Remembering my dad

I'm remembering my dad today.

Twenty years it has been since he left this planet.

Much has happened in those 20 years. 

Things have changed - in my life and in that mile we called home.

When we decided to sell the tree farm a few years ago, one of the most difficult things for me was the fact that I was the third generation to own that property. We bought it from my dad who bought it from his dad. Even to this day and even though I am convinced it was the right decision, that fact still brings a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye.

So many memories of that place - both before we bought it from him and after - some of which I've shared before.

One event stands out in my memory. It was our first year of marriage and we were renting the old farmhouse from my grandpa. A group of teens came up "from the city" for a weekend retreat. They slept in the old barn and ate in the old house and my dad took them on a phenomenal hayride through "the west forty" - the very property which would later become Hidden Hollows Tree Farm. At that point, however, we had no clue that we would ever own it nor how many amazing memories of other phenomenal events would eventually happen on those acres.

I remember his old railroad conductor hat. I think he liked trains and he would wear that railroad hat when he was hosting one of his famous hayrides. 

Speaking of hats, I also remember another one - his "combining hat" that he always wore for harvesting grain. I thought it was a combine hat and only later realized it was a pith helmet like you see in safari pictures from Africa. Nevertheless to me it was his combine hat.

And THAT brings back other memories like the exciting purchase of the big John Deere self-propelled combine. 

Now that was a big machine. Big enough that an addition was required on the barn to provide a place (and a doorway!) high enough to store it. 

I also remember having my dad as my boss. I learned lots of things from working for him - like the importance of taking good care of your equipment and of putting things away where they belong. Those lessons stand me in good stead to this day.

My husband has his own memories - memories of also having my dad as a boss for one summer and memories from working on the west forty before it was ours - and even before we were married. Memories of driving the old John Deere "D" tractor to work up those fields swirling around the hidden hollows. I guess that was his initiation to the family and to the place. Quite likely that was when the seed was planted in his mind that we might even live there some day.

And so we did. We bought the land and he built a house and then a few years later we got the bright idea to plant Christmas trees. We had the audacity to ask my dad to help us plant them. I call it audacious because decades earlier he had helped his dad clear the trees from this land to make it tillable - so that Grandpa Frank could farm it and then Grandpa Lee after him. 

So here we were - planting trees in the cleared fields where he and his dad had worked so hard to get rid of the trees. And yes, he graciously helped us by bringing his gray Ferguson tractor to pull the tree planter - and some years the little Ford tractor.

And then years later when those seedlings had grown enough to be Christmas trees, he came again to help - this time driving an old John Deere tractor and giving hay rides to the customers. He was great for business - making people feel welcome and giving them a good time. He was a great host - wearing his old train conductor hat yet again.

Memories of my dad driving tractors and planting life into the good earth are quite significant to me because that combination was the very last thing he was doing on that day twenty years ago today.