Fall is my favorite time of the year. In the words of Goldilocks, it’s not too hot, not too cold…just right. The smell of wood burning from a distant fire, picking fresh apples, the taste of the season’s first cider donut: Is there anything better?
Everyone has their favorite orchard, and for decades my family took the drive out to Castleton-on-Hudson to make memories. The orchard there has changed hands and names over the years, but one of my most powerful memories about life, frailty, and humanity happened near 40 years ago when it was called Goold Orchard.
I was in my early twenties and had just finished a cup of Goold’s cider when I decided to sit on a bench in front of the general store. My mom and sister were browsing inside, and I wanted to just lean back and take in the beautiful autumn day.
An older woman, I’d guess in her seventies, approached me and I watched as her face lit up with surprise.
“Oh my God, it’s you,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
At the time, I was a radio news reporter and had not begun my TV career, so there was no way she recognized me from that. I was lost as to who she thought I was.
Without hesitation, the sweet woman took a seat next to me on the bench and immediately reached over to clasp my hand in both of hers. There was such love in her eyes.
I looked around nervously, not certain what was happening. I grew up watching a TV show called Candid Camera, but was sure this was not that.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she said, squeezing my hand.
I didn’t know what to do, but something deep inside told me to respond as if all of this was normal.
“It’s so wonderful to see you, too,” I said. “How have you been?”
Just as quickly as she had embraced me, the woman turned and looked out at the orchard. She took a deep breath from the cool breeze and closed her eyes. I didn’t know who she was or where she went at that moment, but I could see complete contentment.
I remember thinking, if one of my family members comes around the corner and sees this stranger holding my hand tightly in hers, they’re going to wonder if I’ve lost my mind.
Then, another woman I didn’t know, this one in her forties, came dashing up the steps of the store and said, “Mom, there you are.”
I could see she was relieved as she took her mother’s wrinkled hands into her own and helped her to her feet.
The elderly lady said to her daughter, “Did you see? David is here.”
The woman’s daughter looked at me and smiled sheepishly, then back to her mom and said, “I see that. Yes, Mom. It’s wonderful to see him.”
My new friend waved goodbye and her daughter turned to me. “Thank you for sitting with her,” she said. “She has Alzheimer’s and, well…she thought you were her brother. He’s been gone a long time.”
Roughly 40 fall seasons have come and gone since that day, but I’ve never forgotten it. I believe God put me on that bench at that moment for a reason, if only to give a woman with a failing mind a moment of joy. I was simply a useful passenger in this ride we call life.
As we age and decline, I pray we all find a perfect fall day, a bench, and a friend with whom to share it.
