Well met strangers

It's really peculiar what qualifies for getting to know someone these days.

I went for a walk today up at this reservation not far from my home. I vaguely remember passing an elderly gentleman looking out over the view at the mountain. All I remember is that he seemed deep in thought.

I began to make my way back down the trail toward my car when I see one of the trees move out of the corner of my eye. I look a little bit closer and realize it's a deer, whitetail, female I think. I hear someone coming up the path behind me so I turn to acknowledge them. I press my finger to pursed lips in hopes that he would not startle the deer. It was the elder gentleman from further up the mountain. He would later tell me his name was Frank.

Frank and I admired the deer for a while longer, engaging in idle conversation about nature in the area. I traded him a snake story, and he passed back a tale of his own about a black bear. We both started to walk again down the path, we weren't walking together you see, our cars were just parked near the same place.

Along our fortuitous walk to our cars. I learned Frank's first name, what he use to do for a living, and that his wife had died -- not recently I think -- I imagine this probably happened some time ago. He told me about what he used to do for a living, architecture, he even told me what made him retire.

According to Frank, the deer hide out at the cemetery where his wife is buried during the brief cull the reservation allows every fall. "They hide out "in the dozens" he says. That's why I think his wife has been gone for some time now -- he knows enough to know that this place is the deer's routine hiding place. "Good for them," I say about the deer. "I'm glad they have found a place to survive."

Of course I tell him my first name. I tell him a little about my travels, at least the parts that relate to wild animals. I even tell him why I went for a walk today. My girlfriend and I are having problems and I am contemplating a career change. "These things happen," he said about the girlfriend issues. "You have to do what you love doing," was his reply about the career change. I took what he said as sage wisdom, you see Frank is 76 years old. Yup, he told me that too.

In all of this heart to heart that he and I are having, only minutes after meeting, there was a notable omission. What was his last name? I mean really, what do I REALLY know about Frank? What does he know about me?

Nothing. I think I am safe to assume that this is exactly how we both would like it too.

How bad is it that we seek to have meaningful conversations with complete strangers but we can't talk more than five minutes with most of the people in our lives? Why are we so closed off? I don't have any answers, I just can't help but realize that there is a problem.

I stick my hand out to shake Frank's hand only to be met with a balled up fist, you see Frank broke his hand trying to catch a falling car battery. "You have to do it like this says my 9-year-old neighbor." As he pulls his hand back from our fist bump he makes a motion almost like a wave in the ocean. "Go, ahead Frank!"

Frank is the nicest man I never met.