"JUST PASSING"

           
                                  JUST PASSING
                                  By Peter Yule



         What a day it was, I can remember it clearly. Late September, Indian Summer, the last gasp of fall, before it turns and runs in retreat of the on-coming winter. On that day the air was so clean and clear with only a hint of breeze playing with the fallen leaves. Some where in town, someone was burning off the leaves raked from a lawn to keep it looking neat. The smell of the burning leaves hung lightly on the air, an incense of nature. Children were playing stickball down by Mr. Adams store, their laughter ringing out with crisp clear tones that I hadn’t heard in a while. Overhead the sun, so warm and so bright, Oh what a day this was. I don’t think that I had ever felt as good, no aches, no pains, no cares, no worries. I felt as though in some magical and mysterious way that I was a part of the very day myself, at one with nature and my fellow man. On a day like that I could not concern myself over the need to cut more firewood or to put on the winter shutters or the other chores just waiting to be done. In all my years, more than eighty now, I could not recall a more perfect day. Gods hand had reached perfection, and this day was meant for me.

          
         

I recall thinking to myself, Peter, you must not let this day pass. You must do something. What I wondered, when it occurred to me that I had not walked the old road in years. Yes, that was it, I would walk the old road, a long slow walk back to the places of my youth. Yes a walk, it will do you good I thought, out past the school and the Ganz place and the Hawks’s . That’s it, that’s what this day called for, a day to walk, and a day to remember.

         
         Pull yourself together now Peter and get going, I thought. Don’t let time pass you by. It’s early, not even noon yet. Ah there, now were ready, straighten your shirt and get going.

         When did the school get bigger, when did we add that new room? Was it four, no five years ago! Looks like we will have to paint the whole place next spring!  “Good morning Reverend”. Yes it certainly is Peter was his reply. “Yes it surely is!” I remember waiving to him as he was out sweeping the stairs of the church. The big doors were swung open to allow the place to air out, and to let this day of God’s making pour in.




         A little further now, up the hill and on to Mrs. Ganz’s old place. I don’t think I have ever seen the colors on the hillside so clearly. The deep red of the maples, the yellow of the birch, and the tans and golds. All the trees showing off their best colors of fall. Even the pines and spruce were a bit darker green. Oh, from here look, all the way up the valley. Miles and miles so  crisp so new it all seemed. Was it this beautiful when I first walked here as a younger man?





         Ah ha! There it is, that great huge rock just ahead. I remember that rock well. I climbed it many times as a boy and just sat high up on top watching the old road to see who would pass by and not even notice me up there up and above the whole world. Now, just for a moment I thought, well No you old fool, your not climbing any rocks today! Keep on going.. There, up ahead, there’s Mrs. Ganz’s. Her fields are grown over now, not much left of the old house. Well, maybe someday someone will come and fix it all up again. Keep on going Peter, keep on going. Here now, here now, when did the Hawks boys take on a dairy herd? Eleven, no twelve all down there by the pond. Well young Bills’ got two grown boys now and they can handle it. His youngest must be fourteen or so by now and he’s a good boy too. I saw him in town only yesterday! Keep on going now, stay true to your course.


          


         How far will you walk, how far to go? Oh just to the pavement ends. Sit a while, catch your breath before you start back to town. Oh what a day this is. That little brook is still as clear as ever, and just as cool and sweet. Just a few sips and back you go now.

         It’s noon now with the sun right overhead, warm and clear. Small animals at play in the rustling leaves by the side of the road. Not foraging today, they too seem determined to frolic and enjoy. Look, up ahead at the edge of Mrs. Ganzs’ field, a beautiful doe just scampering around in the sun. See her sniff at the air, taking in the overwhelming presence of nature itself. Push on Peter, you can rest back in town.

         I remember that as I neared the end of my walk, coming back toward town and nearing the Churchyard, seeing the old iron gate standing open. It should not be left open I thought, and so I walked up  the old path to close it. As I neared the burial ground beyond, I thought why not stop in for a visit. It’s been a while since you paid your respects to all the good folks resting here. I entered and marveled at how neatly the lettered stones were aligned. Each marker reminded me of a friend or relative now gone. Were they able to experience such a day as this? Stop now Peter, say a few words to these kind souls.




