The woman that lives way down my road did not recognize me today. In the late '80s, she had knocked on my door late one winter night, past the time that I thought was socially acceptable. She was wearing a Michael Jackson style coat. She said she had heard that I was a local historian and asked if I knew anything about the age of her house. I did so I invited her inside and showed her around (you did that back then). Since that night, I don't recall ever speaking to her again. Our paths just didn't cross. Her old stone house is beautiful with a huge wrap-around porch. I don't recall ever seeing her on the porch or anyone visiting there. Ever so often, she puts a Free sign out by the road and leaves items. I always slowed down to look but never stopped. I could count on one hand the number of times that I saw her over the twenty year period.
Today she was having a yard sale. An unknown young girl was with her ....maybe a granddaughter or niece. They appeared to be having a good time visiting/laughing with each other. Nothing really interested me ....it appeared maybe she was moving. I saw the basket under one of the tables. Pulling it up to inspect it, the woman immediately ran over with lit-up eyes. The pinecones in the basket came from her trip to Lake Tahoe. The pieces of driftwood were from day trips to the Connecticut and Rhode Island shore. I looked her in the eyes and could see a flood of memories overcoming her as she ran her hands over the items. I asked if she knew anything about the basket and she said no. I knew it was an antique gizzard basket.
She wanted a couple of bucks for everything. She asked if I was just interested in the basket or the pinecones and driftwood too. I said all of it and she smiled very big that I was keeping them all together. Her eyes followed me as I drove away with her memories. I returned her wave.
The huge pinecones I'll use outside on Christmas roping or a wreath.
I'm not sure what I'll do with the driftwood but it will be saved. I believe I'll actually use the basket as intended and use it to gather vegetables.
I wonder if the woman went to Lake Tahoe for possibly a honeymoon. And wonder who she went to the shore with happily gathering driftwood. I hope she'll be happy wherever she is going. And hope she'll remember me, the man who took a part of her past. The basket, pinecones and driftwood are now important to me. After all, they now contain my memories of the woman who lived way down my road who did not recognize me.