He sounds like a jewel. My neighbor was an orchard grower, back when that meant that the local boys got $0.50 a bushel come harvest time. So we lved him, but I would have loved him anyway. He was about 175 years old and looked like he’d been hewn out of the heartwood of an old tree. But he loved to talk, even to a little kid. I learned my numbers riding on his lap on his old Farmall tractor (I wanted to read the guages, so he had to teach me), and he taught me how to identify trees and apples. He must have had a hundred kinds of apples! I’ve never heard of most of them since. He died when I was a teenager, and his son pushed out the old orchard the same year to make room for corn. :’-(
Where did that America go :(