His name is Isaiah
I was about to leave and had almost missed seeing him. Up a hill from where I stood, he was kneeling down, uprooting calendula plants for their move to the farm’s new location across town. I watched from a distance as he shook the soil off the roots expertly and placed the plants gently in a wheelbarrow. I watched the meticulous care with which he worked. I stepped closer, introduced myself. His name is Isaiah, he told me. But I already knew more about him than that, just from the way he treated living things.