Romance with candlelight and hay bales

Norman was 80 years old but spry. He carried himself like a younger man of 75. His hair was gray but he still had all of it. His beard was gray but he shaved every day because he didn't want Martha to think him "grizzled." Today he wanted Martha to think of him as handsome and funny. She often told him he was funny. Today he was setting up a spot in his old run-down barn for a romantic dinner he hoped would charm her.

He'd spent two weeks building a beautiful dining table of golden teak. It had a gorgeous grain running through it. Norman thought it would be fun to use hay bales as seats; he would, of course, cover them with a couple of quilts. In the center of the barn floor he had laid down a rectangle of Persian Carpet that normally covered the floor of his living roon. That's how special this ocassion was.

The invitation to dinner had been sent to Martha the week before. Martha was a widow who lived two farms over. Her husband had passed many years ago and Martha, with her crew of farm hands, kept her farm productive growing hay, corn and alfalfa. There pretty much wasn't anything about farming and growing crops that she didn't know. But that's not why Norman was inviting her to dinner.

Norman had been in love with Martha for years. He had never married, forever carrying a secret candle in his heart for her. When Martha and Frank wed, it was a blow that had sent Norman reeling for a bit. But he'd recognized that his own slowness to act was at fault. When Frank passed away from cancer, Norman stayed away letting Martha have her space to grieve. Now, however, was the time to put away grief and embrace new adventures. It never once occured to him that adventure was beyond the scope of those in their eighties.

Norman placed the quilts on the hay bales and stood back to admire his work. For the past week he'd worked to clear away all the old farm implements, rotten hay, moldy horse blankets - in fact anything that would detract from the evening he had planned. When Martha entered the barn he wanted her to only notice the table and the candlelight sparkling off the wine glasses and plates. It didn't bother him a whit that he'd chosen the run-down barn as the dining room. This barn was part and parcel of who he was.

Norman took a walk out through the barn door to the yard outside. There he put his hands on his hips and looked appraisingly at the structure. The barn was 150 years old, having been built by his father and uncle. It had weathered the intense heat of the midwest summers, torrential rains and heavy snows of winters. Its old boards were gray and softened with the years, but he had never had to replace a one. The barn was in better shape than Norman, who'd had a hip replaced four years previous. Since it was now early summer, wildflowers were in bloom along the fence line. He'd already picked a nice handful and had placed them in a fine crystal vase which he set in the center of the table.

Looking up at the clear blue sky he knew it would be a fine, fine evening.

Martha finished with her lipstick and gave her hair a final comb through. She was secretly pleased that at age 79 she could still get away with a nice red lip color. Her mamma had blessed her with the genetics of smooth skin. Even all her years on the farm had not leatherized her face or neck, and for this she was grateful. A bit of arthritis slowed her down now and she had glasses and a hearing aid, but they only deserved a shrug of her shoulders. What was, was.

She'd not been surprised by Norman's invitation to dinner. What had surprised her was that it had taken him 70 years to send. They'd known one another since they were ten years old and from the git-go she knew he'd had a crush on her. It still amazed her that he had faded into the background when Frank came on the scene. She couldn't help falling for Frank and cherished the years they'd had together. She had her children and grandchildren and her farm that kept Frank alive in her memories.

Martha had no illusions as to what the evening would hold. She knew that Norman would propose and she knew that she would accept. For her grief was past and there were too few years left ahead for either of them to waste. Norman was handsome and funny and she knew beyond doubt that he still loved her. For her, that was enough.

She walked out of her front door and stood on the porch. Norman's place was just two farms away and she'd already decided to walk. The air had a wonderful smell of young plants in the fields, wildflowers along the fences and possibilities in the clouds.

The walk along the dirt road to Norman's farm was just over thirty minutes. Martha didn't hurry but didn't dally either. She was curious and, to be truthful, hungry. Norman was well known as a chef. He won awards for his culinary skills at the state and county fairs every year. Fact was, Norman was a better cook than she.

Martha reached Norman's gate to find him waiting for her. He held out his arm and she took it. She beamed a huge smile.

"What's for dinner?" she asked.

"Oh, just some fresh caught trout, grits, biscuits and fried okra," he said. "With glasses of Pino Noir. Grandma's crumble for dessert."

Arm in arm, Norman led her to the open door of his run-down barn. Martha stopped and her mouth opened in a perfect "O." "Norman," she whispered, "it's perfect."

Martha, looking into the barn at the beautifully laid table, knew right then it would be a fine, fine evening.

Norman and Martha honeymooned in Whistler, British Columbia because niether one of them had ever been there and both of them were feeling very adventurous.