My grandparents lived in a small house in a valley. The railroad ran below the valley and the tracks ran over the river. Sometimes my brother and I walked on the tracks, looking down through the slats at the river. We knew the schedule so we would walk along between runs.
My dad remembered that each spring, hobos who rode the rails, would stop at my grandparents. They would appear at the door asking for work in exchange for a meal. My grandparents would decline the offer of work but would always offer a meal.
My grandfather would also give them a pan of hot water, soap and his straight edge razor so they could shave. They never entered the house. They sat on the porch, ate, shaved and went on their way.
My grandfather was a coal miner. Although they never had much, they always shared a little bit of the little they had.
Nonesvazquez 
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