A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

The Visitation
by Ray Weaver
December 7, 2006

From inside the barn next to my house and hidden in the shadows, I watched a little car turn off the wet gravel road and pull down my long driveway. The car may have been white but for the caked dirt that clung to its sides like a tight mottled brown skirt. It came to a stop and two really pretty young women neatly dressed stepped out with brown satchels hung over their shoulders. They headed for the front door and rang the doorbell next to the prominent sign that said, "No Solicitors." I waited until my wife dismissed them, which I knew would not take long. As they returned to their car, I stepped out of the barn into the sunlight and walked toward them in my straw hat, dirty sweatshirt and torn work paints, while waiving my long rake.

They froze and with the weakest of smiles one of them said, "We are just going around passing out material that may help people get through these troubled times."

"You mean, because of Bush?" I watched her adjust her expression to one of caution.

Then she broke into a smile, and cheerfully chirped, "That, too."

I returned the smile and said, "You?re probably from some modern religious group, and you can keep your material. I'm a Druid. Do you know what that is?"

"No," she pursed her lips and squinted at me.

"Well, it's a religion older than Christianity that was followed in parts of Europe and particularly Ireland and Scotland, until St. Patrick came looking for snakes." We paid respect to pretty much the same God, except we called him "Yahweh." For some reason, you guys changed His name to Jehovah."

She shook her head to acknowledge my words, and I continued. "By the way, it's a good thing that my Wife was too busy to talk. Otherwise--she's Wiccan, you know--she could have put a curse on you for not respecting the "No Solicitors" sign.

She glanced over her shoulder at me as she got in her car with a is-that-the-best-that-you-can-do look to let me know that she had heard worse, and sadly said, "Have a nice day." The car quickly backed down the driveway, and left me with a feeling of regret. In my haste for humor, I wondered if I had accidentally scared away two angels.

About the author:
I a semi-retired public administrator, who teaches a few law courses at a local community college. I also practice a little law and manage a firm part-time. My wife and I have grandchildren. What little time I have left, we travel, and I try to write a little.