Not much to say today in "Dry Gulch", Virginia.  The drought is outrageous and our region has just declared emergency watering rations.  You are pretty much restricted to milk jugs for only your most precious plants.  "Gray (recycled) water" is the most popular subject these days.  Is it legal or not (because it may contain unknowns)?  I'm not complaining, as we have dangerously low levels of water.  We have to use caution.  Having nothing better to talk about, I will talk about my week though it has nothing to do with gardening.  Just some good thoughts.

    Last week we had a barbecue for about 100 people at our store after hours.  The food was fine and we had a fair amount of uncooked boneless pork spare ribs left over and thawed.  What could we do but cook them at the store during lunch over the next couple of days?  One person brought in their grill, another salad, and so forth.  We have a 17 year old student who has never done the cooking before at home, so chief "griller" felt it was time for her to learn how to cook ribs.  Around 11:30 in the morning the girl proudly produced her first tray of tasty ribs.

    On this day we had three mid-day deliveries.  A fertilizer truck, a feed truck, and a regular route delivery truck.  It was about 95 degrees.  At our insistence they each had a seat under our large window air conditioner and were fed cool drinks, veggies, and ribs.  During this time we all casually chatted between customers and the drivers seemed surprised and relaxed.  We all got to know each other a bit better.  As I watched this scene I realized how lucky I am to be able to work in the old general store atmosphere where everyone still has a name.  I know things have to change, but I felt we were witnessing a rarity that used to be common place in America.  We were engaging in things that make a community a home.

    In the early 1980's we cooked many a pot of beans on the wood stove, prior to switching to natural gas space heaters.  We had no homeless shelter and we're two blocks from a fine Salvation Army.  Anytime, which was often, someone asked for work or money we fed them beans, crackers, and soda.  No one was a stranger.  We have since gotten a nearby homeless shelter for Fredericksburg and the wood stove is gone from our store.  Our homeless shelter is looking for a new home by the end of the year because their lease is up.

    I was in Chicago a couple of weeks ago and we were trying to locate the entrance to the Metro train taking us to the convention center about 9:30 on Sunday morning.  A young fellow saw that we were perplexed and called to us, "If you're looking the Randolph Street entrance it's temporarily closed.  Follow me and I'll show you the way to the train."  He introduced himself by showing me his tattoo which said "Squeaky".  We followed him, though Ellen didn't seem thrilled with my readiness to befriend this stranger.  It was broad daylight and he seemed quite nice.  He had a bright twinkle in his eye and a joyful spring to his step.  Of course he asked me if I could spare him a dollar as his "old lady" was grouchy because the baby had no food, etc.  He took us straight to the correct entrance a couple of blocks away, assuring us that "(his) Momma raised an honest man and he would not steer us wrong".  I gave him a five dollar bill and shook his hand good bye.  Did he buy food or wine? I don't know nor do I care.  We had a safe train ride.

    On the way to the McCormick Center, our train passed by beautiful Grant Park.  I saw three different sets of clothes drying in the early morning sun as our train passed by the edge of the park.  Two folks were living in cardboard boxes and one had a tent!  (If you want to see the hidden homeless in this country, ride a train.  They go places your car misses).  My mind was cranking.

    I told Ellen on the plane ride back to Virginia that if I owned our store, I would have bought "Squeaky" and his family a ticket back, rented him an apartment, and put him to work at our store.  The worst thing that could have happened would have been that I would have been out $3000.  The best thing would have been that Squeaky might have gotten the break he never had, and we would have gotten a good employee.  Some homeless folks have substance abuse issues, some have mental health problems, and maybe some just need a break.  I always have to wonder what the answer is when I see such scenes.  Anyway, I got my five dollars worth.  By the way, if your expected package from the delivery man was 15 minutes late last Thursday, its our fault.  Until next week.