Leaving a Poplar Bluff grocery store during my recent COVID-19 sheltering in period, a gentleman dressed in bib overalls exiting his pickup truck asked as he walked by me, “Do you think I am crazy for putting hummingbird feeders at my wife’s grave?” I could feel my eyes trying to fight tears as I replied, “No. I think you are doing a sweet thing.” “Well, she always filled them with strawberry soda,” he said, as he headed into the store. I still was emptying my cart when he returned. “Couldn’t you find any,” I asked. “No, they are out of strawberry and orange both,” he replied, climbing into his pickup. “I’ll have to go somewhere else.” I said, “you are doing a thoughtful thing.” As I finished loading my car and returning my cart to the store, I thought to myself, “I hope someone loves me enough to remember the things special to me and continue doing them because of me.” In ways, the gentleman reminded me of my dad. Dad had many jobs or careers in his life, but the one he had the longest was farming. When he farmed, he drove a pickup and wore overalls. When he finally retired after several attempts, he raised tomatoes and flowers. The flowers were a visual beauty he shared with friends and neighbors as they drove to his home. The three tomato plants he grew provided food for friends and neighbors everywhere. The man had a green thumb. I don’t have his green thumb; he passed it on to his eldest granddaughter, Robin. He and my mother were married more than six decades. She had many talents, too. She enjoyed cooking and sewing and was creative about both. The thing I remember most about them was quietly doing for others. They never made a production about sharing their talents or time. They would quietly gift a friend or neighbor a lift to wherever they needed to go for whatever reason. Dad would deliver mom’s homemade goodies. Occasionally, they’d surprise one with an envelope containing money. They were not rich financially, but they were rich in many other ways. I try to follow their example; in their honor I do something anonymously, like the gentleman feeding the hummingbirds because his wife loved them. They taught me to give without expecting rewards. The best reward is knowing someone is receiving a gift, and I know it is in my parents’ honor. Just like the gentleman knows his late wife and the hummingbirds know he is doing it because of his love for her. Barbara Ann Horton is a staff writer for the Daily American Republic.