like a very old but very big farmhouse off to my left.
As I drew closer, my heart sank, because the three-star
building, although very elaborate, with a triplewindow high tower, double-door front entry, large
full- width side porch, and what looked like two-story bay windows in front, appeared deserted. The wood cladding was a very dull gray in desperate need of painting. The grounds were overgrown, and the statuary all looked unwashed, stained, and forgotten. Weeds invaded the gazebo like green parasites smelling death. This property was a shadow of what it
once was. I thought.
The long, straight driveway that led up to the
house was as cracked and pitted as the road I was on. I
was going to continue and almost did accelerate
before I caught sight of a pickup truck parked at the
side of the house. It looked relatively new. Someone
was there. I thought. I slowed down and turned into
the driveway. The motor home bounced and swayed
so much as I made my way up that I was afraid my car
would break loose. I saw no one at first, but as I drew
closer. I could see that the windows were draped, and
there was some light coming from within.
Encouraged. I continued until I could park in front.
Then I shut off the engine, took a deep breath, and
stepped out of the motor home,
Before I reached the half dozen steps that led
up to the portico, a tall, stout black man with silvery
gray hair came around the corner of the building. He
was carrying a shovel and a hoe over his right shoulder and wore a pair of high rubber boots. When he saw me, he paused and wiped his forehead and his
eyes as if he couldn't believe his sight.
"I need help!" I cried.
"Don't we all," he replied, and walked toward
me.
As he approached. I saw he had gray stubble
over his chin and patches of it over his jawline and
cheeks. Although his hair indicated he was along in