3/21/2023.

It was a tad chilly this March afternoon, but there I sat wearing my down coat, ensconced on the writer’s perch and taking in the rays. I was alone; Judy off running errands hither and yon. She wouldn’t be back for a while.

A totally unpredictable sequence was then visited upon me. It occurred with pinpoint timing, as though previously planned, but no such arrangement was afoot. At least, I didn’t think so.

It was unusual for my longtime buddy, Charlie Mann, to show up, unusual only because his visit was unexpected. Otherwise, Charlie is virtually part of my family. In a matter of seconds, we were engaged in our standard banter. It’s always good to see Charlie.

He had barely gotten seated when my brother Dave made his way up the driveway. In short order, this combination inched the conversation up a notch. Since childhood, Charlie was part of the mix down here in the hollow. Among many endeavors, Charlie helped me bale hay commonly. Although he lived a stone’s throw from Little York, Charlie was around the farm frequently.

He didn’t just mix with the Tucker boys. The Mitchells were the other family in the hollow. They had daughters!! No other explanation is needed for Charlie’s consistent presence.

The Mitchells have long since flown their coop. Alex Mitchell, my boyhood buddy, was also pals with Charlie. These days Alex lives out near Gettysburg, a long haul. Indeed, we had all been together a few years back. Alex (we call him Arlo) brought us all together at the State Theatre in Easton.

Arlo, you see, plays an accomplished fiddle. Playing at the time with the John Denver Tribute Band, at show’s end he separated himself from the band and broke into his version of Orange Blossom Special. The applause cracked the plaster in the ceiling!

That sets up the next domino. Brother Dave, Charlie and I sat in the living room reminiscing about any number of notables when up the driveway came yet another vehicle. Without a clue, I peered out the window to ascertain who had arrived . This was nothing short of surreal. Alex Mitchell stepped out of the car.

We all sat there in, at least a smidgen of disbelief . How did this unlikely conclave fall together? I mean Bretton Woods was one thing, but Tuckaway Woods was another! We fettered not with such detail; rather let the party begin.

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