I turn to take a picture of the field of soybeans. The light is perfect, with me standing under the tree. The meticulously planted crop, the dazzling white clouds, and the haze of summer hanging in the air - that's when I hear a light footstep behind me. The hairs on my neck stand straight up. If I'm correct, someone is standing there with a shotgun. Slowly, I turn to find out I'm right.

A tall, thin woman with steel-blue eyes stands there, but all I see is two barrels and her fingers on both triggers. "Do you know the Lord, mister, because you might be meeting Him soon? What are you doing on my land?"
                                                                            *************
Part~2

My truck turns onto Highway 45, heading towards Jackson, but my mind is drifting miles ahead. 

There are days in one's life that absolutely astound. Yesterday was one of them for me. Not only having a chance to photograph a gem of an old house but finding a woman who hasn't left her home in thirty years. Completely cutting herself off from the civilized world. She doesn't even have electricity. Looking back on 2020 so far, I wonder how Miss Billie will see our world?

Since meeting Miss Billie, countless questions have filled my mind in endless thought; sleep was hard to find last night. 

My old truck turns onto the farm road that leads to the steel gate. I did manage to go to Wal-Mart and get Miss Billie some flour. Twenty pounds should hold her for a little while. Wal-Mart only sells fifty-pound sacks at Sams Club for restaurants. There's no way I could carry that amount to her house anyway, but I bet Miss Billie could, scrawny as she is. 

After parking, a thought comes to me. Does Miss Billie deserve to be exposed to 2020? 1990 was a completely different era, and she's a simple woman who only knows her Bible. If she's interested, there will be a culture shock. 

An idea floats by, so I pull out my iPhone and type in 1990 on Google. I want to see what happened that year to refresh my memory, and Wiki should work. 

Well, Saddam Hussain was still alive and threatening everybody. The Gulf War won't happen for three more years. George Bush, the father, was President. The internet was still being developed, and television hadn't exploded yet. Video games were starting to take off, along with hip-hop, rap, and grunge. The world would never be the same. 

I'm wondering if I should mention these things to Miss Billie? It's not that she couldn't handle it; I don't think she would care. And of course, there's the big question of COVID-19, and what do you say to her about that? She'll point to her Bible and say, "There are plagues all through this book."

We haven't talked yet, and I already admire her faith and peace in God. It would take anybody incredible amounts of both to survive while living off the land and alone for thirty years. I can't imagine it.

I'm slowly working my way around the gate without falling in the ditch. It's astounding the things I do for a story or a picture. What is all of this huffing and puffing going up the slight hill to the house? I need to start walking again!

When I turn at the old Oak tree, there's Miss Billie, sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch. She's staring at a book in her lap with a huge smile. With a slow, easy turn of her head, Miss Billie smiles at my approach. "Well, you did return. I'm glad to see you, Mr. Little." There are those sparkling blue eyes.

"Same here, ma'am. I did manage to bring you some flour. Twenty pounds should help you."

"You have no idea, Mr. Little, what a blessing it is. I don't know how to repay you?"

"Not needed." Miss Billie's fluid southern drawl is a little more noticeable. "An hour or so on this front porch, conversing with you, will be just fine."

"Well, sit yourself down in this fine old rocker."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"What's that you're wearing over your mouth, Mr. Little?"

"It's a mask. There's a deadly virus going around, and I sure don't want you to catch it." 

"Those things have been around since the fall of man."

That's about the answer I was expecting. I step on the porch, sit the flour by the front door, then settle down in that old rocker. The noonday, cloudless blue sky stretches out before us, framed by two Oaks. "What a beautiful day it is, Miss Billie."

"Yes, sir, it is. I take it you're not married, Mr. Little?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because no woman would let her husband visit another woman in an old farmhouse without being here."

"You're right, ma'am." I chuckle. "My wife died four years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Were you married long, Mr. Little?"

"Forty-years."

"Um, uh. Do you still miss your wife?"

"Well, it used to be every minute of every day. Now it seems to be only at night. I miss her snoring," we both laugh. "Were you ever married, Miss Billie?"

