John Rieger and I are very different in almost every obvious way.

What we do, where we come from, who we are. And yet, in surprising ways, I felt we were very similar. I thought I was talking to a brother, not a stranger.

John is 80 years old runs a successful feed and farm business – Country Power Products –  he started 50 years ago. Although he waves that idea away, he is a long-time school board member in his community and a legend in Greenwich, N. Y.

John is all country, and no matter how long I live up here, I will be all city.

That was not a problem for either of us today at our first lunch. John was so friendly, honest and straightforward that I hoped we would meet one day.

I liked John from the first. He is a good man, honest and compassionate. But until recently, I only knew him over the phone.

Two weeks ago Maria and I were driving by his store (I didn’t know where it was), and she pulled in to buy me flowers. John’s daughter Heidi was there, and I remembered I had sent a couple of my children’s books to her at her instead’s request.

John and I shook hands and hit it off; I felt I had known him for years. A week later, I e-mailed him and asked if I could take him to lunch. He seemed happy to do that. As you know, I am wary of men and usually find them difficult to talk with.

I wanted to get to know this man. I don’t think I’ve invited another man to lunch in all of the years I’ve lived here (maybe once.) I’m not incredibly social  I decided to take the plunge.

There was no shortage of things to talk about. It didn’t feel like a new conversation but a continuation of an old one.

We both have heart issues to discuss, and sound and family.

Before we met, John had never heard of a blog and had no idea I had one until his daughter Heidi told him.

He knew absolutely nothing about me other than that I had written a book or two, and I knew absolutely nothing about him. It is liberating in a way, to talk to people who don’t read the blog. They know nothing about me.

Something is fascinating about that for me; we had so many questions to ask each other, so much to tell each other and learn and learn. Our differences made no difference.

John sells me the hay we use for our farm, and his hay is terrific and reasonable. I trusted him right away, and he does everything he says he will do, no fuss or drama.

I invited him to a Greenwich restaurant Maria and I often go to, but it was closed for Spring Break.

I joked that we could always go to the McDonald’s up the road (I haven’t had lunch at a McDonald’s for about 40 years), and he jumped at the chance. It was fast and nearby, he said. I could tell it was his first choice.

This will be interesting, I think. Generally, heart patients stay as far away from McDonald’s as they can get. But I was ready. I’ve done my homework. There isn’t always a restaurant around with healthy food. McDonald’s is trying.

So we ended up at McDonald’s, sitting in one of their booths.

We talked briefly about our heart difficulties. Older men always have medical things to talk about. But we didn’t dwell on them; we got onto more exciting things right away.

I have researched the healthy foods one can get at McDonald’s; I ordered a  McChicken sandwich, which is 400 calories, less if you get no mayonnaise or fries. I got no mayonnaise and fries, I’ve lost a lot of weight, I’m not going backward. But a McChicken sandwich won’t hurt me.

The apple crisps were my lunch along with the McChicken, and I did pretty well for my first lunch with anyone at McDonald’s since I was a teenager.

John is allergic to barley and is also interested in changing his diet.

He ordered a cheeseburger, pulled out the meat and cheese, ate them, tossed aside the bread, and ordered fries. I joked that this would probably change, and we laughed about it.

I told him of my new relationship with food, and he was interested. I don’t get the sense John is into a lot of change, and I didn’t push it.

John lives on the farm he was born on and considered himself a farmer in every way . He was astonished when I told him I’d moved 14 or 15 times in my life. He had three daughters he is crazy about and has never been divorced; his marriage to Millie is long and loving.

He lights up when he talks about his daughters.

Our lives could not have been more different, yet they were the same in so many odd ways.

There seemed to be no distance between us. We talked about the country’s politics, and he spoke about how concerned people in the country are these days about the rising cost of just about everything.

He is especially troubled by the difficulties facing the fixed-income elderly, many of whom are his long-time customers.

Up here, he said, many older adults are deeply into bird watching in the winter. Because they can’t or don’t wish to go outside much, they buy birdseed, sit by their windows, and watch the birds. They study them and get to know them.

Watching birds is very important to them, and they are devastated by the soaring seed prices. Many have had to give it up.

The best sunflower bird seeds, he says, have more than doubled in price, as sunflowers are being used to make oil, which is in great demand, and gas prices are also rising along with just about everything else.

This is something I hadn’t thought of.

He said it wasn’t that country people are angry, rather than concerned about how to make ends meet when the prices of so many things are going up. He said he was lucky to make a dollar on the birdseed he sells but wouldn’t raise the prices anymore.

He said it is not in their nature to be angry, but they have no money cushions to fall back on. It breaks his heart a bit, he said.

John had a gentle but curious nature about him. He wanted to hear about book writing, the movie made out of one of my books, and his eyes widened a bit when I told him about my divorce, meeting Maria, and changing my life.

He loved the stories about the movie crew that came to my first farm. I don’t tell them very often.

Yet he completely understood why I came here. When I bought my cabin, I said and came up to the country; I felt as if I had come home; I knew I had to live here.

“I know I’m different and strange to many people here,” I said, “but everyone has been good to me and comes running when I needed help.”

We talked about the difficulties men had making friends. “They feel responsible for everything,” he said.

That is the way, he said, the country code.

When people are in trouble, you drop everything and rush to help. I told him I  had lived in a New Jersey suburb for a long time, and I hardly knew the name of anybody on my block. Everyone came and went in their cars; you rarely got to speak to them.

We talked in our McDonald’s plastic seats for nearly two hours, the time just sailed past.

I think older men have a particular bond when they sit down and talk. Aging is a remarkable process, life-changing, and challenging. When men pause to think about it, they’ve also learned a lot and have a particular perspective to offer. Most people in the world don’t want to hear it. John and I have both experienced the feeling of being invisible to people as we age.

The lucky ones step back and think about where they are; most plod along. John is a thinker.

I’ve always struggled with friendship, and I can’t speak for John, but this was easy. It was meant to be. John has a trailer he and Millie bought in Central Florida – she is there right now – and he is going down there to spend a week or two.

He says the kids often come down to the two-bedroom trailer. Is there room, I asked? He just smiled. “They make room,” he said.

I’m not looking for deep movie friendships; having lunch with him once in a while will be fine. And that is a natural and valuable friendship; I’m learning that.

When John gets back from Florida, we will meet again. I told him the first lunch was on me, it was my idea, and I lucked out. It cost me $9. He will pick up the tab next time, he said, when we go to the place I thought we were going too today. It will be higher. I eat a veggie burger with coleslaw there.

John misses nothing and has a wry and dry sense of humor. We laughed a lot. Laughing about life is essential.

I had a special time. Lunch had the warmest feeling about it.

I’ve learned never to expect much or predict anything with men and friendship. Men tend to value other things over friendship.

This was a very good lunch, and I enjoyed it very much.