Afternoons and Days

Edith Wharton (1862-1937), the famous writer of matters having to do with the affluent, is quoted in the interesting catalog of the Forest Farm Nursery as saying that her two favorite words in the English language are "summer afternoon."

That sounds great, but I doubt that many people south of the Mason-Dixon line would agree, on days like the recent ones here in Virginia.

I wouldn't be surprised to hear that in recent years something radical has happened to the relationship between the Sun and the Earth, bringing them closer together and causing the Sun to be so much hotter and brighter that to be out in its direct light has become a real trial. Maybe that is a sign that all is not right with our atmosphere, as if more than the ozone hole is enlarging or thinning out, and anybody who doubts that global warming is on the move has simply been cuddling up with air-conditioners too long.

Still I'm not going to disagree with Miss Wharton too strongly, in light of what Mr. Turner said.

Mr. Turner was an old guy whom I would give lifts to whenever I saw him waiting for Divine Providence at the side of the road. I haven't seen him in years and I hope he is still around. I wanted to paint a portrait of him and, unable to draw things directly from memory, I carried a camera in my truck but never got a chance to use it. The painting would have been of his head and upper torso, with him clutching his Good Book tightly to his heart.

I liked Mr. Turner. I thought he was the picture of soulfulness. He was extremely devout, and he was never slow to reveal that to each and everyone. He was also very talkative. In fact I thought that in loquacity he was unlikely ever to meet his match, but then, one day in a gas station, I happened to be present when just that took place. The other guy wasn't a bit nonplused to find himself up against a man who was in exactly the same bag, and so, for a while, complete strangers to each other yet as if collaborating in a magnificent, sustained pingpong volley, they swatted personal philosophies back and forth with the greatest of gusto.

Finally when it came time for one of them to leave, the second, unknown guy, regretful at the parting, said, "Have a good day."

Mr. Turner's reply can be really appreciated only by the old and the wise, and it relates to Miss Wharton's remark.

"Every day is a good day, brother!" he said.

Of course he got the strongest possible "Amen!" from the other "deacon," and it struck me as a great way for them to end that session in the impromptu Exxon Baptist Church.