The Year of the Windmill

     Sitting in my studio, I can hear the water dripping onto the tin top.  The hard rain had just ended and the leaves were shedding the excess moisture.  I love a good rain at the end of July.  It gives welcome relief to the heat and oppressive humidity of the Dog Days.  The rhythm of the drops was slowing to a stop and lulling me into a peaceful state.
     "Charles, go to the store and tell them to not put so much juice in the tomato's."  Mama said.
     "I will."
     It was the first time I had seen her for almost two years.  She was standing in front of the stove, where I had seen her many times.  Her body was young and vibrant and her hair was a deep auburn, almost black, with not a hint of grey.  Her body was not bent and frail as it had been.  I had longed for this moment since she had died.  And this is what she said to me?  Even as I was disappointed at that, I realized that for her it had only been a few minutes.
     "How have you been, mama?"  I asked.
     "Nothing has changed in the last few minutes."  she answered, puzzled at this question.  "Your father is young again and is free from the arthritis that has plagued him for years."  "As a matter of fact he and Daddy Frank are off squirrel hunting in the lower forty."
     "That's good, Mama." I replied, strangely aware that I was much older than she was.  Now according to her I was older than daddy.
     "What about grandpa, grannie and Maw?" I asked.
     "Grandpa is pulling weeds in the garden, grannie is painting a portrait of her black cocker spaniel and Maw is fishing in Spurgeon's pond.
  We talked for a while and each of us enjoyed the visit.  It was easier for us now, we had never bonded in the past and things were hard for us.  The closest thing to this was the summer that I moved to Mobile to go to college.  I worked at the peanut mill in Headland, moving trailer loads of peanuts from the line to the dryers.  On the last day, she brought me lunch and stayed with me while I ate.  I always treasured that.
  I could hear a low tapping sound coming from the back room.  At first it was not bad and hard to discern, but it steadily grew into a crescendo.  I got up from the table to go open the door to the room and mama rushed to get between me and the door.  "You can't go in there yet, it's not time." she explained.
     She faded away and everything became dark.  The dripping of the drops had stopped and I opened my eyes.  The sun was peeking out from behind the clouds as I went to the barn to gather my tools to work on the tower of my windmill.  It had been given to me by Fred McKay.  He had gotten it off a farm he was renting near Midland City.  According to him, a tornado had knocked it down years ago and every piece of angle was bent.  I had always wanted a windmill on the place and I was glad to get this one.  As we looked it over, we discovered, stenciled onto the angles, DR. C. ESPY MIDLAND CITY, AL.  This was especially exciting to me because he and my grandfather were good friends early in my childhood.
     On Sunday mornings a group of farmers and merchants would gather at Nook Gary's store on 134 in Midland City.  Doc Espy owned several stores in the area and had a large work force.  The other farmers would tease him saying, "If you will fertilize your peanuts, you'll make more."
  "I am not trying to make peanuts, I'm trying to make money." was his response.  Grandpa told me that story several times and always with humored respect, for one thing that Doc Espy made was money.  I feel grandpa's and Doc's conversation in heaven led to my getting the windmill.