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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
63
Sometimes--I
confess
it--when
I
see
one
passing
in
my
road,
I
feel
like
hailing
him
and
saying:
"Friend,
I
am
not
all
farmer.
I,
too,
am
a
person;
I
am
different
and
curious.
I
am
full
of
red
blood,
I
like
people,
all
sorts
of
people;
if
you
are
not
interested
in
me,
at
least
I
am
intensely
interested
in
you.
Come
over
now
and
let's
talk!"
So
we
are
all
of
us
calling
and
calling
across
the
incalculable
gulfs
which
separate
us
even
from
our
nearest
friends!
Once
or
twice
this
feeling
has
been
so
real
to
me
that
I've
been
near
to
the
point
of
hailing
utter
strangers--only
to
be
instantly
overcome
with
a
sense
of
the
humorous
absurdity
of
such
an
enterprise.
So
I
laugh
it
off
and
I
say
to
myself:
"Steady
now:
the
man
is
going
to
town
to
sell
a
pig;
he
is
coming
back
with
ten
pounds
of
sugar,
five
of
salt
pork,
a
can
of
coffee
and
some
new
blades
for
his
mowing
machine.
He
hasn't
time
for
talk"--and
so
I
come
down
with
a
bump
to
my
digging,
or
hoeing,
or
chopping,
or
whatever
it
is.
----Here
I've
left
John
Starkweather
in
my
pasture
while
I
remark
to
the
extent
of
a
page
or
two
that
I
didn't
expect
him
to
see
me
when
he
went
by.
I
assumed
that
he
was
out
for
a
walk,
perhaps
to
enliven
a
worn
appetite
(do
you
know,
confidentially,
I've
had
some
pleasure
in
times
past
in
reflecting
upon
the
jaded
appetites
of
millionnaires!),
and
that
he
would
pass
out
by
my
lane
to
the
country
road;
but
instead
of
that,
what
should
he
do
but
climb
the
yard
fence
and
walk
over
toward
the
barn
where
I
was
at
work.
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