I have not had anything to post during this summer season. I don't know why. Either there is nothing noteworthy to talk about, or there were too many things to talk about and I couldn't choose just a few. But today is different. There was nothing noteworthy, just a memory. It was just a reflection is all, but a good one.
Today, my wife and I went down to the pasture to see the horses. We have been busy for a few days and had not checked on them in about a week. They have more than enough pasture to graze in and plenty of water so there was no concern over them having those things. And they were still plump as before. Apparently they eat well.
So we walked back up the hill to the barn and saw that a fence on one of the run-ins had been damaged. Apparently one or more of the horses decided they wanted to nibble something in the run-in and loosed a couple of the fence boards. Actually one was completely broken in two.
I retrieved the hammer from the barn and pulled the nails from the boards. I wanted to make sure we did not have any loose nails on the ground that could injure a horse's hoof. I could not find the box of nails to put the board back up. So I did what anyone else would do in my situation, I straightened the bent nails so I could re-use them.
Now to some, that may seem mundane, and not even worth mentioning. But to me, I immediately was catapaulted back to my childhood. I remember well the day I was busy hammering some nails into a pile of boards when I was about 8 or 9 and I bent the few nails I had. I don't remember what I was making, but I remember what happened next.
My father would pay a local black man to cut the grass. He was the husband of the woman that my mother hired to be a nanny at times for me and my brother. They were Reuben and Rose Brown and I have nothing but fond memories of them both.
Now Rose is worthy of an entire post of her own, so I will just stick to my little side story about Reuben, or rather "Son" as he was known by most.
"Son" was cutting our grass and saw me on the concrete steps of the porch. He took a break and walked over and in his own distinct way of talking he asked "what'cha doin' ovah heyah?" I explained my plight. I was not finished and I ran out of nails.
Son said "why that ain't no problem boy, looky heyah". And with that Son picked up my hammer and proceeded to straighten a couple bent nails. He looked at me and said "see, ya got all ya need, ya just got ta fix em a bit". Son sat there with me for a few more minutes and corrected my bent nail straightening skills. Then he wiped the sweat from his brow and went back to cutting grass in the summer sun.
I managed to finish my project, whatever it was, and I brought Son out some cold water to drink when he was finished cutting the grass.
This story is really nothing special. Its just about some bent nails and a little boy. But I will always remember Son Brown every time I straighten a bent nail. And come to think of it, that is good enough reason as any to write this down.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
