Wednesday Inspiration

Wednesday Inspiration

Wednesday Inspiration

Wednesday Inspiration

Farm Fresh and Small Town Goodness

The beauty of a small town is that you know lots of people... Although our little town has grown, so we don't know everyone!

But being the only Pumpkin Farm on the west side of town has brought so many fun people to our doors! What an absolute pleasure this is.... Hi.

I'm Ruthy and I'm a people person.

Writers who are extroverts/people persons are in short supply. Did you know that? A lot of writers describe themselves as introverts.

I AM THE OPPOSITE OF THAT. ;)

I am not introverted... I am somewhat obnoxious at times. I say too much. But I love people!

People are the bread and butter of my stories. Strong personalities, winning smiles, sad looks, stooped shoulders, bent and broken....

oh, I love people and I love a good story.

This past weekend a customer thanked us for a donation to the local food shelf (when we have extra veggies, that's where they go.... then folks who can't afford supermarket prices or have the means to drive 30 minutes to the public market can have farm fresh veggies for dinner.... )

As she described her job, I realized she was a coming heroine. I could totally see the book, the story, her side of it, taking shape. I'm not sure where I'll set it, if it will be part of a series or on its own, but I can see her in my mind's eye...

And that's the bonus of liking people. Sometimes they set up stories for me. Sometimes a bit of music, even one line... sets a story.

The mind is an amazing thing. It's constantly working, and part of that work is sorting through the "drawers" of life as we live it. For some reason, my drawers intersect well and what's happening in the top drawer sometimes is the perfect match for the folded socks of a story in the bottom drawer.

And a story is born.

So right now, with farm work abounding, with nearly 30 DIFFERENT kinds of pumpkins taking over our yard... plus fresh veggies, baked goods, fresh jams.... the writing time is limited to my middle of the night panderings...

But in six weeks, I'm back to normal. In six weeks, the days will be filled with penning the stories I've been thinking about and formulating in my head for the past three months... and while I'm not silly enough to wish my life away, I'm looking forward to that season of quiet for seven months, and more stories on paper.

Having said that, I know that my outside activities feed my brain for those precious writing times... as I see a family, interacting. When grandparents stop by, acting as parents for children's children... Old ladies, grabbing one small acorn squash and two tomatoes...

An old man who used to love my zucchini cake... And who moved to an easy 55+ community in the village (even though he's closing in on 90) but still drives by to grab tomatoes.

When people are the fabric of our life, we weave a whole new reality. I've counseled gay couples on planning a fall wedding and a Muslim family on the joy of writing inspirational and Christian fiction.

God's put amazing opportunities in front of me.

HOORAY!

And He knows that as people, as mere humans, we rejoice and we suffer. But how blessed are we to deal with life in a country ripe with opportunity and second chances?

We had ice cream cones for supper tonight. I have no guilt! :)

They were really good.  The kids... and the cones!

I got the kids to the playground, jobs done, customers cared for and chicken in the freezer... and an ice cream cone.It's a good day on the pumpkin farm in the small town. And who can ask for more?

Ruth Logan Herne loves writing beautiful stories that touch the heart... and the soul. You can find her on facebook where she loves to chat with folks... or follow her on Twitter @ruthloganherne... or visit her website ruthloganherne.com. An author of over 40 novels and novellas, Ruth's work is loved by many... and being a people person, she loves them right back!

Forty-Six Cents

I am re-posting this story for today...

Because I love this story. Because it speaks to me of what Christmas is,
... and should be!

So bear with me as I tell you a story with nothing more to eat than hot chocolate provided by Critic's Family Restaurant...
And an old couple's sacrifice.

It was a cold, windy December night.

I was bell-ringing for the Salvation Army outside a mall in upstate New York.

It was the week before Christmas, and people were hurrying.

But smiling.

And nodding.

And dropping change in my bucket.

And "quiet money", too.

Beth and Mandy took turns being with me because it was bitter.

Temps were in the teens.

Wind chill? Straight out of the west, the direction I was facing. The temperature considering that?

Much lower.

A car pulled up, an older SUV with signs of wear. A driver emerged, came around the side, and opened the door for two elderly folks, a man and a woman.

They were not dressed for the weather. I hurried over and opened the mall door for them to get inside, and ached for the length of time it took them to walk, supporting one another, into the mall.

"Thank you," the woman signed.

The man, hunched and thin, struggled to turn his bent head to smile at me. He dipped his chin lower in acknowledgement.

"You're welcome," I signed back, one of two signs I know. The other is "Feed me. Now."

(Not really, but I need a little comic relief before I tell you the rest.)

Time passes. Beth went inside to get me coffee. The restaurant actually sent out hot chocolate. Free. 

So nice...

It was growing late. Colder. Windier. Snowier.

The elderly couple came back through the door, one tiny bag slung on the woman's arm.

There was no driver. 

No car. 

No one was waiting for them, and I couldn't talk to them because I don't sign. Beth was a sign language major in college, but she was inside.

The man clung to the woman's arm. She held on tight to him, the bag and her small purse. They wore nothing but windbreakers, thin and unlined. No warm scarves. No heavy jacket to protect them. I stood there, trying to tell them to go back inside, that I'd come get them when their driver came.

Of course they didn't understand me and I 'bout near cried.

Beth came out just then. She signed to them and the woman smiled, understanding, but then said they better wait.

The car pulled up a few moments later. By now, this old couple had to be frozen. Literally. But as the woman tried to head toward the car, the old man pulled his arm free and walked toward me.

The woman waited, a sweet smile on her utterly cold face.

The man came up to me. He tugged off the glove he wore, then went searching in his pockets for long moments, hunting up money. Bit by bit the hand withdrew coins.

A quarter. A dime. A nickel. Another nickel. A penny.

Forty-six cents.

He reached for me. His gaze rested on his own hand in explanation.

His hand was deformed with arthritis. Gnarled. Twisted. Turned. Virtually unusable. His hunched shoulders and bent neck were probably due to the same condition. My heart ached that this gentle, loving, bent man could no longer do the little things most of us take for granted. Like pulling change from a pocket.

His gaze trained on mine. I could see he was afraid the money would drop into the snow and be lost so he wanted me to put it into the kettle.

"I understand," I said. Beth signed the words for me. 

"Merry Christmas and thank you."

He smiled.

Oh, that smile.

It was like God himself smiled at me through that bent, aged face. Cold. Wind-burnt. Poor.

Like the widow who shared from her lack, this man's sacrifice came from his need.

That was years ago, but I never face a problem, a predicament, a moment when I don't see the love and devotion of that couple to each other. To God. To others. And that gnarled hand groping for forty-six cents.

And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.