Heading to the local neighborhood Farmers’ Market each Tuesday afternoon meant we would buy, among other things, organic eggs. The eggs were always grand, with a dark tanned shell and the most wonderfully colored yellow yolks one could hope to find upon cracking them open. But better than all that was the time to chat for a couple minutes with the seller.
Andrew Wersal.
We would chat about the weather and if the latest downpours had hit his farm. As he sat in the passenger side of the truck, or on the top of a large cooler in the shade, the conversations might bounce around from his animals back home to the best ways to make an omelet. Andy was the epitome of a grandfatherly-type farmer who seemed to relish his life. He was a nice part to each of the markets.
We had not seen him for two weeks, thinking last week he was just not able to make it for whatever reason. This week I asked a vendor in the area about Andy to discover this kind man, with a slow gait, had died in late July. The cause of death was due to a pulmonary embolism.
One of the ladies at the market said his last day was much like the others, except Andy thought he was dehydrated. When taken to the doctor the clot was located, but by that evening he had passed away. Silently into the night.
It is amazing how people that are only in our lives at the margins, and only for brief minutes, still connect and make for genuine smiles. Today there was a large open space on the pavement where his truck would have been parked, where on the shady passenger side a small framed man would have sat and talked with shoppers.
That memory still made for a smile today. Some folks are memorable that way.
Godspeed, Andy.
CAFFEINATED POLITICS 