Some years ago, my then-spouse, Dave, and I visited an Italian ice shop in Middletown, CT. We had heard about this place. Stepping inside was like stepping back in time about 50 years. It appeared that very little had changed in this place since the ‘50s, from the immaculate black-and-white checked linoleum floor to the gleaming stainless-steel chest freezers against the wall. After a moment, a short, bald, elderly man appeared behind the counter. He put on a white, sailor-style ice-cream server’s hat, made of paper. It had the name “Joe” written in Magic Marker on one side.

Adjusting it carefully, he announced, with a discernible Italian accent, “OK, now I’m ready.”

“Hi, Joe,” Dave said. “You had to get your cap on first, huh?”

“Yeah, I was out back raking leaves,” he said, shaking his head. “You know, it’s funny this time of year. The leaves are coming down, but they’re not even turning yet. They’re still green.

“But I gotta get them raked up,” he added earnestly.

He explained in great detail the temperamental drainage situation in the yard behind the shop, and how if leaves clogged the drain out there, the whole shop might flood.

Finally, as if suddenly remembering why we were there, he waved his arm dismissively toward his raking project and said, “So, anyway, here I am, going on, when I could be serving you!”

Yes, he was “going on,” and we were looking forward to our homemade Italian ices, but when I looked over at Dave, his eyes were twinkling, and I had a smile on my own face. When, at last, we got what we had come for (in white cone-shaped paper cups, naturally), I thought about why my heart felt so warm, even though my head was on the verge of brain-freeze from eating the ice too fast.

There was something about the way Joe had talked with us, as if we were not strangers, that almost made me wonder if he had us confused with some other couple he knew. But I suspect he probably related to all his customers that way. He just assumed you’d be interested in hearing about his life, and somehow you were. In his naturally open way of being, he invited us into his life, and we accepted.

But it wasn’t all about him. He also took obvious pride in the way he served his customers. It seemed to be important to him to serve them with genuine courtesy and caring. While times have changed, Joe was undoubtedly operating by the same values he had held since he first opened the shop half a century ago.

Reflecting on this event from 20 years ago, there are several things that stand out. First, long-standing, independently-owned small businesses are becoming rare treasures. And, in the case of Joe, what a fine example of treating customers with genuine friendliness, caring and courtesy. This brings me to the third thing. And that is, encounters with strangers.

More than two decades ago, the Quaker author and speaker Parker Palmer began writing about the importance of the public sphere, where we regularly come in contact with people we don’t know as we go about our daily lives. He gave as examples the longstanding traditions of public squares and outdoor markets. And he lamented Americans’ withdrawal more and more into the private sphere, because it’s a loss of an aspect of our humanity. In our modern world, we’ve seen those opportunities for interactions with strangers dwindle, with self-checkouts at chain stores, online banking and other human-less ways of doing business. What I have observed is that the less we occupy the public sphere, the more distrustful and fearful we seem to become toward those we don’t know. And friendliness and courtesy are sometimes in short supply.

Which means, encounters with strangers are important. And so, I’d like to invite us to swim against the current. I invite us to look for more opportunities to practice engaging with the stranger, to make those small but often meaningful connections, to sincerely thank someone for their service, to rejoice together about the beauty of the day. Those brief encounters remind us of our common humanity, in all our joys and our struggles. Like that exchange with Joe the Italian ice man, those connections can warm hearts and spirits. What a difference they can make, both for ourselves and for those lives we touch, even if only for a moment. We never know when our kindness and a moment of genuine connection might be the highlight of someone’s day.