Confederate Soldier I have known

In 1955/56, at age 11/12,  I lived on the outskirts of Sanford, Florida on an Uncle's farm. It was for crop farming with flowing artesian wells for irrigation. The land was flat as a tabletop and sectioned off by several rows of wells. These were equally spaced to cover the area watered by the movable water pump pulled by a tractor. Crops were squash, cucumbers, green beans, sweet corn, and many others for everyday table settings.

My Father and Uncle planted and maintained the farm but on occasion an extra hand was needed around the place for picking, washing, and packaging. On any farm there are never ending chores as most everyone knows. 

I came home from school one afternoon and went to play in the old two story barn with a sleeping loft. There I encountered an old
man named Carl. He was tall,very thin, and had a head full of flowing white hair. He had all his worldly possessions in a backpack and
an old trunk while his main mode of transportation was an old black bicycle.

We spoke and he explained he was the new hand for a few weeks to do whatever was necessary. I helped him take his belongings up to the loft and then went back to the house to fetch him some food and eating utensils.

He was a very nice man and so many evenings he would pull out his tattered checkerboard and bottle caps and we played checkers. We became friends almost instantly. Maybe he was the Grandfather image for me as my own Grandpa had passed a few years earlier. He taught me how to play cards as well and we would talk as we walked to the store for things he needed.

Because I was in school most of the day and had my own daily chores to attend I never saw the old man working much, except that he picked some vegetables and often I would help him carry baskets up to the barn. He never complained as I can remember. He was grateful for whatever food was provided and I also remember he loved to drink hot tea and eat homemade biscuits with jelly.

Many weeks went by and I somehow found out he was over 100 years old. At that age I had no idea just how old that was for a human.
The fact that at his age he still rode his bicycle all over the place was lost on my youthful innocence. I recall he said he was over 101
going on 102. I still had no idea I was playing games, walking and talking, with a real live part of American history. I really knew very little
about the Civil War at that age. But, one evening I arrived to visit with him and he was packing up his belongings. The little trunk was
open and I could see everything he owned in it. Not much at all except a picture of him in a Confederate uniform as a young boy. I asked
about it and he told me he had been a cook's helper and cared for the horse and mules as well. He was not a combat soldier. He did not
tell any gory war stories except to tell me how hard it was to exist in those times and how so many soldiers died from sickness as well
as being killed in battle or from wounds they had.  He showed me a tattered old uniform and hat along with some papers and medals he had that I believe were from his Army unit. He was very young in that picture and I realized he had been just about my age when he was in the Army. In my later years I understood just what a sad and dangerous boyhood my friend Carl endured. That was our last evening
together and the next morning he said his goodbyes and pedaled off down the road.  I was sad to lose my friend but he left a lasting
impression on me. How I wish I had a picture from those days. I have remembered him from time to time during my life and I am proud to
have had such a friend.

RIP, Carl the Confederate soldier. I know you are flying high with the Eagles now. Might that I be as dignified as you in my last days.