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Johnson, one of Doc's grandsons, was visiting this week from Los Angeles, so I asked Doc if I could put him to work in the garden.
"Hell, yes," said Doc, or words to that effect. He didn't ask Johnson before committing him to help me dig potatoes. A retired general, Doc is used to making quick command decisions.
Johnson is slim and tall for his 15 years of age. The height he gets from Doc, I suppose. His features and coal-black hair - long, thick locks that hang over his eyes a lot – bespeak his Vietnamese heritage. He is soft-spoken, respectful, smart and ready to join in whatever activity is offered, and in the Miller family, something is always being offered. Seed's and Miss T's boys immediately took him under wing to offer cultural refuge in the universal young male language of video games.
Back home, I'm told he is studying art and piano. He is a sophomore in public schools, and a good student.
Those video gaming sessions doubtless were more comfortable than tours of the farm, bouncing around in in a truck with Doc and his dogs. Doc is a great host, but he can't hear and Johnson is soft-spoken, so I would imagine my sister, Col. Peggy, went along as a sort of translator when they showed the farm. Growing up in Los Angeles, the cultural shock of finding himself on a farm in West Virginia could not, I think, be much greater than if he were dropped onto the surface of Mars. He seemed to take it in stride.
The last time Johnson was here he was a small boy, the first-born to Doc's son Minh, who has found a successful career in the movie industry, working as a grip or rigger on such films as "National Treasure," "Malcolm X," "Thor" and scores of others. Johnson has two younger siblings.
The reason for him flying in solo from L.A. for a six-day visit was was simply to better get to know his grandfather - no spring chicken at age 86 – and Peg, his step-grandmother.
PEGGY OPENED THE DOOR to the garden, so to speak, on the first day Johnson was here by asking me whether he could pick some sweet corn for their supper; sort of a "show him where food comes from," kind of request.
"Ahhh, the corn's not quite there. It needs a couple more days," I said, and with that delaying remark we might have missed Johnson's garden opportunity entirely had not Miss T called to offer two of her boys to me for an afternoon of work on Wednesday, the day before Johnson was to fly back to L.A.
That was when I called Doc to see if Johnson could join our little work party. My plan was to dig red potatoes which I had not planted in mulch, and had waited for a rain to soften up the rock-hard dirt. But then it rained too much and I didn't want to dig in mud, so I changed the plan.
"You can help me extend the deer fence because the corn is ready," I told the boys.
Johnson learned to use the post-setter to drive steel fence posts into the ground, and became proficient at it. Tying double knots with baling twine to secure the fence to the posts was more of a challenge. (Between Velcro and slip-on shoes, I don't think American kids today in general know how to tie simple knots.)
Doc had given Johnson a black hat to wear over his black hair - not a great idea on a hot and muggy day – but he didn't complain about the heat. He showed himself a competent and willing worker. After two hours of hauling fence and posts, and doing some cleanup work around the barn, we took a walk through the garden. The Favorite showed him how to pick and shuck an ear of sweet corn, and I demonstrated that it was good even eaten raw. We picked and ate our way through the garden, with our guest sampling cherry tomatoes, banana peppers and snow peas.
"Where are the potatoes?" Johnson asked. We were standing on a row of white-skinned potatoes planted in plastic mulch, so I had him pull a couple of hills. The mulch makes the soil loose, and young people always are amazed to find big potatoes hanging under the vines they pull up. I think he would have pulled the whole row if I let him. He said working in the garden was fun.
I sliced open a cantaloupe that wasn't quite ripe; we all ate some anyway. We had better luck with a little watermelon. I passed out slices and we vied to see who could spit seeds the furthest. (I won of course.) Johnson swallowed some seeds; we assured him they would go right on through.
He took an ear of corn back to the house with him and Peg had him cook it in the microwave. I told him he was welcome to pick corn for their lunch the next day before his flight.
Doc was delighted with Johnson's visit, introducing him to foods like cheese grits and buying him new shoes. They plan to stay in touch by phone and email. Doc gave him a beautiful woven Vietnamese cone hat that belonged to his grandmother, and a photo of her.
Johnson's a good kid. I'm glad he had some time with his grandfather, and with us Millers, and I'm glad we got that fence up. Darned deer.