Column: Call It a Day
There was a time I loved Easton and my 3.6-acre property so much, I often I told my wife, “…when I die, bury me next to Sam.” It would be my honor to rest in peace alongside Sam, short for Samantha, the greatest springer spaniel known to man.
How I’d love to rest under the shade of the lower field’s tallest hemlocks. Huge and healthy, they supplied the earth and sky at least one hundred years of dedicated service. While digging the four-foot hole for Sam, other than an occasional root, it was easy. Knowing my wife may not be capable of effectively handling a shovel in old age, I suggested I’d begin the process.
Easy digging, perhaps an inch a day would get me to state-mandated level of six feet when my time comes. She, along with a friend or relative, could wheelbarrow me down hill to the site, plop me in, replace the once compacted compost, and call it a day.
Little did I know the depth of which my life would change. When my wife prematurely left me, along with her entire earthly existence, for bigger and better things, my burial plans below the hemlocks along with everything else we held sacrosanct, vanished, leaving mere memories of a time gone by, as beautiful as they are.
Looking back, Easton’s environment, schools and community served us extremely well. I’d like to think we reciprocated. It’s where we raised our family, worked, played and loved for 40 beautiful years.
I often describe Easton to others unfamiliar as an oasis: a fertile, pleasant, peaceful place in the midst of a difficult, troubled or hectic situation. It is my hope Easton will remain uncontaminated by the harshness of the world outside.
Well, Eastonites, it’s time to call it a day. More than just a chapter, this book has come to an end. The time has come for me to move on and to bid farewell. Thank you God and thank you Easton for allowing me the privilege to breathe your fine air, teach your beautiful children and to share my thoughts and life with your fine community. You will be sorely missed. Be well!