Sitting here after one ayem. Thinking of an incident that took place when my father was 85 years of age. I took him out to Doctor Fearnow's small orchard to introduce him to the old gentleman. We stood in the driveway next to the stand where the man sold his produce. The two men exchanged some experiences, found that they had some things in common. Dad was a minister, the doctor had been a missionary to Haiti in his younger day, he said.
Inevitably, the pitfalls of growing old came up when Mr. Fearnow observed that things really were more difficult to accomplish, and so on and so forth. Then he said, "You'll know what I mean when you get to be as old as I am."
My father said, "How old are you, Mr. Fearnow?"
"Why," he replied, "I am 77 years old."
With a grin Dad replied, "My, you really have piled up some years."
Never a hint at his own age, and I was standing there about to pop a stitch trying to keep from laughing out loud.
The old apple man never asked, and we never told him.
Mr. Fearnow's house now, taken yesterday from the driveway in which we stood to visit. He passed five years ago at age 97.
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