Maria and I have been together for a decade now, and it is always a fascinating thing for me to reflect on the ways we are so much alike and the ways in which we are so different. Somehow, it fits.

In all of my life, I have never darned a sock, asked to have a sock darned, or thought of darning a sock with a hole in it. I’m a big man with flat feet and my socks often sprout holes. For all of my life, I have taken those socks and thrown them away and bought new socks.

I would no sooner darn a sock that fly over the moon. Maria, on the other hand, is quite often darning socks, she darns them when we sit and talk, when we have breakfast, sometimes while we are sitting by the fire or reading.

She does it in a flash, she pulls a needle out of somewhere – I have no idea where – and some thread, and sews confidently and skillfully, and continues to wear the sock. The idea of buying a new sock when there is only one or two tiny holes is completely alien to her.

I think one of the many things I have learned living with Maria is to celebrate our differences as well as our similarities. We respect each other’s choices. It is sad to see Americans learning more and more to hate people who differ with them. I hope I never do that.

Sock darning is a small thing – although on farms a very old and enduring thing – but that has meaning too in such a divided and angry world.

I know I will never darn a sock or even think of darning a sock, but I admire her ingenuity and simplicity. I would never belittle her (sometimes I call her cheap) and she never is annoyed that I throw so many things away. We just accept one another.

Maybe I’ll get there. But I’ve also learned to be realistic about myself. When socks wear out, I give them away or throw them away. Maria loves the earth and is always thinking of it.