Walk Through the Woods and Other Reminiscences
Not that too many years ago, Peter and I used to rise up early in the morning to take a walk through the woods by our house. The paths were glorious in springtime when the earth was awakening and the little creatures scampered delightedly through the new formed leaves. The birds would sing their hearts out rejoicing in the reawakening of their woods. Sometimes there would be trees that had fallen across the footpaths over the course of the winter. In their hollow trunks little creatures made their homes. By spring creeping green vines covered these fallen trees, as if to protect them. As we climbed over the fallen trees, l breathed deeply of the smell of the rich earth of these woods. But my favourite season is autumn. That is when the trees reached the height of their beauty, just like a woman who reaches middle age. She glows radiantly as she reaches the zenith of her feminine beauty before she begins her descent into old age. So too the leaves display their beauty. They crescendo their autumnal colours in a dazzling display. One cannot but pause in delight to absorb all their splendour before they shrivel up and fall to the ground.
On weekends Peter and l loved to walk on and on in these woods. Sometimes we stopped to admire various plants. Very often we would see other couples on the paths. Some would jog, others would ride their bicycles. One morning we met a couple walking alongside of us. I do not know how or why we fell into conversation with them, but we did. We were not in the habit of doing so, unless we crossed paths with them a few times. We had not met this couple on the trails of the woods before nor since.
You could say that neither Peter nor l were particularly shy. We had a propensity of talking with strangers along the way. I believed Peter to be friendlier than I am. He, on the other hand, believed that l was. At any rate, suffice it to say that we were both guilty of being very outgoing.
I am trying to remember what this couple looked like. All I could say is that they perhaps were about our age, which at the time was somewhere in our fifties. I cannot even recall what conversation it was that engaged us so deeply. All I remember was that we walked on and on for hours. It was early in the morning when we began to walk; it was past one when we realized we were tired and hungry. Peter was reluctant to part from our new acquaintances. I was ready to go home. We lingered where we usually got off the trails and headed home. I realized that Peter was too engaged in conversation. My discreetly tugging at his arm and saying his name was not helping. The day before we had some friends over. I had plenty of food left over. Since no one was making a move to leave, I finally said, “Would you like to come and have lunch with us?” They agreed and we walked back home. I set the table and we sat down to a light repast. Still they lingered on and on. I was getting tired and l really wanted them to leave. I got up and cleared the table. I began washing dishes. I put everything away. Finally, they got the hint. They stood up and as they were about to leave, the wife commented, as a thank you, “Are you always in the habit of inviting strangers to your home for a meal?” Isn’t it funny? That is the only piece of conversation that I remember from that Sunday twenty something years ago. It struck me as being so ungracious and condescending. It should have put me off inviting strangers, but it did not deter me nor did it deter Peter. Over the years we came across many people we invited whom we did not know. Very seldom did we err in our judgment. I remember one chilly weekend on a late October afternoon; we were having an early dinner when the doorbell rang. At the door there was a young man dressed in a Tee shirt trying to sell magazines. He looked cold. I commented on his being scantily clad. He said he did not realize how cold New York could be. He had just come from somewhere in the south. He did not have any warm clothes. Peter immediately got him a warm sweater and a warm jacket. We invited him to share our meal, which he did. We told him not to worry about the clothes. He left and we did not expect to hear from him again. About a month or so later, we received a very lovely thank-you note. That touched us both.
This reminds of a time we were in Santa Barbara, California. We had driven there from Los Angeles while visiting family. The town is like a beautiful little jewel. As we wandered about, we came across a shop that sold the most exquisite lace tablecloths.
The shop owner was a gracious elderly gentleman who patiently showed me his laces. As he did, we conversed. He told us he was ninety years old and that his wife had passed away not too long ago. I commented on the quality and beauty of his laces, which pleased him. Finally, I chose two pieces. He warned me to hand wash them. “Of course!” I replied. “They are too delicate and beautiful.” I handed him my credit card. He said he did not take credit cards. We did not have the amount required in cash. My face showed my disappointment. He looked at us as he started to wrap the laces. “Why don’t you take the laces and send me a check when you get back to New York?” he said. “How do you know you can trust us?” I asked curiously. “I did not reach this ripe old age without being a judge of characters,” he said as he handed us the package with a smile. Of course, we sent him a check as soon as we returned home.
The next year we once more went back to California. Again we returned to Santa Barbara because we were fascinated by this gentleman. When we got to his shop, there was a for rent sign in the window. Concerned that he had passed away, we asked about him from the shopkeepers next door to him. He was alive but too old and tired to run the store any more, they reassured us.
Another time Peter and I were going out for dinner, but before we did, one of Peter’s criminal clients was going to be in a police lineup. We stopped at the precinct for that. While Peter was discussing the case with the officer concerned in another room, I was in the room with the young man accused and a few other officers. I was a smoker at that time. I took out a cigarette and a lighter and was about to light it. The young man looked at me and shyly asked if he could please have one as well. I offered him one and gave him my lighter. Suddenly, all the policemen surrounded the young and me with their guns drawn. Before I realized what had occurred, the young man quickly returned the lighter. “You are supposed to light it for me,” he said sheepishly. I lit his cigarette. Because of the commotion, Peter came out of the adjacent room and gently led me out. He seemed upset. He firmly told me that I was not to speak with the alleged criminal. I tried to explain that he was just a young boy and he would not have harmed me. Peter just gave me a look of hopeless disgust and told me I did not understand such matters. But I did. He was just a mixed-up young man who had not been shown much kindness in his poor miserable life. Yet, I felt his basic goodness. He was just born in the wrong place. In a loving, nourishing family, he would have behaved differently.
Quite a few years have passed since these occurrences, but I have not forgotten how differently each of these people behaved.