The Farmer And The Marbles

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During the waning years of the depression in a small Idaho
community, I used to stop by Mr. Miller's roadside stand
for farm fresh produce as the season made it available.
Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering
was used extensively.

One day Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me.
I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged
but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked
green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display
of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and
new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing
the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next
to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas ...
sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of
those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this
one is blue and I sort of go for red.
Do you have a red one like this at home?"

"Not zackley ... but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with
you and next trip this way let me look at that
red marble."

"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over
to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other
boys like him in our community, all three are in very
poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with
them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.
When they come back with their red marbles, and they
always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and
he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green
marble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this
man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never
forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid that the previous
one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends
in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that
Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that
evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to
accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the
relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of
comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men.
One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice
haircuts, dark suits and white shirts ... all very professional
looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling
by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her,
kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved
on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them
as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed
his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.
Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was
and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles.
With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to
the casket.

"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told
you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things
Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change
his mind about color or size ... they came to pay their
debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,"
she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself
the richest man in Idaho."

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of
her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three
exquisitely shined red marbles.

Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by
our kind deeds.

Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the
moments that take our breath away.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ...

......... A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself
......... An unexpected phone call from an old friend
......... Green stoplights on your way to work
......... The fastest line at the grocery store
......... A good sing-along song on the radio
......... Your keys right where you left them

They say it takes a minute to find a special person,
An hour to appreciate them,
A day to love them,
But an entire life to forget them.