John Davis- Tuesday Morning Coming Down

That old tractor pulling a two-bottom plow made me think of you, and it was only a warm Tuesday. That tint of blue on the water where it pooled in a rocky bend made me smile, knowing you'd be dangling a grub and jiggling it right off the bank, pulling in panfish. I hit the brakes a little too hard, causing an Ale-8 bottle to roll forward from beneath the seat. It made me laugh, knowing you always had a floorboard full of them. It made me laugh, and it was just a drive home from work on a Thursday night.

It wasn't your birthday, nor was it Thanksgiving without you. It wasn't a hunting trip to your favorite place. It wasn't sorting through your personal belongings. It wasn't placing flowers on a stone or staring at a brass plaque. It was just a mundane day carrying on.

That old Stevens 94 with a sticky action makes me chuckle every time it performs beyond its means. Yellow handled Sod Busters, German Eyes, and John Primbles always make me hold them with a certain reverence. A good feist with its tail curled over its back is worth a second look.

I never pass a good stretch of river without looking it over for potential. The old man pulling a worn aluminum boat makes me sad and happy simultaneously, and it's just a Saturday morning. That half-ton truck, overloaded with chunks of white oak and hanging on by a thread with the bumper dragging, always makes me smirk to myself. Old school aluminum body Poulan chainsaws will always hold a special place with me from years of running them side by side. Driving by Clower's Grocery always makes me want to swing through for a bologna sandwich just to tread your old footsteps.

It comes out of the blue and follows no predictable pattern. Missing you just happens. It's in everything from haphazard piles of Zebcos to mismatched tires on an old farm truck. To say I'm sad about it all the time would be a lie. I actually smile at many of those things and am eternally grateful that I got to experience a lifetime of memories in your shadow.

It shows a race well run to have that much of you spread across the region. Your DNA is on every ginseng plant, every Case tractor, and every hickory tree hosting a squirrel from here to Hungry Mother, Virginia. It hits me often, a wave of laughter tinted with melancholy, and that's just on a Tuesday.