The late author Tracy Kidder and I were close friends for the past four years of his life. Sometimes, he introduced me as his guru, his sensei. We initially connected on Facebook (he disliked it), on the local mushroom club’s page, where I go to help people identify their finds. One day, I saw some photos posted by Tracy. I commented with an ID. A couple of days later, same thing.

A few days later, I summoned up my courage and sent him a DM, inviting him to share mushroom pics with me and to walk in the woods sometime. Within 10 minutes of meeting during our first walk, it became apparent that there was a mutual, unspoken realization of, hey, I really like this guy. We have a similar world view; can make each other laugh and well, mushrooms. We took dozens of walks together in the forest looking for/at fungi. Two old men, with painful backs, eyes to the ground, foraging for the fruits of the forest. Tracy had an unquenchable curiosity, the enthusiastic energy of a teenager, and an intellect far beyond mine. Yet, our conversations were expansive and wide-ranging.

Outside of the forest, we texted regularly to check in, shared many meals together; we spent a week with the Kidders in Vieques, Puerto Rico last year. In 2024, I told him about the selfless director of our food bank in Easthampton, Robin Bialecki, which led to his final published piece, on hunger, in the New York Times last fall.

Making a new friend at any age is a gift; making one in your 70s is extra special. I can think of few people as admired and beloved as Tracy. My new friend! Amazing. But in March, Tracy passed away from cancer. Among other things, walking in the forest, basket in hand, without him (peppering me with questions) just won’t be the same.

I’d always admired Tracy’s wardrobe and since we were similar sizes, I wondered if it would be appropriate to ask his family whether I might have a shirt or two of his. But, I decided that would be awkward, so didn’t follow through on that thought.

Then last weekend, I stopped by the food bank around the corner. While I was looking, Robin came over and said, Marty, come inside, there’s something I want to show you. There, she said that Tracy’s daughter had dropped off many bags of his clothing and she wanted me to be the first to look through them. Unbelievable!

I went through those bags, saddened, but thrilled and incredulous at my good fortune. I found a few shirts and other items I remembered him wearing. Sometimes, the universe works in magical ways. Because the following day was my birthday, I considered the clothing I took, to be his birthday present to me. I know he would have loved that. Fittingly, I wore one of his shirts when I celebrated my birthday with my partner, Marylou, the next day.

Marty Klein lives in Easthampton.