The Love of a Father

Out in the fields of God.

My father was a happy, gregarious man, always smiling and trying to crack a joke. It was more funny that he thought he was funny and we laughed along with him anyway.  He was a tall, thin, very attractive German man with bright blue eyes, dark wavy hair and usually sporting a beard for hunting season. I have such sweet memories of growing up on the farm watching him work, always doing his best, never cutting corners.  He would say, “Do it right, or not at all.”

One of my most vivid memories is the day several steers got out of the meadow fence and I heard him yelling my name.  I could hear the urgency in his voice.  He said, “Go!  Run!  As fast as you can and try to get in front of them!”  I was in high school and thankfully in tip top running shape because it was cross country season.  So I took off sprinting, barefoot, up the gravel road to the top of the hill, heart racing.  I wanted to stay out of sight so I wouldn’t spook them to run farther away.  I finally got ahead of them and ran down through the woods to cut them off and herded them back to the farm.

Another summer day, dad came up to the house and told me to get ready because he was going to take me up to the fields on the “other farm” (That’s what we called the farm we own up behind the Spruce Creek Tavern).   He said the baler was missing and left clumps of hay on the fields and that I needed to go pick them up with a pitchfork so it wouldn’t kill the alfalfa. I asked where I was supposed to put the hay I gathered, he replied, “In the fence row.”  I don’t know how many acres of hay there were, but it was a lot!  So I put on my bikini, a hat, and some cowboy boots and figured I would get a great tan at least!  It took all afternoon but I still remember it fondly.

My father taught me a lot of things, but most of the valuable life lessons I learned from him were by simply observing.  Watching him take us to church on Sunday, take food to our neighbors who had less than we did, taking holiday turkeys to the widows in town, plowing people out in the winter who probably didn’t deserve his kindness.  He was a kind and humble man and always did his good deeds in silence. He knew who saw him and that’s all that mattered. I remember vividly standing in line with him at the pharmacy to get a prescription filled and we overheard the elderly woman in front of us tell the pharmacist to fill only the prescriptions she could afford. She didn’t have enough money to get them all.  She walked away to wait for her order to be filled and when dad got up to the window he told the pharmacist to fill every prescription for her and he would pay for it right now.  I was so proud of him!  He did so many things like that, and kept quiet about all of it.  But I saw him.

I also learned from him that when people said untrue, unkind, hateful things about you, that you are also to remain quiet and let them make their bed. Resist the urge to “set it right.” Be patient and let God be your redeemer.  He knew it was a fool’s game and he had no interest in even getting on the field. Let the fools play and stay out of it.  I totally get it now.  He was so right.

I’m reflecting on all of this because tomorrow is January 21st and it is the 26th anniversary of his passing. That’s exactly how old I was when he died.  The day never goes unnoticed and some years I’m more sad than others.  This year I am grateful.  Grateful for who he was and what he taught me.  Grateful that I was raised in a Godly home. Grateful for a father’s love. Grateful that my mother says, “You are just like your father!” Grateful that I had all that time growing up with him making memories. Grateful that I know the difference between what is important and what will turn to dust.

My father often said he loved to see me coming because I always had a smile on my face.  Didn’t he know that I was simply reflecting his joy back to him?

Till we meet again, Dad.

K-