Living in the country has always meant a certain amount of isolation. You are a little further from the store than the folks who live in town, and the kids have to ride a bus to school.

This may seem like isolation to the modern generation, but some of the old-timers remember when going to town was an experience. You didn’t just head to town every time you needed a loaf of bread. The automobile changed all that, of course, and with the advent of good roads people started going to town anytime they felt like it.
They didn’t all go in the same way, however.

A friend’s story about two old bachelors going to town on their tractor reminded me of the strange things we used to see on country roads.

My friend says one of the bachelors would drive the tractor into town, but because he couldn’t see more than 30 feet ahead, the other brother rode on the back to give directions and point out obstacles.

This brought to mind the old man we used to see walking down our road when I was a kid. Old Man Johns must have followed Teddy Roosevelt up San Juan Hill, and he had the uniform to prove it.
The old fellow lived alone several miles from town and never drove a car. About once a month you would see him marching up the road in full uniform, looking like a captain in the cavalry who had somehow been separated from his horse.

We always figured the old guy was going to town after groceries, and he would be seen walking back home that afternoon with a bag under his arm. But you could tell from his uniform and the tall leather boots that he wasn’t just going for groceries.

The old fellow walked briskly, with each step of measured length and cadence. From his strident pace and look of determination, you’d think the old guy was drill sergeant for the toughest outfit in the Union Army. To us kids he was going for groceries – but to Old Man Johns, he was marching through Georgia.

Then there was Frank Parker, who lived a few miles to the north. Frank never drove a car, either, but relied upon his horse to get him to town and back.

Everyone knew Frank could have driven his Ford to town, but without the horse he never would have gotten home. Frank’s horse was like a designated driver, only a lot more dependable. That horse never touched a drop of alcohol and could find the barn in the worst of storms; after that, it was up to Frank to find the house.

The only problem with the horse was that he couldn’t jump sideways when he felt Frank’s weight starting to slide. Then, not being a camel, the horse couldn’t get down low enough for Frank to climb back aboard.

On these occasions a Good Samaritan would happen along to extract the old fellow from a snowdrift and give him a boost back aboard his steed.

It seems that most of the old guys are gone, or have moved into town. Sometimes when I see an old man in the city, I say to myself, Hey, there’s Frank Parker! But where’s his horse?

Readers with questions or comments for Roger Pond may write to him in care of this publication.