by Chris Earl

Created on: May 07, 2011

Summer on Grandpa’s farm was always fulfilling to Turk. The grand pear tree towers over the gravel driveway. An old porch swing stood silently in the side yard. It was held up by a 4 by 4 laid across two telephone poles clipped at ten feet. The farm was named “Big Country” by one of the countless grandkids. It had a cozy feeling that made Turk feel safe and happy.

 Grandpa wanted a new water hose. He told Turk about it every day. “Next time we are in town I’m getting a new hose boy,” Grandpa said with a gleam in his eye.

 The old one was a mess. Duct tape smothered one end, trying desperately to hold a nozzle. Black electrician tape slowed leaks in the middle giving the hose a distinctive zebra pattern. The end without tape was scalped by a lawnmower showing light grey rubber where green coating once lived.

 The magic day came and Grandpa loaded Turk in the truck and headed off to the hardware store in Jefferson City. This traveling duo never made a trip without stopping for a coke and candy bar. Turk munched loudly while Grandpa purchased the hose. It was so shinny. It was wrapped tight in a neat coil. It still had the strong chemical smell from the manufacturing process. The hose was the old man's treasure, a simple joy for a simple man.

 With the mission accomplished they headed back to the farm.  The dust was heavy once they left the state highway. Lonely gravel roads guided them home. Grandpa parked in the upper garden and laid the hose on top of the tractor. Turk was dreaming of another candy bar when a car came up the hill by the house.  It was white and long, driven by a middle aged woman with two kids in the back seat. She stopped near some grape vines growing at the edge of the property.  A young man might say she looked a little old. An older man might say she looked a little worn, but the beauty of her youth left a gentle reminder on her embarrassed face.

 Grandpa walked out to the car sticking his head in through the passenger side window. Turk tried to guess the conversation.  Reading lips at fifty yards is always a chore and he soon lost interest.  Grandpa plodded back toward the house, his eyes fixed toward the grown. He walked a complete circuit of the house before Turk found the courage to ask ignorantly, “Whatcha doing Grandpa?”

 “Looking for my old hose, boy,” was his reply never looking up from the ground. Turk joined in the hunt looking for the taped monster. Grandpa flipped buckets, moved equipment and looked all over the yard.

 Walking across the front yard, Grandpa stopped with feet glued to the soft clover. His chin dropped to his chest. His confidence, good humor and lively spirit had disappeared.  Head bent in frustration Turk had never seen him look so dejected. Instantly, his head shot up and he stormed over to the new hose. Grandpa made a straight line for his grey and red tractor. Using a pearl handle knife he cut a section that looked to be about four feet.

 Turk was frozen in shock. The garden hose that had been the topic of conversation everyday was ruined.  Young Turk had no idea what was going on, but sensed a tragedy. Slowly, Turk felt the light bulb turn on. Using the amputated hose he started to siphon gas into and old milk jug. A quick walk to the white car and the stranded woman had her engine running. She puttered down the road and Grandpa walked back to the house.   

 Turk had often heard of the Good Samaritan in Sunday school.  He had no idea that he lived on little farm tucked away in the back woods of the mountains.

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