In the barn doorway, Clarence sat on a hay bale with his back to the warm November sun. This might be the last good day before the snow flies, he thought. In fact, this might be the last good day forever. He missed his wife, Margaret. If she were here, she’d be making pumpkin pies for the church supper, and he’d be digging potatoes to put in the root cellar. But this fall, he spent more time just sitting than he ever had done before. He felt pretty good after the heart surgery, but since the flu laid him low, he wasn’t quite himself. His doctor told him no chocolate, no bacon, and no red wine. Something about his blood being bad. No matter. Food all tasted the same these days.

The family drove over on Sunday to rake leaves and tidy up the garden. They wouldn’t let him touch the woodpile, and that was the first time since he was a boy that he hadn’t stacked wood for the winter. Yesterday, the church lady had come by, and she asked him if he prayed. Of course, he did, every night on his knees beside his bed. She said he should pray hard to get his energy back, and so he prayed to God, and that day he felt so well he walked over to the neighbour’s to share his good news. Today, the feeling was gone. What should he do next? Perhaps he would go and lie down for a while.

Clarence decided he could lie around all he wanted when he was dead. He wasn’t lazy like some people he knew. That’s why, after 80 years of hard work, he could still walk a mile up the lane. And he still was a trim 140 pounds, just what he weighed on his wedding day. He didn’t even need glasses to see across the field. If Margaret were here he wouldn’t be sitting around moping; he’d be doing something useful. So, if he couldn’t cut wood, then he’d get started on that old tractor of his neighbour’s.

Clarence could fix tractors. To the local farmers, he was indispensable, and he knew it. Even so, he never charged too much for his repairs. This exchange of fair payment for work done went smoothly most of the time, but once in a while, someone would take advantage, a behaviour that would not be forgotten for generations. Their name went on a list Clarence carried around in his head. That person would not get a second chance with him, nor would their children or grandchildren. If you were a cheater, your whole family was tarred with the same brush. That’s how things work in the country.

Clarence was thinking about women. He liked them. He missed having someone around he could tease with a dead frog, someone who would make him get dressed up when he didn’t want to, someone who’d give him ‘what for’ when he used a swear word, like Margaret did. He and Margaret had a good routine. She’d boss him around, and he’d pretend he didn’t hear a word she said. For 60 years, they carried on like that. He missed the challenge.

He told his children he was going to Florida to see what he could see. Maybe he’d go to the beach to look for a new wife. You can’t hide much on the beach, he said. But Clarence had never even been on a plane and had never owned a bathing suit, so his threats were just talk. His son snickered at the plan, but his daughter took exception to her father’s pronouncement. She was still in the crying phase of losing her mother. How could her dad be thinking about other women already? Men.

A friend in the car club tricked him into a blind date. When he arrived at the restaurant for breakfast, it seemed the friend had brought along his sister. Clarence was indignant that someone thought he couldn’t find his own date. He still looked pretty good and he drove a nice car. This woman wasn’t up to his usual standards. For one thing, she was old. And she ate too much. But worse, she talked non-stop – when her mouth was full, and when it wasn’t. He knew Margaret would have a word or two to say about the likes of her. So to end the courtship before the bill arrived, he looked the woman straight in the face and asked, “Were you vaccinated with a gramophone needle?”.  She didn’t get the message and called him for weeks after.

Years ago, Clarence met a lady named Norma, when she was sixteen and he was three years older. They dated, but she decided he was too fast and so they went their separate ways. Now they were both widowed and back to square one. And he still seemed a bit fast. After a couple of car club meetings and a meal at the diner, he suggested they take a trip in his camper van. She declined. He told his family, “I just wanted to break her in,” which got a rise out of them. Just the effect he’d hoped for.

Clarence was on medication, which made his face puffy. That’s it, he told the doctor, “I’m not taking that damn stuff anymore.” When she said he might go blind if he stopped, he reconsidered, but not without a fuss. Norma too was on medication which made her puffy all over. He asked her how much she weighed, which wasn’t well received. Then he threatened to sneak up behind her and pick her up to see just what was what. She shrieked and got mad. Their relationship hadn’t changed much since high school.

Clarence was a Chevrolet man. He owned his father’s first Chevy, and his first Chevy, and several more besides, all beautifully restored by him. His lady friend, however, had her own idea about what an independent woman like herself should drive. One day Norma arrived in Clarence’s yard with a brand-new F-150 pick-up truck, a Ford! Oh dear. A big bump in the relationship!

After courting Norma for some time, Clarence began to get frustrated with her wilfulness. He drove her everywhere, invited her to every dance, and tried to get her out to all his car club events, but she just wouldn’t budge. She didn’t like to eat in restaurants, she didn’t want to spend time with his family, and she certainly wasn’t going on any road trips in his camper van. One day she told Clarence he was driving her crazy with all his phone calls and she had to take a break. Well, you don’t need to tell Clarence twice that his attentions are unwanted. That was that for Norma. I’m too old to waste my time on the likes of her, he said.

Before he had time to change his socks, Clarence was off and running the roads with someone else, another widow lady named Muriel. As with Norma, she too had known Clarence since childhood, which is commonplace here because how many people are likely to move to the country when they are widowed and 80? There just are no new women or new men to be had.

There was some talk that Muriel might be a blood relative, but to those over 80, dating a relative is not worth mentioning. In some ways it’s quite a time-saver because all their family secrets are nothing but old news. This situation worked out well for Clarence because Muriel was quite comfortable with the idea of a road trip in the famous camper van, especially when chaperoned by Clarence’s daughter.

There was one glitch in this romance, however. One day while Muriel was sitting at Clarence’s kitchen table, another woman phoned. Clarence, being the gentlemanly sort, was quite chatty and neglected to mention that he was busy entertaining someone else. He didn’t know the damage he had done until the next day when he called Muriel, and she was in tears. She thought Clarence was a two-timer and she was broken-hearted. Well, there was never a more repentant man than Clarence, and he was quick to set the record straight. Muriel was his girl, and that’s all there was to that.

Now Clarence and Muriel are joined at the hip. It seems his Chevy truck has bench seats so Muriel can ride right up tight beside him as they head out to the latest church supper or round dance.  They’ve known each other since grade three, and that was about 75 years ago. Not only have they both survived to enjoy old age, but they both remember grade three!

Clarence can’t wait to point out that Muriel is an older woman, only 9 days older, but every day counts when you are 83. She looks far younger in her ballet flats and her sleeves rolled up over her shoulders so she can get a nice tan while using her chain saw. Clarence has found someone who loves a good woodpile.

Clarence likes to stir the pot with his pronouncements, like maybe they’ll get married. He and Muriel glance at each other and smile. But they aren’t getting married. Too much paperwork. Besides, they might get sick of each other, he says. Muriel doesn’t flinch. She knows he’s just trying to get her goat. I tell him he’s never been so lucky, that maybe someday she’ll find someone with a fancier car. But we all know that won’t happen. Not only can Muriel swing a chainsaw — she owns an antique Chevy in need of repair.