A Farmer’s Joy

a few photo memories of Dad

My Dad wanted to build some more fence on the hillside for his goat herd.

My Dad loved his herd of goats and he asked me to help him build more fence with him on the steep hillside. These pictures were taken in August of 2016.

Dad had been battling cancer quite awhile already. Getting on his John Deere tractor wasn’t easy, but he climbed into the seat, his thin frame eager to prove he could do whatever he set out to do.

Memories of working in these same fields together day after day in my childhood came flooding back as we headed across the edge of the field we called “The Bottom.” We drove past the rock pile, where the hundreds of rocks we had picked up from the soil still reminded me of my family roaming these fields, tossing rocks on the flatbed trailer. Combines and swathers need fields free of rocks.

I drove behind him in the pickup, aware of his life slipping away.

I will always remember talking with Dad (while we tried to balance on that steep hill) as we wrestled with that roll of wire fencing.

Dad didn’t want to give in and start hospice. He told me our country was broke already, he didn’t plan to add to that national deficit by signing up for hospice. Besides that, he intended to keep fighting.

He still kept asking his wife, a bit older than him, to split firewood with him, despite his waning strength. He wanted to split more wood to give to people at church who “needed something to keep them warm this winter.” Hard work allowed him to hold onto the illusion that he could beat this cancer, and he had never been very aware of the limitations or needs of others. Dear Helen split and stacked a lot of firewood with Dad.

The wood piles grew, stacked higher by a man clinging to life and independence.

I miss him. Dad died the following spring, leaving behind a herd of goats and lots of memories. His resilience and determination, his love for his farmland, and his faith all linger in my mind. That day together symbolized his grit and tenacity.

These pictures remind me of tender conversations as we struggled to build a fence for his goats 🐐, and his desire to live fully as long as he could.

Dad supported my love for writing. He would have enjoyed my Substack and the book I am working on.

Thanks for joining me for these memories, prompted today by running across these pictures.

Go build some fencing. Do something. Don’t just sit there!

I love you, Dad.