Stranger makes girl’s dream come true with generosity

Editor’s note: Emma Ayres is an Imlay City high school junior and is pursuing her dreams of journalisim by sharing articles with our Tri-City Times readership. Emma recently took in the Lavendar Festival and shares her thoughts of an experience she had while attending the festival.

This year’s park and sell during Lavender Fest was anything but what I expected it to be. Compared to the busy atmosphere of the last few years, this year’s steady yet light crowd of people brought a refreshing new taste to the environment.

My Papa had set up a trailer with a bunch of old tools and trinkets to try to bless somebody else with a good deal, and make a profit doing it. I was there to help, observing people milling about from my perch on a lawn chair.

In between customers, I explored the different vendor stalls. The rows of cars seemed to go on forever. Each parking spot was transformed into an entirely unique vendor stall with its own array of merchandise.

Many artists set up shop, seizing the opportunity to show their craft. One lady had rock trolls with spiky green tufts of hair, which she had made out of polymer clay and little pebbles. I honestly wish I had just spent the money and bought a pair of troll earrings.

Out of all of the vendors I had visited in the entire parking lot, including a stall with different types of plants and a resin set, my favorite was the one right across from us.

I had wandered over to one of their plastic picnic tables and noticed a hat box. I opened the box and removed the silky plastic covering.

Inside was an adorable brown cowboy hat with a leather band around the crown.

It felt soft in my hands, slightly worn but still a gem of a find. I instantly fell in love for a few reasons. Just this past April, I got to take flash photography at prom, dressed as an old-fashioned journalist.

My costume included a blazer and a brown hat with a wide brim and a leather band just like the one in the box.

I had been looking for a hat just like the one I was wearing that night to call my own. I also had noticed the label on the box, “Stetson,” my character Remmy’s last name from the novel I am writing. I have always been one for irony. I just had to have that hat.

I saw the guy who owned the stall and had to ask, “Hey, how much do you want for the hat?” He looked over at me, squinting his eyes from the sun. “I’ll give it to you for 25 Bucks.” I shook my head and walked away.

I sat down next to my papa on my lawn chair and said, “I can’t believe they want 25 dollars for that hat.” He just smiled and nodded.

As the day drew on and more and more people visited our stall, I kept getting pocket change as my things sold. I had made a total of forty bucks.

With every extra dollar we earned, my mind would wander back to that hat. Should I spend the money and just get it?

Every time I saw someone unwrap the plastic in the little brown box, my heart would stop. Still, I justified leaving it because I needed to spend that money on a heating mat for my plants.

Deep down, I knew that hat had to go home with me, but I sat on my lawn chair periodically helping with customers and walking around with my cousin, trying to convince myself that spending almost thirty bucks on a hat wasnt worth it instead.

The blazing sun was starting to dip behind the trees, and the evening air was settling in. I was thinking about getting a drink out of my bag when the man who owned the stall across from us started talking to my papa.

I continued to observe from my lawn chair. To my utter shock I heard myself speak. “Can I make you an offer on that hat?” my papa nudged me from my lawnchair perch to “Go talk to him.”

The man opened the hat box holding it out to me with a smile. My Papa noticed the label on the box, too.

“Is that a real Stetson?” He asked? The Guy nodded and smiled. “Those are worth a bit of money, my papa laughed.”

I walked over to the man holding the hat box, less concerned about the brand name than making my offer.

“I’ll give you fifteen dollars for it I said, determined to get that hat.”

Fifteen dollars left me just enough to get me that heating mat for my cactus sprouts. I was over the moon when he handed me that hat box.

I said thank you, beaming, from excitement, and headed back to my lawn chair. From the look my papa gave me, I knew something was wrong.

“What’s up?” I wondered, confused. You scored big, he informed me. “What do you mean?” “It’s just a hat. “What’s that thing where you search by taking a picture and it shows you how much things go for”, he asked me.

I use it when I need to look at the price of something. He was talking about Google Lens. He wanted me to put it through Google Lens. I hesitated. I had an idea of what Google was going to say.

The hat was probably some expensive brand that went for like sixty bucks. Do it, my papa reminded me after I had sat with the box in my lap for a few minutes.

I slowly unwrapped the plastic and took out the soft brown hat. I read the inside label. The Gun Club by Stetson. I put it through Google Lens, and my jaw hit the floor. Five hundred dollars.

The hat this guy sold me, no, gave me at the price I paid, was worth five hundred dollars!

Why would someone in their right mind sell it to me for less than a hundred bucks?

Guilt stung as I realized I bought a $500 hat for 15 bucks.

My Papa looked at me and laughed, and you said, “I can’t believe they want twenty-five dollars for that hat.”

“I know, I feel like I cheated the dude” I replied. “Should I go give him the rest of the money?”

No, he reassured me, “the guy gave it to you for fifteen dollars, knowing the value of the hat. He knew you were a young lady who would appreciate a hat like that one. You should at least go say thank you to the guy and say, hey, I recognize that you did me a favor and I realy appreciate it.”

So I did. I walked up to his stall, and he came out of his little trailer to talk to me. I told him how truly grateful I was for the hat and that I might write about it in the upcoming piece I am working on.

We packed up the trailer shortly after that, the day a wild success of deals and fun.

As soon as I got home, I ran through my storm door and straight to the hallway mirror. I put on my hat, the light brown brim resting just above my eyebrows. It made me feel stunning again.

My mind wandered back to the man’s kindness. It was oddly familiar. Then I realized what it was.

I saw Jesus in his kindness. It echoed the kindness He demonstrated throughout his ministry here on earth and even when He went to the cross.

Now every time I look at my hat, in the box, or on my head, I think of my Jesus and how much he loves me.

Contact Emma at tct@pageone-inc.com