As I headed out to chore this morning, I heard the distinct sound of a familiar tractor. I looked up and saw my neighbor in the old blue beast, making his way back and forth across the hay field.
Nearly 80 years old, he considers himself lucky to have maintained his status of "bachelor." And he has been fairly proficient in the solo management of his farm, even though he has had to deal with the wrath of Parkinson's for the last several of those years.
This past summer, a series of unfortunate events lead him to spending the night in a ditch; it was nearly too late by the time he was found. He spent a couple of days in the hospital, followed by a few months in the nursing home. He was encouraged to not return to his farm, at least until after winter, but he told me during one of our visits he had picked the date he would be walking out of there. He ending up beating his goal, and was home long before the first snow fell.
There was speculation that once he was home he would start to decline, but the opposite seems to have held true. It's like that farm is his life force, and every day he breathes in its air makes him stronger for the next. Seeing him in his field at the crack of dawn this morning, I couldn't help but smile. I have so much respect for the man - he's living the life he loves, which in itself is not an easy one. Add to that the physical challenge he faces with every day tasks average people take for granted, he straight up amazes me. I am grateful for the continued opportunity to call him my neighbor.