The sound of a cheerfully whistled hymn would drift through the trees and across the front field and catch my ear. I immediately knew that my neighbor was out and about in her garden. Nan Heller was the older lady that lived across the street with her husband, Russ. They had a neatly kept little white house with red accents, a well house with a big bell in it in the front yard, and Russ’s shop, a long red painted barn to the right of the house. The left side of the house was framed by rows of pines; the front shaded by large trees; to the right of the barn was a field with a large garden; and in front of that near the road, a flower garden. In the springtime there would be rows of beautiful yellow and white daffodils. Behind the house there was a large field which we would sometimes cross to journey the back way to our neighbors, the Johnsons, and where Dad would walk through on his way to the hunting woods.
Russ and Nan were beautiful and generous folks. From watching us kids when Mom and Dad needed, to getting rides to church in Russ’s two door Chevy Nova with the cool roll down rear half windows, to just being great neighbors, they had great impact on the life of my family. Russ was a machinist and had a big lathe in his low-ceiling shop and would often make pieces and parts with Dad that he needed for various projects. Going through the side door of the barn into that room — with the flickering fluorescent shop lights hung on short chains, the gooseneck light over the gleaming lathe, shelves of tools, parts, and pieces of precise measuring equipment, the smell of oil, metal, grease, and old wood — for a kid was like a marvelous museum of wonder. When it came time to split wood, Russ and Dad built our wood splitter together. Honestly, for the longest time, I believed that Russ had invented the hydraulic ram wood splitter.
As a young boy, Nan was one of my best friends and confidants. Because we lived in the country, there were not many people around, so when I heard her whistling in the garden, I knew I could go over and she’d be outside. When the spring flowers would be in bloom, she would bring out her knife and we would cut a big bouquet to take home to your mother, because that is a way for a young man to show his mother how much he appreciates her. And of course we had to remember to hold them upside-down (wrapped in a piece of tinfoil) until putting them in water. Her kitchen was small, but always open to us. She had a little table by the window that overlooked the garden and faced the road and our driveway, so she always could keep an eye on us kids as we waited for the bus in the mornings, and could see us coming over to visit. There were all kinds of tchotchkes and collectibles in shelves around the window area, and cabinets with cookbooks at the ready. It always smelled good – like heathy cooking and warm bread and coffee. The front porch had windows all around and they had their rockers out there and I remember sitting there with Dad and Russ as they told stories back and forth, Nan chiming in here and there. The Living room was a dimly lit room in the back of the house where we would read books and play with these vintage wooden house bricks that we’re probably their children’s. As Nan grew older, she had health issues so she wasn’t able to get around as much, but that was okay with me because I spent plenty of time indoors talking about Jesus, getting advice, learning how to play dominoes, and working on my stamp collection. She was an avid stamp collector and had many interesting and rare stamps. Muggins was our game though, and we had so much fun playing. Every so often I would even win. I haven’t played it since those days, so I don’t even remember how now, sadly. Nan was very creative and she made little books that were hand-drawn and illustrated for us. I still have them and they were so sweet.
They always had a large garden that Matt and I would go and help weed. We probably got paid in produce, but perhaps there were the occasional quarters for candy bars at Stewarts. They didn’t have much, but we didn’t care, because we enjoyed being with them. One year when Matt and I were in middle school, they weren’t doing as large of a garden because it was getting to be too much. Russ said we could have the back half of the garden. Now Russ’s garden soil was amazing They practiced composting faithfully and he was a whiz with the tiller. So he got it all tilled up and ready for planting, and we planted rows of carrots, hills of potatoes, cucumbers, green and wax beans, and pumpkins. We faithfully weeded and watered that garden all summer and it looked amazing. Whether it was beginners luck or God smiling on us, we had a bumper crop. Hundreds of carrots, piles of potatoes and cucumbers, stacks of beans… and pumpkins galore. And they were no small pumpkins either. I think the biggest one weighed around 35 pounds! We walked around with our wagon and sold them to the various neighbors. Matt and I were just so amazed at our gardening prowess.
I was 12 years old when Nan’s health began to fail. She passed away in May of 1985 and I still remember that day. Mom told me she had died and it was the first time in my young life that someone I loved was no longer there. I remember saying, “No, it can’t be true!” and running up through the front field and into the thick pine woods and crying for what seemed forever. Losing a person who was so special to me and who was such a part of my life was so difficult. Her funeral service was held in Galway, and I had a half day of school so I could go with my parents. I remember someone sang, “In The Garden” which was one of her favorite hymns — one that she would so often whistle. She genuinely lived a life of conversation with the Lord and always talked to me about Jesus and His love for me.
“I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses. And the voice I hear, falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses. He speaks and the sound of His voice, is so sweet the birds hush their singing. And the melody that He gave to me, within my heart is ringing. And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own. And the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known.”
— Charles Austin Miles
After her death, Russ and Dad got closer. He would often go to live with his son in California for a few months in the winter so Dad would check on the house and make sure things were all good. Russ and Nan had two sons and a daughter. Always telling stories, and always helping out, Russ was a servant and example to me. He was a quiet man, and didn’t always say a lot (unless he got on to stories) but he worked hard and did what he did with excellence. He was an usher at our church for many years. I remember one time when I was getting ready to go to college and I had just bought my Uncle Vic’s 1981 Honda Civic wagon. It was lime green and the whole underside was coated with roofing tar… you know to prevent water and rust, right? Well, he brought it over and Dad, Russ, Vic and I were all standing there in the driveway and Russ said, “Josh, what are you going to name your car?” I said, “I don’t know yet!” Vic just laughed and said, “Well, I call it a shit box.” Without skipping a beat, Russ said, “That will never do, I say it’s a wonder box!” And from that day forth in 1991, Wonderbox began. And truly that little green wagon was a wonder… it drove me from NY to SC to FL and back so many times and was a great vehicle.
Russ passed away in October of 2005 at 93 years old. He and Nan left a legacy of kindness, generosity, servanthood, and were amazing example of good neighbors and even better friends. I will never forget them.