. I was grateful later that night when Casey showed up at the tree farm I was staying at with new socks. A snow storm was due in so I was hunkering down for a couple days at Walter Schneiderwind's Nursary. Dillon was a quickly out of the car with a happy hand in mine, as Casey made the introduction. They are a great looking couple. For the first time in my life I got the whole 'Fatherly' feeling. I was glad to know them. I was glad that they understood the walk equally. I was glad to have these new friends. I said my good-byes on Saturday, and knew that we'd be close friends if I stayed. I guess my good-byes weren't meant to be over yet. I was honored that these two lives lingered in mine in a way that I could never repeat(because I was lost), and that is way too many miles to rewalk.


Now I am showered. My belt is alot tighter after a real meal from the table of the Bryan family. My head is filled with new stories, in exchange for mine. My shoes give up the water they have stolen from the snow all day. My socks whisper out the trace amounts of wetness I couldn't wring out while hanging from my pack like de-flated ears. I offer to move my large friend from the living room, but Joye says that she likes it sitting right in the middle of things. So there it sits, and we laugh. Elmer, Joye, and their son Greg have taken me in for the night like I was a relative, or a straggler from some Biblical story where a fattened bull is slaughtered so everyone can feast with the un-expected guest. I am honored by the warmth of this family, and I am thankful beyond these little words. Recently I have been blessed more than I can relate in a few lines.