One summer, I happened to be working from my home. From the second floor window where my office was located I could gaze out at my field, across the road from my house.
One day when I glanced up from my work, I was surprised to see an old station wagon parked on the grassy right of way that borders my field. An old fellah in a straw hat was standing about ten feet into my field, filling quart baskets with black raspberries that he was picking. The berries were abundant that year and just at their peak. I watched him fill basket after basket and tuck them in this car.
I was rather taken aback that some stranger would feel free to drive onto my property and help himself to my berry crop. How did he know the berries were there? Was he planning to sell them? Just across the state line a big home-grown produce stand sat at the highway’s edge. I was debating with myself whether to hike down to the field to confront him when he finished his picking and drove off, heading for Ohio.
I told myself no harm was done. Plenty of berries remained for the birds and I probably wasn’t going to pick them myself since another patch on the south hill was closer to my house.
But then, the next day, there he was again! And this time he had a woman with him and a little dog, and they seemed to be making a day of it, picking basket after basket of my berries. “What nerve!” I thought to myself. Not only were they trespassing, they maybe were stealing from me for their own profit. I definitely had to go see what they had to say for themselves. I was getting a bit miffed. And I don’t like to be upset.
As I pulled on my jeans and boots for my hike into the field, I happened to ask how else I could look at the situation. That’s when the miracle happened. I suddenly realized that had I known this couple, had they been my friends, I would be more than happy to have them take all the berries they wanted. The obvious solution then was to make friends with them. And I approached them with that intention, smiling and waving as I walked toward them.
It turned out they were a sweet old pair. And when they found out they weren’t in the field that belonged to their Ohio neighbor, who happened to own the field behind mine, they were absolutely mortified. They apologized over and over again while I assured them there was no need. It was a completely understandable mistake. The old man insisted I take the last two quarts of picked berries that he held in his hands, and I thanked him for the gift and told him they were welcome to take all they wanted. But so great was their embarrassment that they soon left, never to return again.
You might think that was the end of the story, my little parable about how a change of perspective can change your whole world. But wait! There’s more . . .
It was the middle of December and I had just finished hanging the last of my Christmas decorations when there was a knock on my door. It surprised me. I wasn’t expecting any guests.
When I opened the door, there was the raspberry thief, grinning, with gifts in his hands. His wife had baked a pie for me with berries from my field. The pie was spectacular, looking as if it had just sprung to life from the cover of a magazine. And then he set a bottle of homemade black raspberry wine on my kitchen counter, wishing me a Merry Christmas and thanking me for my kindness to him and his wife. And both the pie and the wine, I must say, were the finest I ever tasted.
I never saw the couple again after that. But I savor the memory, a tale of kindness returned, every Christmas when I hang my decorations and each summer when the black raspberries are ripe for picking.
Love each other, hey?
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Andrzej Rembowski from Pixabay