I made an appointment early Monday morning with the county agency to get a start on my monthly quota of inspections. I wrote down the address I was given and typed it in my GPS. It was in my county and I had a pretty good idea where it was, but it way out in the country. Almost to the county line. Out where the residents give their area a private name. Browns Crossing. Stevens Pottery. Coopers. Areas that are close enough (or far enough away) to claim multiple county seats as their hometown. Residents with a private identity.
I stopped by my office before heading to the home and printed out the relevant information. This gives me a head start on the paperwork and helps create a mental image of what to expect. It was a small single wide mobile home that, from the amount of work I noted done by the agency, would be old and in need of additional repair. Ok, I was expecting a shack. I really don't have anything against mobile homes, I have lived in them before, and I own one now. I imagined what I would find when I reached this home and honestly I was expecting the worst.
When I finally pulled in the red dirt driveway I immediately noticed the flowering trees shielding the "trailer" from the busy highway. Dogwoods, pears and plums. Not expensive nursery trees, but all were beautiful and neatly trimmed. The drive ended at the back of the home and the owner was standing in the doorway. The home was not underpinned and I could see a lawnmower and garden tools resting in the shade. I waved at the man and noticed he was about my age. This is a small town so we will probably know each other I thought as I stepped out of the truck. I always try to be delicate in this situation because the Weatherization Program is income based and I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable.
"Morning" I offer as I walk in the house. "Everything suit you on the work that was done?"
"Yessir" he answers, looking over his shoulder toward the other end of the house. "But I wish they could have done something with my air conditioner. It gets pretty hot in here."
This far south one would think cooling would be more important, but I don't make the rules.
"They did fix the plug where the air conditioner plugs up though." he says pointing to a blackened cover plate in the living room. "When I get my money right I'm gonna buy me another one".
As I walk over to the receptacle to take a picture I notice a homemade bookcase, full of books, against the wall. Loving to read as I do, I scan the titles. With the gospel music coming from the radio, I was not surprised to see the spines of a bible and several religious self-help books, but mixed in were others with surprising titles. Organic gardening. Herbal remedies. Healthy cooking. Succeed. He could see the look of surprise on my face and I felt bad about it. I had stereotyped him before I ever entered his home. If he had told me that he couldn't read I wouldn't have been surprised.
"You like to read?" I say, really more of a statement than a question. "You have a lot of books".
Yessir, I do." he offers defensively. "Love me some books. I learned stuff like plants ain't gotta have poison and fertilizer like most folks think. My cabbages ain't as big as my mama's over there, but I can walk out and eat a leaf off mines without washing it and it wont hurt me. They good boiled, but they better for you if you don't cook em'." Surprising, but I wondered if this was from lack of money for fertilizer or gardening principals. I did it again.
We walked around the yard before I left. I took the tour. He pointed out all of the fruit trees and vines he had dug up elsewhere and transplanted to his small yard. His small garden of cabbages looked very healthy and he took a leaf in his mouth. I was impressed and tried desperately to keep the look of surprise off my face.
"They's alot we can learn from how folks used to do things". He said as I headed for my truck. "Lots we need remember and lots we need to let go. I used to be mad all the time, but I ain't no more. Don't do me no good".
I climbed in the truck wondering how we had gone from organic farming to being happy in a few short sentences. What else was this man going to surprise me with I thought as I tried to think of an intelligent response.
"Theys a whole lot of bad things that have happened to my folks a long time ago, but it really ain't got nothing to do with me. You neither. Being mad ain't done nothing but hurt me." he said as he walked toward my truck. "You understand?"
I understood what he was talking about but I was surprised by the direction the conversation had taken. He walked over to my open truck door and stuck his hand in my direction waiting for me to take it in mine. As we shook hands he looked at me hard, keeping me from letting go as he made his point.
"Can't nobody do nothing for you but you. Everything good wont last and neither will everything bad." He said. "You got to be happy by yourself, if you ain't figured it out yet, you better."
We parted ways and I headed back toward town. What a guy I thought, he was really unusual. Then I realized I had done it again. Why would he think any differently than any of the other people I know. His color? The size of his home? I have always considered myself an open minded person conscious of other people's feelings, but I had assigned him a position before I even met him.
On this day that marks the 150th anniversary of the beginning of Civil War I think that we should all think about how far we have come, and how far there is left to go. To allow ourselves happy. Enjoying the good to it's fullest potential will help you endure the bad. Pat ourselves on the back for what we have done and try to do better still. Be conscious of the fine line between pre-disposition and pre-judice.
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