Invitation to Coffee

Three days ago I met a chatty, colorful woman from the Netherlands. She and her family moved to Texas in 1999 to start a dairy farm. At first, they worked together to build their business. But then three years ago, her husband died, leaving her and their five children to manage the dairy alone.

I found the woman's situation unimaginable. Had it been me, a young widow alone in a foreign country, I'd have grabbed my children and hopped the first plane home. Not this woman. She stayed. And plans to keep staying. If it works out she'll never move back.

"What do you like about living in America?" I asked.

In a word -- EVERYTHING!

She told me she loves the food, the weather, even the Texas heat.

She was so friendly. So easy to talk to. One of the most cheerful people I've met in a great while. I was so pleased to have had the opportunity to meet her. At the end of our conversation I asked her if she had many friends.

"Why yes! Of course."

"American friends?" I asked.

"No. Dutch. There are more than sixty Dutch families in the area. Most all of them are dairy farmers. They are my friends."

"Why no Americans?" I asked. I was surprised. I'd not detected any prejudice, any ill feelings towards me or my countrymen.

She shrugged. "In the Netherlands, you meet someone. You like them. You say 'come for coffee.' And they come for coffee. You get to know them. You make a new friend. With Americans you say 'come for coffee' they don't come. You ask them again, they still don't come. I don't know why. But that is why my friends are all Dutch."

As I left the woman, not likely to cross paths with her again, I wondered. If she'd invited me for coffee, would I have gone?

Honestly? I don't know.

But guess what? Next time I'm invited, I'm going. I'll have coffee. Cookies. A sandwich if one's offered. I'll stay for an hour, an afternoon. Who knows? I might spend the night.

So. Anybody out there got a fresh pot on?