I worked for Don Tobler years ago, and closely with his son Harmon. At first it was an all-Jersey dairy farm. Then the butterfat premium for the milk they sold was changed, and they slowly moved to an all-Holstein herd.  

“Why do you drive that old thing? With the money you’re making, you could afford a new one!” said a friend of mine as a teenager. The fellow he was talking to was one of his dad’s employees, a talented older mechanic.

How about we keep our eyes and ears open all day every day.  Someone may be in need, and five or 10 minutes of our time may make us a hero by changing another’s day from a disaster into a slight delay.

About a decade ago we had upgraded the car Elli would be driving to work every day. With the odometer on the old rig pushing 300,000 miles, the dealer had declined to take it in trade. 

“I wasn’t sure whether Mary had got home yet,” a perplexed Leo said, then went on with, “I was down in my basement tinkering with one of my firearms and experienced the ultimate embarrassment of having an accidental discharge. I sat in silence, and when no sounds came from upstairs, I deduced that Mary wasn’t home yet."

Parma, Idaho – 1955. The first year since we’d moved there in 1952 that the spring frosts had missed our huge old apricot tree. It was so loaded Dad thought it might break down.