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"God has shown us this as clear as a bell, but most folks don't see what's clear as a bell," the old woman's voice cracked and another tear was wiped from her eye. 

I clicked a few pictures of the terribly neglected farm while she brought herself under control.

"Oh, Mrs. Jefferson, I think we is borin' this young woman," said the old man with a little chuckle.

"Well, my publisher has sent me here to record your life story.  Nothing about it is boring to me.  With great respect, I ask you to share it with me."

"You gonna write it all down so you can put it in that magazine of yours?" asked the man.

I pointed to the tape recorder.  "I have this device that will record everything you say.  I plan to write my article after I get back to Atlanta and listen to it a couple of times."

"I don't know much about new fangled gizmos," he said with pride in his voice.

I backed the tape up a few wounds and hit the play button.  His voice could be heard saying Know much about new fangled gizmos.

"I Suwannee.  Where would you like me to begin?" asked the man.

"Anywhere you want," said I, my voice laden with respect.  "It's your life."

These words had the affect on the woman which made her begin to weep aloud.  Several minutes passed without conversation, then the pickup stopped thirty or so yards from the porch, well behind my Taurus, and a middle aged white man got out, but did not approach the house.  Instead he examined the ground as he slowly disturbed it with the toe of his shoe.

Mr. Jefferson stood.  "Would you excuse me.  Mr. Bowers looks like he could use my help."  With that he stepped off the porch.

The two men shook hands and while Mr. Bowers explained what was on his mind, his head was lowered, his hat was in his hands.  Mr. Jefferson placed a hand on the man's shoulder to give him comfort, as if his touch alone could give the man the strength to overcome the sorrows that brought him to the farm.

I waited for several seconds, then asked, “Is this a bad day for him?  I can come back.  I really don't mind.”

“Jeremias don’t have no bad days.  He is always in a good mood and always has something good to say about everybody he meets.  When someone asks him how he is doin’, he always answers," she lowered her voice in an imitation of her husband's, "I ain’t never been better a day of my life.  If somebody is havin’ a bad day, Jeremias is there to tell him how to look on the bright side of the things." 

I glanced back at the two men by the pickup and said, “He can't be a positive person all of the time."

"Oh, yes he can.  He surely can."

I faced her.  "How does he do it?"

“You’ll have to ask him.”

I turned toward the two men in the driveway just in time to see Mr. Jefferson hand the man his wallet.  Mr. Bowers opened the ancient thing and extracted a few bills, then handed it back to its owner.  I wasn't sure, but I think I caught the glint of tears in the white man's eyes.

Mr. Jefferson walked back to the porch as the pickup drove back out the drive.

"Mr. Bowers sends his best, Mrs. Jefferson," he offered.