I bought my sweet corn there for the last several years, it cost about $5 for a half-dozen ears, the corn was very good. The old farmer said with his wife – she was called “mother,” and counted out change and carefully put the ears of corn into plastic bags. Last year I suspected might be his last, he was emaciated, hardly able to move or count.

This stand was always among the first to have corn, sometimes as early as the Fourth of July.

I loved this stand, it was one of my favorites. The old farmer took his corn seriously, he wasn’t much for small talk. He sold Irises as well as corn, but few vegetables. A son or helper brought more corn in from the field. His sweatshirt is still hanging on the hook. His folder chair is lying on the ground.

I’m sorry the old farmer is gone, but I am not surprised. Life is never static, we are constantly reminded that life is nothing but change, and then, more change. There is no point or virtue in lamenting life or wishing for what is past or gone. I can never keep my head up that way.

Our test is how to live with it in grace. I thank the old man for his good corn, I will honor him by taking a last photo of a stand that had served many people for many years.

With him goes another piece of a way of life, and life is like that too, today’s way of life is tomorrow’s memory. Nostalgic is a trap, it leads nowhere, but I miss the stand and the old man. I asked him if I could take his photo once, and he didn’t like it but he agreed to it. He had a wide-brimmed straw hat and a tired look in his eyes.