It doesn't seem possible that I am already older than my dad was, when he passed away. It doesn't seem possible that this place is such a faint memory in my mind, yet memories are so vivid.That is what is so important.
I remember the starry nights, a time when I could see the stars clearly and find both the Big and Little Dipper without my glasses, a time when you could hear the sound of a barn owl at night, a time when coyotes mourned the rise of the moon, a time when mourning doves sang at night and robins and king birds and kill deer welcomed the dawn.
The door of Rulon's shed below the house was where we eventually kept many things we needed each day: grease and oil to lubricate the machinery and diesel for the tractor.
On the right wall were leaf cutting bees. Dad bought them with the hope of getting some alfalfa seed, and although it worked, there was never really the time to reset the combine to cut a small section of alfalfa for seed.
It was just easier to buy it, and it was probably cheaper to do it that way too, when you consider wear and tear on machinery and the cost of fuel.
I find it interesting to re-examine the family paradigm. My grandfather taught me father that a farm needed important things to be successful: sheds, machinery, fuel and other things for the farm.
The sheds my dad and grandfather built still stand. They just need a bit of paint.
The old grease shed is at the left. It once held buckets of grease and dozens of fifty gallon drums we used to haul fuel to the fields. A 500 gallon tank was at the left, and at one time, it was enough for us. The D-6 Caterpillar only had a 50 gallon tank. The newer tractors, however, had larger demands. Our last tractor's tank held 250 gallons of fuel, and we used that much every day, if not every other day.
The taller grain shed in the background is one that my grandfather built in the 30's, at least I think that's what my father told me.
There was an elevator. Grandpa Cles could sit at the very top, hang to one side and grease a pulley there. My dad and I had a horrible fear of heights, but dad still made his way to the top.
He stayed on the ladder, but he greased the same part.
It's funny how each of the three of us had things, that made us unique--our strengths, our fears, our character. The first two were vastly different for each of us. The first time I climbed the ladder to the top of that old elevator, I only made it part way to the top of the shed. I panicked and my hands slipped. Dad caught me, and we went back to the ground.
Dad did what he always did for me. He watched over me and made sure I was alright.
Sometimes I still sense him doing that.
The family paradigm went like this. A house never makes you any money. It's the machinery. It's the land. It's the things that keep the farm going.
We lived in the house in this picture until the summer of 1971. We bought Rulon Ward's place that next fall.
I still remember dad calling me at school. I drove up from the university, and I sat through the meetings with the lawyer.
It was an introduction to what would become my life.
Things change. No one ever thinks that their life will end abruptly. Dad planned everything in detail, and who would have known that someone so strong would pass away so quickly? Who would have guessed that all those lofty plans would end so abruptly?
One thing never changes. That is what I learned on that farm. I will discuss most of it in my other blogs on these pictures, but I want to mention one thing now.
Dad told me this: "You have a good name that men have earned after lives living honestly doing hard work and gaining the respect of others. Don't do anything to diminish that. Live so that your name means something."
This was something that this farm taught all of our family.
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