It was a breathy spring, the year I thought about what green feels like. The kind of spring where you lay in the dewy grass and let the wind roll over you as it races the rivers. I went to visit my cousins in the north-west in April. Everything was green there, the gardens, the cities, the hills. Everything that wasn’t green was emerald. Between the scattered rain and the sunshine, in the splendor of it all my cousins said that they had never seen anything like it. 

This was my mom’s side of the family. They had been farmers for generations, and they lived simply and wanted simply. I was so happy to spend some time with them, visits were usually few and far between because of the distance, but my legions of cousins and the bounties of banquets my aunts held made for happy memories each trip. 

In those years I remember loving them all, but there was one who touched my heart in a way that is hard to explain. His name was Caleb. It had been four years since I had seen him last, giving him time to grow from a skinny six-year-old into a gangly ten-year-old, tall for his age. He was a tough kid, Caleb. He was born scrawny and wouldn’t open his eyes for days. When he finally did, they were pale, penetrating, and sightless. He hasn’t ever been able to see a thing. 

During my visits, he liked to sit on the porch with me. He had his own swing and he would sit there and bask in the sunset. Back and forth, back and forth he rocked, opening his mouth like he could taste the pink and purple rays. 

That year he had learned to read. Aunt Emmy had found him a bunch of what I called bumpy-page books, the kind that you read with your fingers. He was drawn to the porch like those evenings of sunset, for hours and hours, swinging back and forth, back and forth, while his fingers went back and forth, back and forth over the pages feeling the words.

He mostly declined to join us when we did fun things on that visit. He joined us when we went fishing with my uncles, napping in the shade of the trees and waiting for the lines to tremble. He had his books there with him. But he just sat on the porch and inhaled deeply while we cooked pies with my aunts, then listened for our squeals as we escaped the heat of the ovens for the cool of the pond, then came padding back for the delicious smell of apple and blueberry goodness. 

We caught bugs in the daytime and then frogs in the evening, proudly showing off our collections to anyone we passed and even getting Caleb to rub that slimy skin. We chased cows through the pastures, riding the old horses that my cousins had named then brushing them and slipping them treats. It was a good visit. But all the fish and the pies and the stars weren’t what made that visit memorable.

On leave from one of our escapades to the pond, we returned to report to Caleb to cheer him. He thanked us and went back to his reading. As we left him to rush off on another adventure, I saw one of the little old neighbor ladies toddle down the drive to talk to Caleb. She said a few things and then hooked him by the arm and led him over to her house on the corner.

I didn’t think much of it, there was tall grass to run through and trees to climb after all, but I started to notice this happening nearly daily. After a few days, I asked Aunt Emmy where the old lady was taking Caleb. 

“That’s Grace, and she’s taking him over to read to her husband Robert. He’s blind too, and he likes it when Caleb reads to him.” 

The blind reading to the blind. I found that peculiar. I asked if I could go with them tomorrow. Aunt Emmy said that would be up to Caleb and Robert. 

The next day before Grace came by to collect Caleb, I asked him if I could come along. 

“I don’t see why not,” he said. “We’ll ask Robert when we get there.” 

When the Grace came by, she beamed at the both of us and hooked Caleb through one arm.

“I think he’ll be happy to have you, dear,” she said.

I hooked Caleb through the other arm and away we went. We got up to the corner house and stepped through the gate into a garden that I swear would have given Eden a run for good money. Flowers flashed their colors from every corner and crevice, reds, blues, purples, and golds. Vegetable patches were blooming green and fresh, shaking the soil as they reached heavenward. We drifted through happily and into the house. Inside smelled like cookies and old sofas and all those other good things old people’s houses smell like. 

Grace led us to the bedroom where we found Robert cozied up in his bed. He shifted up into a sitting position as we came in. 

“Caleb is here to read to you, Robert,” Grace said and slipped out the door. Robert smiled.

“Picking up where we left off, Caleb?” he asked.

“Sure thing. And Robert, my cousin came with me today, is it all right if she sits with us and listens?” 

Robert nodded. 

“Sounds okay to me.” 

We all got comfortable as best we could. Robert tucked himself tighter in his bed. I led Caleb to the big armchair in the corner, then sat on the bench by the open window. The cool spring air breezed over my face and around the room. Caleb began to read. I didn’t know the book, but I liked it anyway. In the story, an old man and a boy were talking about memories. The boy was asking about strange things that were happening in his life. An apple, a girl’s hair, and a bunch of faces in a crowd kept changing, but the boy couldn’t explain how. The old man told the boy to think about the memory of a sled. He told him to focus real hard on the memory and tell him what the sled looked like. 

Turns out the boy was seeing red and he didn’t know what it was. The old man tried to explain color to the boy. He said that color had once been everywhere, but it had been taken away long ago. It gave things a special quality, made them unique, and sometimes wonderful. The chapter ended with the old man giving the boy the memory of a rainbow.

Robert sat up a little straighter. 

“What do you think red looks like Caleb?” Robert asked. Caleb put the book in his lap and leaned back. 

“I asked mom about that when she gave me the book. She says that red looks like what the hot air coming out of the oven feels like. Especially when you’re making bread. It’s hot and sort of angry, but it can taste good.”

Robert turned his head towards Caleb. 

“Hm, I like that. What about blue?” Caleb thought for a moment. 

“Mom says that blue looks like what the river feels like on your feet in the summer. When you’ve been running or working and it’s all cool and fresh.” 

Robert smiled. 

“Does your mother have any other colors she feels?” 

“She likes brown. She says brown looks like what the pages of a good book feel like.” Robert nodded and leaned towards the sound of Caleb’s voice. 

“What about green?” Caleb thought for a moment and frowned. “I don’t remember what mom says green feels like.” 

“Oh,” Robert sighed. He sat back in his bed for a moment and then sat forward again. “Maybe we can ask your cousin.”

 They both turned their heads towards me. The attention flustered me. 

“Oh, I don’t know. It— It’s just green.” 

“Will you try to tell us?” asked Caleb. I thought for a moment.

“Yes, I guess I can try. Green is bright and happy I guess, it’s like plants and things and…” My mind went blank. “Oh, I don’t know!” 

“Close your eyes,” said Robert. I looked up at his smiling face. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Close your eyes.” I looked at them both for a moment then closed my eyes. 

“Closed?” Robert asked. 

“Closed.” 

“Good, try again.”

I sat still. I thought about my time here. Running through the valleys, rolling in the grasses, scaring up birds, playing in the pool under the waterfall on the hill. 

“Green… Green feels like this place. Right now, in the spring. Green feels like laying down on the lawn under the trees and holding Caleb’s hand. Green feels like the frogs in the creek, they’re sticky but all of them are happy to croak. Green feels like this place because it’s all wet and there is lots of good. Lots of life.” 

I opened my eyes. Robert was still smiling. 

“Green is beautiful,” he said. “Green feels like life.” He leaned back in his bed. “Thank you for reading to me today Caleb. Thank you for that book.”

Robert called out and Grace came back into the room loaded down with an armful of cookies. We all had one then linked arms with Caleb and went home. Robert’s wife told us he looked happier than usual that day. I went back every day of my stay. We talked a lot about colors and what they feel like. I ran with my cousins through the emerald fields and I opened the oven and closed my eyes to breathe in the feelings. I ran my hands over those bumps on the brown pages of Caleb’s books. I’ll always remember what those two taught me that summer. I think of Caleb and Robert a lot. Still reading together, still thinking, wondering what the colors would look like. Feeling more than most of us ever could.