A distant smile appears on her gentle face while she studies the sky. It's like she steps back into time. "I was twenty at the time, in 1943. Jacob was the prettiest man I've ever seen. Stunning brown eyes, a chiseled face, delicate skin, and shoulders that went on forever. He called me his summer rose, sweet to smell and silky to the touch. We were married after our second date. Three months before he shipped out to the war in Europe. Jacob never returned. The Army said he was killed in one of the battles after he stormed the beach at Normandy."

Suddenly, I feel her loss. "Did you ever remarry?"

"No. One man was good enough for me." Miss Billie turns back to me. "Was there anyone else for you?"

"No, after forty years of marriage, nobody else would do. Sherry and I basically took the same breath. We took our lives together and turned it into an elegant dance of love. Our goal was to retire at the same time and cherish our remaining days. Sherry had a massive heart attack at work. I barely made it to the hospital to hold her hand and say goodbye. That was a year before our retirement date. For a while, I actually blamed her for dying."

"At least you had all of those years of happiness to remember, Mr. Little."

"Oh, I see that now, Miss Billie. But it took a long time."

"That kind of pain takes time for the Lord to heal."

"I guess you're right. Tell me about the family, Miss Billie, how many generations worked this farm?"

"Well, I remember seeing in mama's old family Bible that one of my many great-grandfathers bought this land in 1878. There were just two little farmhouses and families here then. Daddy always told me that they had three mules and three plows for this entire farm. Families grew, as they do until the big house was a necessity."

"How big was the farm then?"

"It was the three big fields that surround the house; I don't know the acreage."

"That's amazing, plowing all this land with three mules. There are 1,000 acres gathered around here, at least. They must have started plowing right after Christmas."

"That was then; I remember daddy having two tractors when I was young. But nothing like what I see working in these fields now. Times have sure changed."

"That they have, Miss Billie. In ways, I hope you never know."

"You were right about one thing, Mr. Little; there was laughter here along with children. Many children. We all had chores to do but lots of time to play. I was the one who was always in trouble. Mama would tell me she'll run out of Willow switches if I didn't straighten up. Don't remember which happened first. I like to think mama finally run out of switches."

"Miss Billie, you must have been the character of the bunch."

"I had a couple of partners in crime. One of our favorite things was climbing into the rafters of the barn then leap into the hay. Mama would wear us out. If she caught us."

I can't help but chuckle. "How tall was the barn?"

"Taller than the house is now. The barn burned in the late eighties. I think that started the family into giving up farming and thinking about moving. About six months later, we buried daddy in Old Shiloh Burying Ground, right beside mama. The Dow family originated from Old Shiloh."

"I know where that's at. It's right before Humboldt."

"Yes, at one time, it was bigger than Milan and Humboldt, but the railroad didn't come close enough. The town slowly faded away."

"Yeah, all that's left is the graveyard and the remnants of the smallest church I've ever seen. I take it you kept your married name?"

"Yes, I did it to honor Jacob. He gave his life for our freedom."

"Is there anything you want to know about the outside world, and the time in which we currently live, Miss Billie?"

"Not really, this is my world." She holds up her Bible. "Along with the farm around me. I saw my younger siblings caught up in the television of the eighties. It never appealed to me. There was so much flesh showing. Even watching mama and her soap operas, and how she hung on every kiss. Them lips weren't touching mine; I didn't see the thrill."

"Is the Bible where you get your courage and faith from?"

"In a way, yes. My faith comes from believing in the Lord. Believing this book was written by God through many people. That Jesus rose from the grave as the Bible says. Believing is the key. One day, Jesus rebuked His disciples for their unbelief, saying, 'If ye have the faith as a grain of a mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove, and nothing shall be impossible unto you.' I'm still striving towards that goal, but I'm closer now than ever."

For a moment, I sat there in stunned silence, wondering what to say after that. "Miss Billie, you are a remarkable woman. I hope you will let me revisit you soon."

"You are welcome anytime, Mr. Little. It has been a pleasure visiting with you today. From now on, you will always be in my prayers."

"Thank you, ma'am. I need all the help I can get. After meeting you, I think I'll start praying again, too."

"Together, Mr. Little, we can change the world."

"Yes, ma'am, we can."

I step off of the porch and start walking towards the road. Turning to wave goodbye, I begin to wonder how many times Miss Billie walked around this farm with the Lord by her side. I've never met anyone with that much peace in their life. May God's grace be with her always.