You see that little stone on the shelf there? I’ll tell you about it.
It was five summers ago. Three guys in white brought me a sack of barley to grind. We fell to talking, and I asked them if they had eaten. They said no, and I dished them up some lentils I had made.
Boy, if I had known how picky they are about food, I wouldn’t have offered. But they ate it, and asked me about myself and I asked them questions. They seemed like real nice guys.
Well, the one says “What do we owe you?” and I don’t know why, but I said “Just give me your blessing.” He picked up a little stone, and he put his other hand on my head, and he blessed me. He dropped the stone and they left.
Well, that was really something. I didn’t see which stone he had picked up, but there was one—-we were just outside the mill—-that was kind of glowing, you know. I guess it wasn’t really glowing, but it was the stone he held: I could tell that.
Did I mention the oxen? Well, those guys must have picked some grass before they came in, because they fed it to the oxen, and they loved it. One of them was licking one of the guys’ faces. I never even think to feed them grass, with all the grain around.
Well, now when those guys come back, I can always tell. The oxen start jumping around and getting really excited. One time, they brought reeds. They had peeled the outsides, and the oxen just gobbled up those soft roots. They left me some that time. They taste pretty good boiled.

Let’s see—-oh, yeah—-the boss of those guys never came here. I saw him once, and I don’t think I’d want him to bless me. I’d probably keel over, dead. It’s strong enough for me when those guys do it.
That one time, I was grinding somebody’s grain, and the whole mill just lit up. It was like that little stone was on fire, but this guy who was there didn’t notice anything.
I found out their boss had died that same time.
Well, any time somebody gives them grain, I grind it for them, and we talk, and they bless me. That’s what that stone is about.

Lou Gottlieb 3/3/08