It was about bedtime when my phone rang. “Honey, your phone’s ringing.”

“Let it ring, it’s bedtime.”

I heard Linda as she answered it anyway. “Yeah, he’s right here. I’ll get him.”

I grimaced as she handed the phone to me. “Hello.”

“Cooter!” Bubba had bestowed the nickname early in our friendship and has continued using it to this day. “It’s too early to hit the hay. Boy, what’s wrong with you. Getting old?”

“About the same age as you,” I replied. “Maybe a little smarter when it’s time for bed. What’s up?”

“You coming up for Leroy’s doings on Friday?”

“That’s my plan. The funeral is at 3, right?”

“Yep, and here’s the scoop. Some of us are gonna meet at the old store and Ritter’s gonna cook up some venison steaks. Then we’ll have sort of a wake for Leroy, then head up to the family graveyard right before 3, honor Leroy, and then back to the store to finish all the remembrances and finally shut down. Why don’t you plan on spending the night at my place and then in the morning after breakfast you can head home?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” I replied. “I’ll see you Friday.”

I hung up the phone and explained to Linda what Bubba had cooking. She said, “I thought the old store was closed.”

“It is, but Bubba is opening it for this occasion.”

Later, as I was trying to go to sleep, I remembered all the history of Slim’s country store. Actually, Slim’s grandfather opened the store around the turn of the century. It ran successfully for many years, then fell into disrepair after the old man died. Slim made his fortune out West in the real estate business, then returned home, retired, restored and opened the old store, and ran the place, as he said, “so all my reprobate friends would have a place to go.”

Leroy, Slim’s only heir, inherited the store after Slim went to that always-stocked filling station in the sky, and promptly sold it to Bubba, who kept it open with Leroy running it until the economy tightened and they decided to close. Leroy wanted to retire and do more fishing, and Bubba said it was one more thing he didn’t have to worry about.

Leroy passed away after a short illness, and the graveside service was to be at the family graveyard about a mile from the old country store. Thus the reason Bubba had put together the event, as he put it, to celebrate the history of Slim’s grandfather (also named Slim), Leroy and the legacy of the now obsolete, retired country store.

Friday rolled around fast, and I decided to drive the Cruiser up the road to see Bubba and friends and pay my respects to the last of the Slims. Wiregrass had grown up in the gravel lot where folks used to park while shopping, or just holding forth. Several pickups were in the front, and I saw Bubba’s Land Rover nosed in on the side. Chairs had been moved from the inside to the wraparound porch.

Ritter’s portable cooker was near where the old horseshoe pit used to be and was smoking with smells good enough to make my mouth water. I walked up on the porch side-stepping some decaying boards. H.B. Johnson was leaning against a support column with an ever-present half-chewed cigar in his mouth.

“H.B.,” I asked. “Where’s Bubba?”

“Inside behind the counter. He’s putting the finishing touch on the words he has to say about Leroy.”

“That’s right,” I responded. “He’s the preacher today.”

I walked on inside, and after Bubba and I had insulted each other sufficiently, we laughed and settled down to the doings of the day.

“You ready to say grace over Leroy?” I asked.

“Well, yeah, that is after I have another couple glasses of Ritter’s apple brandy. Come on, let’s see if the chow is ready.”

It was, and it was outstanding. Ritter had made his famous smoked briskets along with barbecue pork shoulders and all the fixin’s. In no time we had finished the preliminary part of Leroy’s funeral, kind of a pre-wake, and prepared to move on to the family plot to finish with the early ceremony.

Bubba did a fantastic job with his good words about Leroy, and I noticed many eyes watering and lots of sniffling going on.

Later that evening, after we again gathered at the store and celebrated Leroy’s life, more of the folks started drifting off, other things to do. Bubba and I were left on the porch by ourselves. All the chairs were put back in the store with the exception of our two favorite rockers.

“You did a good job, Bubba.”

“It was harder than I thought it would be. We’re gonna miss old Leroy.”

“Yep,” I replied. “The last of Slim’s lineage.” The moon was rising over the tree line, and we could hear a barred owl calling back toward the graveyard.

“Must be looking for its mate,” Bubba said.

“Or maybe a mouse for dessert.”

We were quite deep in our own thoughts. Nothing emphasizes one’s mortality more than a funeral.

“So what’s gonna happen to the store now that Leroy’s gone?”

“Why, I’m thinking about giving it to you. Give you something to do.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got enough going on now.”

“Well, there is some good news. Johnson expressed an interest in buying it. He’s going bonkers since he sold the farm and doesn’t have anything to do.”

“It would be good for him. I’d love to see the old place reopen.”

“Well, you know what the Bible says,” Bubba replied. “One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh. So says Ecclesiastes, I think.”

Bubba’s Biblical knowledge always impressed. The moon was over the tree line now, and we heard the owl’s mate call right behind the store.

“How about Leroy’s marker stone? I asked. “And what’s gonna be on it?”

“I think, just dates, you know, birth and death. What’s gonna be on yours when its time?”

“I haven’t a clue. Never thought about it.”

“Look at you, Cooter. Hunted and fished and camped all over the country from the Everglades in Florida to the mountains of Alaska and you don’t have a clue. I’ve got a good one for you, though, that will cover all the bases. ‘I married the perfect lady.’”

“Good,” I replied. “It would work for you, too.”

The good friends sat slowly rocking, watching the moon continue to rise slowly through grey-white clouds, and thinking of their futures that stretched away like an unmarked trail.

“The heck with this. Let’s go home,” Bubba said. “How about some fishing in the morning? I noticed bream rising to the hatch in the pond in front of the house before I left this morning.”

“Sounds great. I’ll call Linda and tell her I’ll be late. Good old Bubba, always a plan.”

The moon was fully up now and the guys laughed at an old joke Bubba told, then loaded the trucks and headed home. It had been a good day.