Row Partner

Years ago Mom (Nelda) wrote a story about an experience Uncle Garl had while serving one day at his stake welfare farm. It's a story that came to mind, when we heard that a medical team from Utah had come up to harvest Uncle Garl's corneas, because he was an organ donor. He is dearly missed, but it is neat to think that part of him lives on, giving, in true Garl Miller form!

Row Partner
Written by Nelda Gust
Inspired by actual events as told by Garl Miller

He would carefully tuck it away, in a not too distant corner, to be cherished, treasured, recalled, often. The unexpected experience of that memorable day:
It was a cool spring morning as he parked his car and hurried across the field at the welfare farm. The early workers already there was a welcome sight to him. Weeding and thinning the long rows of tiny beet plants was a tedious job, but with so many ward members coming to help it could be accomplished in half the time. Reaching his assigned row, he was grateful to see the bent figure working at the far end. Taking a deep breath of the nippy morning air, he bent to the task.
The smell and feel of the damp cool earth brought a flood of childhood memories. With the early death of his father, his mother had been left a young widow with six children and a farm to run. As a ten year old, he had been expected to shoulder many responsibilities far beyond his age. He had learned the rewards of the personal satisfaction in thoroughly and quickly accomplishing his chores. It was jokingly said, "he moved with energy and speed enough to generate electricity", and often the sparks flew when he became impatient with his twin brother who was by nature more relaxed.
Standing up briefly from time to time to relieve his aching back, he glanced down the long, straight furrow. The image of his row partner seemed nearly immobile, never standing or even glancing up. With so much diligence he appeared to be making very little progress. "Just my luck", he thought with annoyance. Quickening his usual fast pace, he again bent to the task with thoughts of the usual Saturday chores waiting for him at home.
The sun was high in the sky as he finally stood and gave the last handful of weeds an impatient yank. With a cheery "good morning, brother, are we finished?" from his row partner, he glanced down into the upturned face and was suddenly overwhelmed at the realization that came to him. Words of Helen Keller ringing sharply in his head, "eyes that seek light in vain". His row partner, still on his knees, was holding the last stubborn, prickly weed between his long, capable fingers; fingers that had to see where his eyes could not, touching, feeling, gently pulling the big, sturdy weeds from around the frail little beet plants. Rising above his handicap, tackling an insurmountable task. Impatience, annoyance, irritation, how could he have had those feelings? Thank God for the still, small voice that kept his sometimes sharp tongue silent. "Just my luck? Just my blessing!" Thank God for this devoted brother and his determination that brought him to the church farm this day. He bent, gently helping his partner to his feet, tears of humility on this face and together they walked arm in arm from the nearly deserted beet patch.