Sometimes I run into angels. That day I backed into an angel. Pretty sure. “Merry Christmas”. The elderly gentleman just said, “Merry Christmas”!
Last Christmas I had to run to Menard’s for something, and I may have not been paying perfect attention, but as I got ready to back out of my parking space, I did look back, I really did. I thought it was open behind me. I didn’t realize that there was anybody there until I heard an awful crunching sound and felt my car jerk to a sudden halt. I hate when that happens, because I’m just nuts about scrapes and dings on anything I own. I had backed right into the corner of this fellow’s car. I jumped out, profusely apologizing and trying to explain that I never saw him. Well, no kidding, Sherlock. I felt so bad for him, his nice car now scraped up, and for my own damage, and he just calmly said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s really nothing.”
I had an eerie feeling that either he was an angel sent to remind me that I needed to be more careful while backing up, or maybe that he had something seriously much worse than this event going on in his life, because he wanted nothing from me. No contact or insurance information, no exchange of phone numbers. All he said was “Don’t worry about it. It’s really nothing. Merry Christmas.”
An angel. A moment of Grace.
I was 16, and had gotten a summer-long job working for a very busy local dairyman. My official job was to cut hay, and in between that do whatever was needed on the dairy. He had a really nice new self-propelled John Deere swather, and being able to spank down huge fields at pretty high speeds, spinning 180° at the ends of the rows, was a huge treat after only using a pull-behind Hesston mower-conditioner. It was sweet, and typically occupied me for 6-7 days straight of 12-15 hour days to knock down about 400 acres of alfalfa, then do it again 28 days later. Other jobs in between included hauling chopped alfalfa to the silo blowers, or even baling or stacking small bales if they needed some baled hay in the barn for winter feeding. “Grandma” always made sure I had a good breakfast (including fried blood sausage every day) before I hit the fields. I worked alone nearly all the time, and one day I was blowing alfalfa haylage up one of the three blue 24’X80′ Harvestore structures. I knew that first unit was nearly full, so I started the electric blower, set the wagon to unload at a reasonable pace, and headed up the 80′ silo to check how it was filling. It was about 6′ from the center hole, and you shouldn’t fill a Harvestore tight full to the top. There are two holes on the top of a Harvestore, one in the center where the product fills, and one nearer the edge that functions both as a ventilation air release and is an access option if you fill tight up to the hole in the center. It was getting close to being filled, and if the flow was stopped even momentarily, the pipe would have plugged immediately, all the way to the ground, and with the blower and wagon running without supervision, there would have been no way for me to have scrambled 80′ down before VERY significant damage was caused to the blower and unloading wagon below. I started in the center with my pitchfork, tossing haylage out toward the sides while the blower kept blowing it in fast, first from outside, on top of the structure, then I scurried down the outside hatch and furiously pulled haylage toward the outside while the blower poured it in the center. There is always the possibility of either running out of oxygen in a silo, and fermentation gases have killed more than a few people who have entered silos. I was 16, ok? Anyway, it was fast and furious work, but in the end, the load finally ran out and I was ok.
I had the wonderful opportunity to visit India in 2019. My first stop was in Tiptur, Karnataka, about 3 hours’ drive west of Bengaluru. They speak a language called Kannada there. Hoṭṭe tumbide (sounds like “otay toombiday”) is a Kannada phrase that means “Full stomach”. When I learned the phrase, I had just finished a very filling lunch meal with 5-6 Karnatakan fellows, and while I indeed had a full stomach from the fantastic lunch presentation and meal, they helped me understand that hoṭṭe tumbide had a second meaning or connotation, that one’s life was full, a feeling encompassing gratefulness and peaceful satisfaction, one which transcended the fullness from the meal itself. I found myself feeling that hoṭṭe tumbide feeling, along with a desire to help others experience that feeling. It lent itself well to using it as a general greeting. The locals certainly found it engaging and positive.