It was hot, Georgia July hot. The browning grass crunched beneath the feet, the red clay cracked like parched lips on a shipwrecked sailor. It was hot, Georgia hot. The birds did not chirp but took refuge in shaded trees. Cows pushed against each other to claim small spots of shade in virtually treeless pastures.
The parson and Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, wandered the back roads taking the scenic route from one appointment to the next. Just past the Peaceful Valley Community Church of the Redeemed, the parson approached the wooden bridge spanning Possum Run Creek. He noticed a small plastic box sitting on the rail of the bridge and pulled the car off the road. He opened the back door and Charlie Brown bounded out. He sat and observed to determine the parson’s direction, then followed when the parson, after picking up the box, turned toward the path that led down the embankment beside the stream.
At the bottom of the bank the parson followed the path among the hardwoods. His body shivered unexpectedly when he stepped from stifling sun into the cool of the forest. Charlie Brown jumped into the creek and began lapping the water. Persnickety dog, thought the parson, you’ve got a water bowl in the car, but you prefer drink the organic stuff. The parson continued walking knowing it was impossible to separate himself from Charlie Brown for more than a few minutes.
A hundred yards further the parson paused and spoke, “Catching any?”
The man sitting on the bank of the stream turned and, seeing the parson, smiled. He looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. A three or four day growth of whiskers embraced his face in a salt and pepper pattern. Crow’s feet accentuated his eyes. Despite the heat he wore a long sleeved denim shirt, whose dark blue color only showed itself under his arms and other places where the sun did not bleach.
“Naw, Parson,” said the man, “ain’t much biting today. Too hot, I guess. I’ll come back in the late afternoon. Sit a spell. Where’s Charlie?”
“He’ll be along, I’m sure,” said the parson. “I’m surprised to see you.” The parson held up the plastic box. “You left this on the bridge.”
He looked toward a large back pack leaning against a tree. “Gracious, I guess I did. Getting old, I guess.”
The parson handed him the box. “Hold my line a minute,” said the man. He took the box over to the pack and secured the two together. “Thanks,” he said, taking the limb with the string, hook and cork tied to it from the parson. “Hey, you had lunch yet?”
“No, not yet,” the parson replied.
“I’d love to,” said the parson.
The man again returned to the pack. He unzipped a side pocket and withdrew a box of soda crackers, Vienna sausage, and several fast food packets of mustard. Reaching into the pack again he brought out a bandana and spread it on the ground. The lunch entrees were placed on it.
Charlie Brown wandered up to where they sat and sniffed at the table cloth. “Sit,” said the parson. Charlie Brown sat.
He divided the sausage into three equal portions. For the parson and himself he carefully sliced a sausage in half long ways, placed both half flat side down on a cracker and spread a line of mustard in a zigzag pattern from the small corner he’d cut in the packet. For Charlie Brown he cut the sausage the same way and placed it on the cracker but dispensed with the mustard.
“Want to bless it, Parson?”
The parson asked God to bless the meal. Following they ate without too many words, as he occasionally handed Charlie Brown a bite. ‘
After the meal, he shook out the bandana and placed it back in the pack along with the unused crackers. The Vienna sausage can he put into a plastic grocery bag and started to tie it to the pack shoulder straps.
“I can take that,” said the parson.
“Much appreciate it,” he replied. He extended his hand, “Thanks for stopping by, Parson,” he said. “I appreciate it, but I know you weren’t passing by here without being on the way to someplace.”
“I do have a little errand,” said the parson.
“Well, you be on your way. I’m going to wait until later and catch a couple.”
“Are you going to hang around this area long?” the parson asked.
“Actually, I think I’ll head up into the mountains. It’s a lot cooler up there. I’ll pan a little gold. If it’s as good as last year I’ll have enough to carry me through the winter. I even put a little in savings this year.”
“I guess you don’t know when you’ll get back.”
“No, I don’t. Tell you what, I’ll leave you a message at your church.”
After farewells were spoken, the parson and Charlie Brown headed back to the car and their appointed destination. Along the way, the parson’s memory projected upon his conscious a day when he felt called into the ministry. He had been sitting in a pew listening to a sermon preached by the father of the man with whom he’d just shared a meal.
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