Adam won a major award.
The church ladies asked him to stop by first thing Sunday morning, to pick up his raffle winnings from the previous weekend’s holiday bazaar. There had been several phone calls throughout the week reminding him of his good fortune, with excitement that his donation resulted in not one, but two! prizes: a “very nice” watch and a “beautiful” handmade sparkly Christmas tree. Really he just saw it as making a donation when purchasing the raffle tickets, but the congregants were so excited for his double winnings, that he didn’t want to disappoint them by abandoning his treasure. Now we have a sparkly new tree and a “very nice” watch. And he’ll probably do it all again next year because he cannot resist a good holiday church bazaar. Or a roomful of silver haired ladies that, prizes aside, is basically akin to hitting the pinch-your-cheeks-and-here's-a-cookie grandma jackpot.
A few doors down, we stepped into the tiny bakery that is housed in a converted garage, attached to the baker’s home, at the foot of the local ski mountain. Moments earlier, the sun broke over the mountain’s peak and streamed through the single front window of her shop, casting light on a plentiful early morning selection. Croissants of all flavors including some that were stuffed with smoked salmon, creamy dill sauce, and thinly sliced cucumbers, trays of lemon squares, cranberry walnut tarts, berry and cheese danish, chocolate chip cookies, macaroons, scones, baguettes, and so much more filled the tall glass case from which behind the baker stood. She was kind and warm and seemed ready to greet the day, welcoming any person that might stroll through the door in search of the comforting truth one finds in the familiarity of homemade pastry and a hot cup of coffee.
She opened the oven, showing Adam a tray of breakfast sandwiches that were receiving their melted cheese treatment. A colorful assortment of open faced ciabatta rolls with yellow-orange eggs, sweet Italian sausage, red and green roasted peppers, and creamy white cheddar cheese. Just the sort of thing Adam was looking for so she wrapped one up for him. Once placed on the counter, I noticed the sticker that sealed the paper wrapped sandwich included an illustration of an older-looking man with the word “Belmont” printed above the portrait. So, ever-intrigued, I asked.
“Oh, that’s Ford, do you know him? He’s the farmer my eggs and sausage come from, a real character. Bit of a local ski legend back in the day, lots of stories about Ford around here. Missing a finger on one hand from a farming accident, and part of the opposite hand as the result of another farming accident, but still stays real busy with his land and animals. Belmont is his farm and I wanted to name this sandwich after him, seeing as it includes his eggs and sausage, but also as a nod to a great man. When I told him the bakery had a sandwich in his honor, with an illustrated “Ford” sticker to boot, he was both elated and humbled. He said, “Really? I was fadin’… I was fadin’… and you brought me back!”“
Damn. Enthusiastic church ladies, pastry from the hands of the baker, and a ski-legend farmer named Ford who’s yet to fade away. All this and it’s barely 9am. Calling it a good day.