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My old neighbor, Pa Kemp, had been in the nursing home about 6 weeks before I found out where he was. He'd been living at home with his grandson all thru his early 90's, just a few hollers from his birthplace farm. Pa had been in fair shape 'cept for a bout or two in the hospital in the last couple years. He'd still been cutting his winter slab wood with a small chainsaw

Pa never fared well when he was very far from his old gray front porch. I knew I'd better go see him at the home on his 96th birthday in June of '05. He had a beautiful view of a wooded hillside from the window beside his bed. There were buttons and wires for raising and lowering it and for calling the nurse. When I got there he was alone and without his banjo.

As always he was happy to see me and asked me where his "bunch" was. A bit later a few of them arrived. His son had brought his banjo but said Pa wasn't playing much. I went to get the banjo out of Billy's truck and gave it to Pa. He wasn't interested, but when I handed him mine, his fingers were itchin' for it. He sang a bit but put it down after not very long. I waited 5 minutes and gave it back to him. He played and sang again.

The strings on Pa's banjo felt old and rough. I had a spare set, so Billy and I went about changing them on the bed, using his wife's nail clippers for lack of a wire cutter. More friends arrived as we finished the job. Pa liked his banjo a lot better then. More people and gifts came--new socks, a new set of overalls, cookies, cakes, and other small comforts. Pa was enjoying it all, but it was plain he wasn't happy there. The floor was cold and hard, the bed was small, and there was another senior bunking in the same room. It had been a family decision.

I'd brought some cookies, in wrapping paper with a ribbon, to cover Pa's sweet tooth. He was so sullen he wouldn't even open it for awhile. He finally did at our encouragement but wasn't interested in those either--at least not until his guests tore into them...He cheered up just a little bit after trying one.

After several hours I needed to get back on the two hour drive home. I clamped myself to Pa's chest for a hard hug on the only surrogate grandfather I'd ever known. I figured it would probably be my last. I left feeling sad and a little miffed at his family's decision. I tried to call him after that, but never could get connected..

A month or so later, my old neighbor from where I used to live down the road from Pa phoned to tell me of the funeral. Pa was a mountain man, the one in the song he'd written. He never had much, but he gave whatever he had and he knew how to have a good time. Mostly he gave himself, and that was the best gift of all. I sure miss him.