My Dad was a farmer, as was his father. They both rose early morning and retired early evening. Long years of hard work kept them both going physically and mentally.

Though I didn’t know my Dad well, he was loved. He and my Mom divorced when I was around five, I think. I didn’t see him again until I was about eleven or twelve, the year escapes me. I can never remember him saying I Love You, but he always cried when he, or we, left. So I know he cared.

My brother and I visited the farm, which was down the hill from my Grandfather’s home, several times during summer or fall, and I have many memories stored. My two older brothers lived with my Dad and taught us a lot about country living. Once when I was maybe thirteen, I tried making pancakes for breakfast. Lord! Who knew there was plain flour?  The pancakes were some of the best rubber money could buy. Needless to say, no one ever asked me to make pancakes again. 🙂 Other things that made an impression were a smokehouse, a salt box, a cold, cold spring, and snakes. I loved the spring and its cold water, but hated going because there might be a snake or two around.

My Grandfather owned a sawmill. He built my Grandmother a beautiful large home on top of a hill overlooking fields of cattle with a mountain in the background. I used to love sitting on the wrap-a-round porch where a nice breeze kept me cool. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more quiet or gentle man. So I guess that’s where my Dad got his quiet manner. Off the kitchen was a cool cellar filled with home-canned goods. There was a huge fireplace in the kitchen, for warmth and cooking. The wood cooking stove, for some reason, always fascinated me. He also had bee hives. He amazed me gathering honey in five gallon buckets. Oh, was the honey ever good on hot buttered biscuits.

A few years ago, before my father passed, we were at my brother’s place in the mountains for a family reunion. All of a sudden gunshots rang out. My brother said, oh, that’s just Dad shooting a snake. We all went to the creek that ran between my two brother’s places, to see the snake. It was a copperhead! I always watch my step now when I visit.

Whether we spent a lifetime with our father, or only at special times, there’s a bond that forms. Memories that can’t be erased and those make Father’s Day special.

8 thoughts on “Memories

  1. Oh, what wonderful memories! The places we’ve been and the things that we’ve seen. I like the quiet heroes. The strong men that we can lean on. I’m glad you had a chance to build a relationship with your father.

    Children don’t understand divorce and sometimes the things that happen between the adults have nothing to do with the children or the parents’ ability to be parents. Sometimes they do. Sounds as though your dad really cared and loved you.


    • I think about that old homeplace so often. There was a creek that ran through the bottom land, and that’s where the first house my grandfather built stood. The “Big House” as they called it, sat high on a hill with an amazing view. So much as children we don’t appreciate until we look back!


  2. The house sounds wonderful.
    Country living does include snakes. There is nothing like seeing a five foot long discarted snake skin and it looks like the snake went into a crack in the bricks of your house! I always turn on the light going into the open garage, as once a coiled snake was there. My dh is a biologist, can you imagine he made me stop the car during a drizzle when we were returning from a formal function, meaning he had his tux on, so he could identify a snake that was dead in the road. Sure he picked it up!


    • My brother and I once ran across a huge snake while picking Huckleberries at my grandfather’s farm in North Georgia. Pretty dang scary! I can only imagine how you felt when you saw the snake in your garage. Yikes! I can see your hubby picking up the road snake. Makes me shiver.


Please Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.