I was up at the Dell farm this week, working up the hay field—under-seeding some new grasses for next year and planting winter triticale for spring forage for the sheep. Thought I’d better squeeze that last little job in before corn harvest starts. The corn’s not quite ready anyhow.
Oh—hang on, you’re wondering what’s the Dell farm?
Well, that’s a piece of land we added a few years back, bought from the Dell family. And as farm custom goes, you name the place after the last owner. It’s a respect thing, I suppose. Usually, the last farmer made the hard decision to stop farming—or has passed on. Around here, that’s just how it’s done. Every farm has a name that carries a bit of someone else’s story.
Anyway, after finishing up seeding, I figured I’d earned lunch out. I jumped in the pickup and headed for town, aiming for a quick burger. But as I rolled in, I noticed the little breakfast/lunch spot “Cozy Corners” still open. That sounded even better—a sit-down meal and maybe a real coffee mug instead of a travel cup.
What I hadn’t really thought through were the memories. The last time I’d eaten there, I’d joined a cherished neighbour mom from my childhood—Linda. Not a close friend exactly, but the kind of neighbour you knew you could count on if you ever needed something, though I never had to ask. She was a fast talker, always up to date on everything in the community. Wherever I saw her, she’d ask, “How’s Mom and Dad?” and we’d have one of those easy conversations that leave you smiling. She passed away a few weeks ago.
So when I walked in today and saw the quiet, almost-empty restaurant, it felt like a metaphor. I took a seat, ordered the hot beef sandwich, and sat there thinking of all the times Dad and I had lunch in that same place. He was a regular there too.
As I ate, I wondered if the owner knew who I was—if she knew I’d been friends with Linda, or that I was Dean’s son. For a moment I thought about saying something, but then I stopped myself. Who am I, really? Dean’s son? Linda’s friend? Or just Rod?
Don’t get me wrong—I am proud to be Dean’s son and Linda’s friend. But that day, sitting alone with my meal and my thoughts, I decided to just be Rod.
Sometimes that’s enough.
Farmer Rod