It was 7:40 Saturday morning and I was standing in line at the Franklin farmer’s market with a cantaloupe, 4 red tomatoes, and several other vegetables. It was the first cool morning of the hot humid summer. The air smelled of hickory wood smoke from a vendor that was smoking ribs. We were waiting for the bell to ring which signals the opening of the market. I was third in line behind a well-wrinkled 75-ish woman, with carefully applied makeup, that looked like she was far away in her mind. I was curious about her. I waited for that distant glazed wondrous look in her eyes to fade, indicating that she was back present with us at the market. I thought it would be rude to interrupt her thoughts. So, I waited. When she was back I asked her, ‘What’s your favorite vegetable?” She beautifully and innocently smiled and replied, “Corn!”
I got an immediate feeling of joy as her mood shifted. I sensed the possibility and probability that I might share a connection for a few minutes and enjoy one of those magical curious conversations with an interesting person. Most folks are fun to listen to if you ask them a good question. The vegetable question landed with her.
I followed up with, “On the cob?” She said, “No I cut it off the cob so that it does not stick between my teeth. You know, as you get older that can be a problem.” I agreed with her. Then she volunteered, “And watermelons. I really like watermelons. You know this farm is known in this region of Tennessee for their watermelons.” I replied, “Really?” She continued, “My family had a farm. My parents grew vegetables when I was young. They would butcher hogs.” I asked, “Did you grill them?” A playful joyful look spread on her face. The years melted away as she saw an ancient picture of that experience in her mind. For just a second or two I could see her as a beautiful young woman. Her weathered face was 75. And her sparkly brown eyes were 17. A vintage 1967 memory with a bit of patina on it. As I write about this I wonder if she was seeing a white 1966 Mustang fastback that her grandfather bought her. Or her dad’s Light green faded Chevy step side truck and his red Farmall tractor. And knowing somewhere inside that this would be her last summer living at home while roasting a whole hog with her dad. She continued, “Oh yes! We would dig a hole in the ground and cook the whole pig.
I commented, “Sometimes you just do what you can afford and a hole in the ground is easy on the budget.”
She added, “We still roast whole pigs today, but now we have an above ground steel BBQ grill.” I said, “That’s so cool!”
Her story of cooking a pig in a hole in the ground reminded me of my 89-year-old friend Dick, the inventor of Liquid Smoke, who dug his first grill with a shovel. But I intentionally did not say that. I simply thought it and was satisfied with myself for talking less and listening more. It felt good to be OK with savoring her stories instead.
Then the market bell rang signifying the start of the market. That snapped her out of the sharing about her childhood and the family farm. I thanked her for the conversation. She turned to pay and then went on her way.
In this season of life, I deeply appreciate connections with people. It is quite satisfying to have a meaningful connection with a person that I don’t know. It feels like a fine gift to be able to quickly have a nice conversation. My favorite thing, that I treasure and never take for granted, that makes my eyes tear up when I think about it, is being able to ask a person a question and have them answer it. There is quick rapport and trust. The line, “I love reminiscing with people that I don’t know” is supposed to be ironic and humorous and it makes people laugh. But, the thing is, I sometimes do it. That is magic.
Having interesting conversations with new people fills up my heart in a nice way. I suspect that it may work both ways. I am warmed by that thought and it feels like leaving a lingering deposit of something good for both of us.
2025 08 02
Spring Hill, Tennessee
I wrote this story in the dark on the back patio at 5 AM while Phyllis was sleeping. When she woke up, we shared some coffee and conversation on the patio pondering the weekend. She asked, “Did you write this morning?”
I answered yes, and then read her this story. She responded, “That’s nice.”
Then there was about a five second pause and she added, ”Aren’t Xenia’s the most beautiful flower in the world?” We talked for a while and then I looped back to that. I recounted her two words about my writing followed up with how mesmerized she was by the beauty of Xenias. When I said it, she busted out laughing. We are so incredibly different. I am a 98% extrovert that is full of curious questions to ask people and she is a 97% introvert that simply loves playing in the dirt in her garden. We are dramatically different people that just go together.