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compared to our red horses but to him they were his friends and family. There was an old house on this property, which was once inhabited and possibly built by the Wesendoncks who were large landowners on Nobusiness in the 1800’s. It had become dilapidated and Willie used it for a barn and for sheltering his donkeys. Occasionally a donkey would go upstairs and poke its head out the window and bray. The old house was demolished when Willie’s son Eugene bought the land. The donke ys were his life. When one would die he’d dig a hole and bury it and say a few words. He exhibited the animals at the local fair in the fall and would receive ribbons. Often no one else entered this class so he had total command of the judges. He hung the ribbons on the wall in his bedroom, which was usually in total disarray. Many of the animals developed foot rot and finally succumbed. Today some of my cattle contract foot rot and I wonder if the same bacterial organism still resides in the field near the creek. Nevertheless, these were Uncle Willie ’s companions and they served him well. In the years after I was born Willie became great friends with my Ma and Pa. Both Pa and Willie chewed tobacco of which Ma was constantly badgering Pa to wipe the ambeer from his chin. During the long winter months these two would pull up a rocking chair in front of the fireplace and have a grand old time chewing tobacco and spitting in the fire. It was amazing how accurately they could hit the same spot in the fire from 5 or 6 feet away. The afternoons were spent warming by the fire telling of their past adventures of which I became enthralled. One of the distinguishing features of Uncle Willie was his white mustache. He took great pride in keeping it groomed but the real show was when he would drink buttermilk. The curds of butter would cling to his mustache and he would take his tongue and lick it clean and repeat the process over again. He had an infectious laugh and when he became tickled everyone around him was affected. Gentleness was his character and he found humor in simple things of life. I became Uncle Willie’s protégé and he would take me on hikes in the fields and woods and tell me about nature. In spring there were trees that bore fruit known as sarvices. These were really tall bushes never maturing into timber. Their limbs were pliable so climbing the trees and bending the branches over so we could reach the fruit from the ground became my job. We would eat for hours at a time and I would listen to his tales of the past. In the summer he would pick mushrooms in the early morning in our barn lot while the dew was still on the ground. He knew precisely which ones were edible. These were usually small white mushrooms with a beautiful pink color under the umbrella cap. I had strict instructions from Mother never to touch or eat those for fear of picking a poisonous one. So I’d watch Willie methodically go through the field picking the ones to his liking and filling his basket. I never had the pleasure of eating his final prepared morsels but I suspect he cooked a delectable dish. I was an only child and the older folks were often my friends and close confidants. Years later when I practiced medicine I often wondered why I liked to care for the elderly. Maybe it was a reflection of my youth and the love and attention these older relatives and friends gave me.

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