Gifts

This photo of my Italian Honey figs in August 2011 after the Hurricane Irene passed by.  This year the figs, nearly killed by last winter's low temperatures, are slowly leafing out again, but no figs yet.  What bounty we take for granted until it's gone.

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GIFTS III.

May 18, 2014

A gift is a thing we do not get by our own efforts.  We cannot buy it; we cannot acquire it through an act of will.  It is bestowed upon us.  Lewis Hyde in The Gift.

Without the gifts where would we be?

I live alone, work alone, wrestle with

my inner dilemmas alone; talk myself

into better spirits when mine plummet.

Then come days when I need other

people.  I forget the communal bonds

that hold me up until I fall.  My life

grinds to a halt because my truck’s

brakes aren’t working right.  Or is it

a bad tire?  I pull into a service station

I’ve driven past hundreds of times–

Speight’s on Fayetteville Rd.  I look

at the tires, which look okay, so I ask

for advice, and an elderly black man

says, “Just a moment.”  He was busy, 

late afternoon, but he comes to check,

agrees tires are okay, offers to drive

with me around the block.  I tell him 

to drive.  I already know how the truck

skews left when I brake.  Traffic is

bad on Fayetteville, but he’s a 

patient man, and the truck reveals

its problem.  Then he jacks it up and

shows me how the left front tire won’t

move.  “The front left brake caliper is 

frozen,” he says.  “Don’t drive on it–

you’ll make it worse, more expensive

to fix.”  I call for a tow and let my

faithful mechanic Al know it’s coming.

He says he’ll wait for it.  After it’s 

gone I call my friend Elaine, who 

doesn’t drive far from home these

days because of her diminishing

eyesight.  I explain where I am

several times.  I tell her she has 

passed Speight’s thousands of times.  

We go to the library to return and 

collect books for us both, then to 

supper.  I call my daughter, who

promises to fetch me home.  She’s

tired, but she comes, apologizes

for being cranky, but there she is

when I needed to get home to

the hens and Wag.  I live until 

Friday without my truck.  Denise

agrees when I ask if she could

take me to the Thursday farmers’

market to pick up tomato plants, 

buy strawberries to freeze for the

winter, a cuke, and tomatoes.

The rain does not dismay the

farmers, but by the time Denise

delivers me and my berries, she

has waded through puddles and 

been drenched.  I give her the

weekly eggs she buys and thank

her.  Friday Nova and John have

more plants for me, and my truck

will be ready in late afternoon.

I ask John if he could take me to

pick up my truck after I choose

the plants, and he graciously

agrees.  John hates being stuck

behind school buses or waiting

for a break in traffic on Highway

54, but we get to Al’s, who re-did

the brake calipers on both front

wheels.  Al is thinking of my

future safety and believes this

nineteen-year-old pickup still 

has miles in her.  Today I finished

planting John’s gift of tomato,

pepper, and okra plants, and

watered farmer Kenneth’s tomatoes

and Chris’s flowers–all gifts.

I think of all these strands that

came to life last Tuesday, which 

I didn’t imagine I’d need when 

I left home.  We so easily forget 

how gifts lift us, restore our faith 

in ourselves and in others, 

even in life itself.