Droppin' In Up Sandy

Eventually the county officials stepped in and took Hermas to the County Home to spend the rest of his life. He had become so frail that he could no longer do anything for himself. His trails across the fields, through the woods, and up and down the ridges had begun to have sprouts growing up in them. People in Rogers Cove continued to visit Hermas during his stay in the County Home and during his later stay in the hospital. During what was to be his last week of life, he sent word by Uncle Jim that he wanted to hear cousin Carroll play the banjo one last time. Carroll and Jim then went back to the hospital and found him in a near coma. Carroll began to play the banjo. Hermas, at first, continued to lie very still, but in a few minutes his body began to move in rhythm to the music. He opened his nonseeing eyes and sat upright. He then climbed over the foot of the bed and, for several verses and choruses, danced his final buck and wing. Then the nurses came and put him back to bed where he stayed until his death later that week. Hermas was never one to sit around and talk. He never joined. But his life touched all of the others around and eventually brought out some of the best in those other lives. Through them, he was able to keep his cherished independence and assert his individuality as long as it was humanly possible. Today, more than thirty years after Hermas ' death, his many trails exist, with most of them being felt rather than seen. DROPPIN' IN UP SANDY (for Buck Scalf) Creeping alone with quiet care Along the Sandy River, Two old hunters, old Long Hunters, stop, freeze still. And listen, hearing song, Of all things: song. With hearts a-pound they Stalk the source, And there, now, there, Cap atop his resting piece, Gapped quite wide out spreadEagled on a flat round rock, And singing to his sky, Lies Boone, who, caught, looks Around bleakly and sighs, again Sighs, then shuts his eyes. —William E. Lightfoot 50 ...