By: W.C. Reader

They took him out to the local cemetery last week and buried him. His name was Carl Steves and he was a quiet, unassuming man who has been our friend and neighbor for several decades. His wife, who preceded him in death, was an equally fine person and the two of them left nothing to be desired in the type of people you would like to have as your next-door neighbors.

Carl and Lucille had one attribute in particular which we have found never hurts a man and a woman as they walk down the path of life together. They were country folks! This usually means that they are loyal to each other, honest, honorable, hard working, and dedicated to the welfare of their family, community, and the people who live in it. They were friendly with anyone who would let them be friendly.

When they finally left the country and settled in town, they picked a place, which was just across the fence from us. Quickly we became acquainted with them and as we noticed how they began to improve their place, we noted that they had not left their country habits behind. The first ting they did was to plant a big garden. Then they fenced off a place built a hen house and installed a flock of chickens in it! They also had fruit tress scattered around the premises, and always kept their pecan trees well pruned. They also took turns on the mower to see that the grass was mowed, the weeds cut, and the yard raked. Hardly a week passed without our hearing the sound of a hammer and a saw as they worked continually to improve their home and surrounding buildings. We noticed that they added a brick chimney to those, which already existed, which is indicative of the fact that they knew how to fix things; instead of letting them fall apart!

We give Carl and Lucille credit for keeping alive within us these country feeling which still course through our blood stream. On cold mornings such as those we have experienced recently, we used to come in the kitchen, and before doing anything, we would look across the fence at the Steve’s house. Almost without exception, a plume of smoke was curling upward from one of the chimneys. Then we would open the patio door, inhale deeply, and be greeted with the smell of burning mesquite wood. And then, memories of those happy childhood days spent on the farm, when we backed up to a wood-burning heater, would come back to us.

This morning, as we started downtown to get the mail, we decided to drive by the home of these longtime neighbors of ours. As we slowly passed, we looked in the woodshed and there was the usual supply of stacked wood and broken twigs to use for kindling. But when we looked up at the chimney, there was no smoke coming out. Good-bye, neighbor Carl, tell Lucille howdy for us.

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