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Some of my friends are tremendous storytellers. John Quick and Al Reed have a knack for it. Julie is right there with them. But, few can match Don Robertson.

Don and I have breakfast and fellowship at Willow Leaves in Hope. Regardless of the number of diners, the room is crowded. Don fills it. He brings a myriad of memories, jokes, and epic accounts.

Don Robertson directed high school bands until his retirement. Television and radio may have missed a potential star. He has that Alex Trebek look and a comedian's timing, but he offers more than one-liners. Current events, family, politics, and religion .... He stays in touch with what is happening around and within him.

Do recounts amazing stories, but those are his to share. His life is filled with joys and successes and challenges and tragedies just like yours and mine. He has met Art Linkletter and Bob Hope and thousands of young people and families. The Shriners Hospital in St. Louis owns a special spot in his heart.

But, with gravy and a cup of coffee in front of us, he often talks about the moments in his life that others have forgotten. His treasured tales have aged as well as the Willow’s antiques. Like the restaurant, Don has not forgotten the beauty of the past.

He loved and trusted his grandfather. His respect eased the tension and frustration that occasionally cropped up on the farm. That was especially true when Don was assigned to build a fence around the fields. It was a job that would take all summer.

Having started a few postholes myself, I assure you that the best man for digging is always someone else. Unless the process involves a tractor and an auger, it is a job that no one aspires to have.

Don never elaborated much on the details. A fence row needed little explanation, and the physical aches and pains required even less, especially when he shared that he had hundreds of posts to bury. My shoulders and arms hurt as he spoke.

At one point, he was working near the road and, as he said, was feeling pretty sorry for himself. He leaned on the post-hole digger with his head down and debated how the task would ever make a difference in his life.

The car that approached may not have delivered the answer he wanted, but the man behind the wheel gave him something to think about. The elderly driver spied the tormented teen and sensed the dilemma. He parked his car on the berm and approached Don.

"Son," he started. "I'd share some advice if you're willing to listen."

He then recited, "A job dreaded, once started, is half done."

The observant passerby echoed a bit of Horace. Two thousand years before Don dug his first hole, the poet had written, "Dimidium facti, qui coepit, habet; sapere aude, incipe." (He who has begun is half done; dare to know, dare to begin!) - What an ancient mouthful of wisdom!

Nearly seventy years later, Don Robertson still chews on those words. Sometimes when the workload seems heavy and my self-pity is surging, I signal for that same old man to pull off on my side of the road. When I am ready to listen, he shares the same truth.

*Adapted from “Post Holes and Horace” in Nudge Me Gently by Larry Perkinson