PREPPING…

The parking lot is full and this old man comes shuffling out of the store with a lanky teen walking next to him.  Our town is filled with cold purpose.  Everyone is gearing up and battening down, ensuring they have enough essentials to survive the impending storm.  Two feet of snow and howling winds, the media has peered into it’s crystal ball and shouted "Blizzard! The end is near!"

Shelves at the Walmart are bare of bread and minus milk. The toilet paper isle is spare with perhaps no square to spare.  I sit in the truck, watching people, surmising what they deem essential for survival as my husband waits in line to purchase feed for our chickens, goats and sheep. 

I'm too vain to leave the truck when I still have my pajama flannels on underneath the dark brown Carhart coveralls and coat that I affectionately call the turd suit (because that is how I look). 

The old man shuffles towards his truck.  The teen is patient with his friend’s effort.  Their snail-like cart is obviously loaded to capacity, but I can’t see the contents.   I only see the inching of their torsos above the hoods of parked cars.

It seems most of town is wearing camo and hats.  Are we all going hunting?  Elmer Fudd comes to mind and now I'm involuntarily humming "kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit".  

 I look into the carts of strangers and gather clues about who these people are by the contents.  What is essential?  

One ample woman in a tired, limp coat and matching fur lined hat gets into an ancient mercedes.  She looks like she hasn’t showered in a while, and yet she is wearing a skirt and has nylons on.  Nylons are an effort!!  Kudos lady!  She throws her bagged purchase haphazardly into the back seat, then opens the driver side door, points her backside towards the seat and lets her entire mass give over to gravity as she flops down onto that seat.  She then pivots her suspended barely covered legs into the car and slams the door shut.  

This is when I see that the window is covered in yellowed tattered plastic.  It's possible that she is on her own, and my stomach knots uncomfortably because she is unreachable.  One old woman in a beat up car going who knows where, and it’s not wise to knock on her thin holey window to ask,"Are you alone?  Do you need help in this storm?”  I watch her drive away and wonder how cold it must be to drive with a partially exposed window while wearing a skirt and nylons.

Praying feels like a copout, but I pray for her anyway, that someone who is close can reach out and provide assistance or at least get some new plastic on that window, and maybe bring her some warm socks or a coat that hasn't lost all of its stuffing.

The old shuffling man and his teen load the back of his rusted sun faded green pickup.  The cab shakes as each load is dropped.  The engine sputters, then pushes white smoke from the tail pipe.  He puts it creakily into gear, pulls forward passed me, and I nosily peek into the truck bed to see what brought him here to put forth so much effort right before a blizzard.  

The truck bed was filled with at least 8 large bags.  My first thought was cows.  Cows might need 8 bags of feed during the 3 days we were predicted to be snowbound.  But then I scanned a bag and saw pictures of birds and sunflowers. Instantly this wave of awe overcame me.  Birdseed was his essential thing.  Not bread and milk and toilet paper but birdseed.  The least of these, he's taking care of the least of these.  Creatures who don’t belong to anyone are his priority. 

No news anchor will interview him and point out this extreme kindness. The shortage of bread, milk, and bottled water is the newsworthy footage.  Not many will know of the goodness of this aged man and his helpful teen.  The birds will know.  I know.  Now you know. 

There is kindness.  Maybe it takes nosiness to find it.  

Hum it with me.  "Feed the birds. Tuppence a bag."