         I remember it all so clearly, entering into the old church yard, through the iron gate, and seeing in my minds eye the faces of all these good people. I turned to my left and stopped first at the Adams plot. Neatly kept, with a good piece of white marble marking the dates. First in was Mrs. Adams, not too old I thought, just past fifty, and taken by pneumonia, and her oldest child, a son taken at fifteen by the fever. Mr. Adams went on for a lot more years. He got to see the wedding of his daughter, pretty Sarah to Tom Woodward. Peter you old fool, why weren’t you quicker with Sarah. Never was a prettier girl in town. You know that you were sweet on her. No, It wasn’t meant to be. She had promised Tom that she would wait while he went off to the Army, and wait she did. Well they now run the store, Sarah and Tom Woodward. I remember thinking, Mr. Adams, your daughter is one fine woman. “Thank You Peter”! What, who, what voice said that? Just a dream, perhaps it was the breeze moving about.

         At the next stone I stopped again. Edward Carver, neatly inscribed, along with the dates of his coming and going. Young Eddy, was there ever a car or truck that you couldn’t fix? “Just one Peter, the one I was driving in down the mountain. I should have known I was going too fast”. Another voice coming up at me! Questions that I only thought in my head, were being answered by voices that I could hear. What a day this is, what a day indeed.

         This is the biggest stone in the whole yard. A monument first class. I suppose it had to be big to get it all on there. DALTON-DWINK. Miss Dalton, I thought, you were the best. “Thank you Peter, but please call me Elizabeth. Your certainly old enough now, and besides in case you forgot I married Paddy Dwink.” Oh I remember, but I will always think of you as Miss Dalton, secretly, as my Miss Dalton. “Oh Peter, how sweet”.

         I could clearly hear the voices, again and again speaking up to me, through the ground and the drifting leaves. A strange and moving experience, but when your past eighty, and you have a day like today, a day like no other, you just have to enjoy your visit, without questions to which there could be no answer.

         Paddy Dwink, you were a tough man to work for I thought. “That’s right Peter, but I paid you better and made you stronger”. Your right Paddy, you did make me stronger, why any lifting or pulling or digging or hauling, and I got to do it. You did indeed make me stronger. “No need to thank me Peter, no need at all”. “Thank you for stopping by Peter”. No need to thank me Miss Dalton, Elizabeth, I said out loud with a smile.

         Moving on now a short way down the next row. A familiar stone a single marker with no pretense. That is the way father wanted it. Yes this stone said YULE. I asked no questions here, just stood silently. “Peter. Is that you?” It was my mothers voice as plain as day! “Peter, what season is it?” Why it’s fall, Indian Summer and the most beautiful day that I can remember. You can see forever out on the old road. “Oh that’s nice.” “Peter, are you ready for winter?” Now that’s my fathers voice. “Not quite, but I will be soon” I said. “That’s good Peter, that’s good.” “How about you Auntie, I thought, nothing to say to me”

         I was no longer questioning the voices, just accepting them to be a part and parcel of this day. I even expected them each time I stopped. Auntie wanted me to list all the colors that I could see, and to tell her what the air smelled like. I remember doing this apparently to her complete satisfaction before moving on. I walked slowly, passing stone after stone to the one marked Hawks. “Good morning Peter.” Good morning to you Amos, I replied! Wow, I had never called old Mr. Hawks Amos. This was becoming fun, all quite natural. After all, I am older than most of the folks out here. A few more stones, a few more visit’s a few more voices. It all seemed so pleasant. Toward the back of the burial ground was the biggest oldest oak tree in town. I walked around to the sunny side and sat down to rest for a bit.



         The sun overhead was so warm and comforting, and the day so peaceful and rewarding. I think I must have slept for a spell. I remember setting back against the tree, and being suddenly awakened by a jolt. What now, What’s this.

         I never remember the sunlight being so bright. Who’s that over there? I stood up and walked toward the light, to see who was standing tall just ahead of me. Oh my I thought, first voices and now visions. I know who that is. He hasn’t changed a bit since I last saw him. Mr. Joe, Mr. Joe, is that you I mean is that really you? “Yes Peter it is me” was the reply. Mr. Joe I was  thinking of you just yesterday. I know, he replied. Mr. Joe, I hope you don’t mind, but I gave away your stick. I passed it on to young Joe Hawks. He’s a good boy you know, not as hard as some. He had a natural curiosity toward it, and…”I know Peter, You did good.” Mr. Joe, how is it that I can see you, and hear the others. What does it all mean, after all it is a beautiful day and,, and wait who are the others over there.. Why it’s Miss Dalton and Mr. Adams and the whole town. There is my father and my mother,, but Mr. Joe, I only stopped by to close the gate, and to rest a bit over there by the big oak tree,. Mr. Joe, I’m just passing through,.. “Yes Peter, you are, and we are all so very glad to see you. Come now walk with us in the light and enjoy this day for eternity.

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AUTHORS NOTE  COULD NOT TRANSFER PICTURES YET