RED MARBLES
During the waning years of the
depression in a small south
eastern Idaho community, I used
to stop by Brother Miller's
roadside stand for farm-fresh
produce as the season made it
available.
Food and money were still
extremely scarce and bartering
was used, extensively.
One particular day Brother
Miller was bagging some early
potatoes for me.
I noticed a small boy, delicate
of bone and feature, ragged
but clean, hungrily apprising
a basket of freshly picked
green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but
was also drawn to the display
of fresh green peas.
I am a pushover for creamed
peas and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't
help overhearing the conversation
between Brother Miller and the
ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya.
Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure
Look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's
your Ma?" "Fine. Gittin' stronger
alla' time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?"
asked Mr. Miller.
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for
'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me
for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize marble here."
"Is that right? Let me see it"
said Miller. "Here 'tis.
She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only
thing is this one is blue and
I sort of Go for red.
Do you have a red one like
this at home?" the store
owner Asked.
"Not zackley but almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of
peas home with you and next trip
This way let me look at that
red marble". Mr. Miller told the boy.
"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing
nearby, came Over to help me.
With a smile she said, "There are
two other boys like him in our
community, all three are in very
poor circumstances.
Jim just loves To bargain with
them for peas, apples, tomatoes,
or whatever.
When they come Back with their
red marbles, and they always do,
he decides he doesn't like red
After all and he sends them home
with a bag of produce for a green
marble or an Orange one, when
they come on their next trip
to the store."
I left the store smiling to
myself, impressed with this man.
A short time later I Moved to
Colorado , but I never forgot the
story of this man, the boys, and
their Bartering for marbles.
Several years went by, each more
rapid than the previous one.
Just Recently I had occasion
to visit some old friends in
that Idaho Community and while
I was there learned that
Mr. Miller had died.
They were having his visitation
that evening and knowing my friends
Wanted to go, I agreed to accompany
them.
Upon arrival at the Mortuary we
fell into line to meet the
relatives of the deceased and
To offer whatever words of
comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three
young men.
One was in an army uniform And
the other two wore nice haircuts,
dark suits and white shirts...
all very Professional looking.
They approached Mrs. Miller,
standing composed And smiling
by her husband's casket.
Each of the young men hugged her,
Kissed her on the cheek, spoke
briefly with her and moved on
to the casket.
Her misty light blue eyes
followed them as, one by one,
each young Man stopped briefly
and placed his own warm hand over
the cold pale Hand in the casket.
Each left the mortuary awkwardly,
wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller.
I told her who I was and reminded
Her of the story from those many
years ago and what she had told me
About her husband's bartering
for marbles.
With her eyes glistening, She took
my hand and led me to the casket.
"Those three young men who just
left were the boys I told you about.
They just told me how they
appreciated the things Jim
"traded" them.
Now, at last, when Jim could
not change his mind about color or
Size....they came to pay their debt."
"We've never had a great deal
of the wealth of this world,"
she Confided, "but right now,
Jim would consider himself
the richest man In Idaho."
With loving gentleness she
lifted the lifeless fingers of
her deceased husband.
Resting underneath were three
exquisitely shined red marbles.
The Moral :
We will not be remembered by
our words, but by our kind
deeds.
Life is not measured
by the breaths we take,
but by the moments that
take our breath.
- last post
- 15 years ago
- posts
- 83
- views
- 33,321
- can view
- everyone
- can comment
- everyone
- atom/rss
Copyright © 2024 Social Concepts, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Patent Pending.
blog.php' rendered in 0.0497 seconds on machine '190'.