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This weekend, two of my three children were stranded elsewhere and unable to come home due to snow and ice on our country backroad. 52, who was snowbound with me, and perhaps experiencing a case of cabin fever-induced dementia, agreed to be more than the shadow on the ground for once.
More than the man behind the hoe.
More than the figure on the tractor cloaked by leaves.
And more than the face behind the giant cup.
For those of you who prefer the mystery, click away now! This will most likely be the first and last time he will let me do this. For those of you who have been waiting for this, here it is!
To tell you a little bit about him, his family history goes back in this county for two hundred years, like mine. He has degrees in physics, math, and industrial engineering. He works for a regulatory agency for the state of West Virginia. He has three grown children, a son and two daughters. He did not agree for me to post his name, to protect the innocent. Or maybe the guilty. I’m not sure. Anyway, even to me, he is 52.
He has a very nice smile. And kind eyes. And a really cool deep voice.
He always knows what kind of berry that is and what that tree is called. I like to ride around the backroads with my head on his shoulder while he tells me stuff. He knows a lot of neat stuff about West Virginia and nature. He always stops and lets me take pictures. Even if he has to back up a quarter mile for a deer that leaps into the woods just as soon as we get there. I like to watch him read the newspaper and he likes to brush Coco’s fur and tell me for the ten thousandth time where to find the trash cans. He reminds me to put pants on. Especially when I start complaining about being cold.
(Photo taken at his house in Charleston. Notice that the birthday cake has five candles on one side and two on the other. That is because he is always 52.)
I love him very much. 
