THE FARMER

There is a nursing home located between two small towns in rural Ohio. I hadn't visited this particular facility but thought I'd give it a try. With banjo in tow, I walked through the main entrance and approached the nurses' station. 'Do you mind if I entertain the troops?', I smiled. 'I pick the banjo and folks seem to enjoy the noise I make.'   

The lady behind the desk asked me if I wanted to have everyone gather for a little concert, but I quickly rejected the idea. 'I'm not that good and I get a little nervous in front of a crowd', I said. 'Just let me know who could use some company, the banjo is my way of breaking the ice.' The nurse sat me down in a comfortable lobby chair and told me she had the perfect fellow in mind. 'I'll be right back,' she said. 

Soon I saw her pushing an old gentleman through the door in a wheelchair. He was slumped to one side and appeared despondent. 'This is Bob', she smiled. He looked up at me and then took notice of the banjo as I released it from the case. 'Pleased to meet you Bob', I grinned. 'Would you like to hear a tune?'

With a broken, raspy voice Bob answered, 'I use ta pick banjo'. I laid the instrument aside in order to engage him in conversation. I wanted to hear more from the old-timer. 'I was perty good too. But can't pick no more', he continued. 

I asked him why. 

'I was workin' in the barn one mornin' and fell from the loft ... it was real cold that day, real cold ... I couldn't get up ... my wife didn't find me for hours.' Bob reached out his hands so I could see how gnarled and discolored they were. 'Frostbite got 'em.' 

'I'm sorry to hear that Bob', I said. We chatted for a while about his life as a farmer and musician. I allowed him to reminisce without interruption. 

Then suddenly he blurted, 'Well boy .... pick me somethin'. 

I felt a little self-conscious as I lifted the instrument to my lap. I thought that Bob might be disappointed in my clumsy attempt, knowing that he was an accomplished picker. Without mentioning my uneasiness, I took a moment to tune the banjo. 

I proceeded to play 'Will the Circle be Unbroken' and 'Unclouded Day'. Bob gently tapped his hand against the arm of his wheelchair, helping me keep time. A smile graced his face as he heard the familiar noise of the five-string. 

'Do ya know, 'What a Friend We Have in Jesus?' Bob asked. I confessed that I was familiar with the hymn but hadn't learned how to play it. 'I'll get it down by next week and be back to play it for you ... okay?', I said with a wink. Bob thought that was just fine and looked forward to another visit. We chatted a while longer before parting ways, telling each other what a pleasure it was to meet. 

A week later I entered the nursing home again. I had devoted hours of practice to the song Bob had requested and I was anxious to give him that gift. I checked in at the nurses' station and asked if she would bring him out for a visit. The nurse looked up and responded sadly, 'Bob passed away this morning ... I'm sorry.' 

Suddenly lost, I duteously made my way to the chair where I had met the farmer. I quietly played while some of the other residents listened. It’s been close to fifteen years since my encounter with Bob but when I play the song he so loved ... I can’t help but think of him.

We will meet again someday.