I got up very early this morning so that Maria could sleep late, I went out and fed the donkeys and sheep and let the chickens out of their roost. As I came into the house, my phone pinged and I got a text message from my friend Lisa Dingle, who lives in eastern Massachusetts, three or four hours away. It said simply: “I’m on my way.”

I didn’t answer, I thought it was a message mistakenly sent to me. I had no idea what she meant, especially in the darkness in the middle of an ice and rain storm that made it hard for me to even walk to the pasture gate. Several hours later, Maria and I had breakfast and went out to the pasture to check on the donkeys and visit Simon’s grave. We were settling down after an unexpectedly sad and shocking day yesterday.

As we shoveled manure out of the barn, I heard Maria yell in surprise, but she sounded happy, and I thought I  heard her say “it’s Lisa Dingle!” But it still didn’t occur to me that it really was Lisa Dingle, I didn’t even want to think about that long drive in the middle of the night through ice-clogged roads and fog. She hadn’t told me she was coming, I hadn’t asked her to come, surely not in such weather.

I’ve learned a lot about the spirit of friendship this summer. The first lesson came in July when I was rushed to the hospital for open heart surgery. The second came this weekend when Simon died. Simon was not just our donkey, he belonged to the world, and the world was deeply upset by his death. It was not a private thing, but a very public thing and I felt strongly obliged to share it.

As open as I sometimes am on the blog, people who know me understand that I am a very private person and I rarely react well when people intrude on my space unannounced or invited, I have had too much trouble with that over the years. I am also an aging man who was closed up for most of his life, and the rust on those locks is still being chipped away, mostly by my wonderful wife and some determined and loving friends.

When I saw Lisa, I was irritated. Why hadn’t she called? What did she want? Why would she make such a grueling and dangerous drive through the night? Seeing her, my annoyance and resisted melted away. Lisa and I are like brother and sister, we love and trust one another. She, alone in the world, called me every single week in the lonely weeks after my heart surgery, she probably does not yet know what those calls meant to me.

What did she want? Nothing. She didn’t even know if we would be home, nor did it matter to her. She brought a bag of chocolate and some tea with her. If we were busy or out, she said, she would just leave it there. In fact, she said, she just wanted to see if we were okay and planned to leave anyway.

We were both delighted to see her, once my walls came down. We showed her Simon’s grave, dragged her inside for tea, sat down to talk to her. Maria loves Lisa, she lights up at the sight of her. I was pretty glad to see her, too, once I got over myself.

We talked for an hour or so, we talk very easily, all of us. Then I insisted she stay for lunch. I made veggie pasta with pesto and ground cheese, and I said I  had to blog – this is how I have been dealing with Simon, it works for me. Lisa said sure, of course, and she said she wanted to work with Maria on the dining room wall while I was  writing.  I went into my study and closed the door. I heard the two of them laughing and working together and when I came out, the wall was finished. Lisa did the spraying and scraping and Maria made it quite clear to me that Lisa worked a lot faster and more efficiently than I did. Two obsessives on the wall.

And then she left, and I saw clearly what the spirit of friendship is. It is about giving what is needed, being present in trouble, understanding what is really wanted and what isn’t. Lisa did not tell us of her troubles, her losses, she simply needed to show that she was there, and cared enough about us to come and see for herself that we were okay. “This is what friendship is about,” she said, as I scolded her for driving through the nasty night.

Truthfully, I wouldn’t know, I have not had that many friends in my life.

Saturday, our friend Mandy Meyer-Hill texted that she was coming over to drop off some soup and bread, she read about Simon on the blog. She wasn’t going to come in, she said, she was thinking of us. We dragged her inside and were happy to see her. Mandy  does not care about animals that much, she had never really even met Simon or paid much attention to him. That was not why she was there. That is the spirit of friendship.

There are those who are there, and there are those who are not. Sometimes, it is as simple as that. Lisa could have sent an e-mail just as easily. E- mail is free and easy. She didn’t have to drive over all those misty mountains in the dark.

After my surgery, my friend Scott Carrino would show up with lunch and salad. He would sit and talk with me. Those small things make such a big difference. Saturday Scott came over to say goodbye to Simon, he thought of Simon as a brother, he often came by to see him. Scott called first thing in the morning to see how I was doing. I was doing fine, I said, better than he was.

Saturday, our friends and neighbors.  Kim and Jack Macmillan appeared on the farm, just to give us some hugs and pats on the back and see what, if anything, we needed. When we are in trouble, they are always there. They are there when we are not in trouble as well.

Lisa and Maria finished the last undone wall, Maria is giving it a second coat even as we speak. Tea and dark chocolate and an afternoon’s hard work. That is the spirit of friendship. Family has always been a painful thing both for Maria and for me. But family can come in different forms, and in different times.

Simon brought me so many gifts, and here is yet another, his loving spirit has brought me friendship and  helped me understand it’s true spirit. Real friends are simply there when you need them, they don’t ask or wait to be invited. They leave their troubles and sorrows at the door, and hold your hands while you walk through yours. We will make sure to return the favor.

When Lisa left, Maria and I turned to one another and said at the same time. “that was great.” We were both so glad she came.