March 17th, 2007
eight years ago
In last Tuesday’s post about crayfish, I mentioned that I used to play with them and pretend they were horses back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. In the comments, Pablo asked, “But did you ever get a horse?”
Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did. But it wasn’t my first horse. The very first horse was the one in the above photo, taken when I was 13 months old. The horse was made by my father, who is to the right, and painted by my mother, who took this photo.
A year ago today, I wrote about my dad, who died eight years ago this evening. The above photo is a nice reminder of how much he liked to make things for all of us. He built our first family home, our summer cottage, a couple of go-carts for my brothers, and later on, helped Don and I with our house and supervised the building of our first cordwood barn here at the farm. Those are just a few things that I can think of off the top of my head. There were many more. My dad was always busy with some kind of project and, as I wrote last year, he could do just about anything. He was the kind of person you would want along if your spaceship broke down on some alien planet and had to be patched back together with nothing but the contents of your lunch box. McGyver had nothing on him.
My dad enjoyed challenges and liked doing things for people. If you came to him with a question or problem, in no time, he would have an answer or a solution. I suppose that’s why, in part, it seemed so crazy when he became ill. Up until then, I don’t think I’d ever seen him not be able to fix something and make everything right in no time. It seemed almost impossible that he wouldn’t just invent some way to make himself better.
Anyhow, it was nice to come across this image recently while scanning photos for the online family photo gallery I’ve been putting together. It’s a great reminder of just one of the many fun times we had together.
To my friend, mentor and father — Thanks, Dad. Miss ya.
March 17th, 2007 at 8:39 pm
Bev – I was almost sure, but had to check to make sure, that that was my first intro to Burning Silo, a year ago. That picture of your dad a year ago was very moving to me. And then in the time since have come all the other commonalities which certainly wouldn’t have been predicted on that basis, but turned out to be the case.
And now, after a year of all that interchange that has been such a pleasure to me, another picture of your father that hits me again, like the first one did. Serendipity, I think, is the right word here.
March 17th, 2007 at 9:26 pm
Wayne – That’s interesting about it being a year since you came to Burning Silo! The interchange over the past year has been a great pleasure to me as well. It’s truly nice to read that these photos of my dad have struck a chord with you as they are both quite special to me. Yes, serendipity is a good word for it.
March 17th, 2007 at 10:19 pm
Bev, I remember reading that piece about a year ago…I don’t know if it was on the anniversary or not. But it was, and is, very moving. My dad has been gone since 1985 and my mom a year later. People we love have such incredible effects on us…and people who mean something special to people we meet, even though we never met them, are quite special, too. Good memories, Bev, should be cultivated. The way you cultivate yours is instructive and powerful. Thank you.
March 18th, 2007 at 7:48 am
I am glad you have good memories of you dad. Anniversaries like this are bittersweet and I am glad you shared this one with your readers.
March 18th, 2007 at 9:32 am
Your father sounds like he was quite a person, bev. It is a wonderful thing to have loved him and known him as a mentor and friend. You have that always.
March 18th, 2007 at 11:13 am
John – I like your comment about hos good memories should be cultivated. I also agree with what you had to say here and on your blog yesterday about the way in which our parents and other loved ones shape our lives.
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Ruth – Thanks. I sometimes feel a little uncertain about sharing personal memories here on my blog, but in this case, it seems like a good thing to do.
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robin – Yes, my dad was special, but then, many or most fathers are. I’ve always liked the thought that, aside from our father-daughter connection, we were also good friends and shared so many interests. Somehow, that seems important.
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Cathy – I’m answering your comment here, although it was left on the earlier post. Your dad sounds like he was a very special man. The generation that he and my dad were part of had its own dynamics. I often think of how multi-talented so many of that generation were.
March 18th, 2007 at 8:59 pm
Thanks for sharing your happy memories and the nice pic – it’s good to remember that way.
March 19th, 2007 at 1:23 pm
Hi Bev,
I can’t imagine the world without my father in it, even though it is a world I know that I must someday face. They say though that none of us are truly gone, so long as there is someone left to remember us.
March 19th, 2007 at 4:24 pm
Thank you for the photo of you and your father. I can see how much your father loves you and that you know that you are loved. Coincidentally, my father died on March 17, too, but in 2003. I remember that, as a child, I believed that my father knew everything there was to know. After he retired from a career as a systems analyst, he told me that he should have been a farmer because what he really loved was being outside, growing food and flowers, and fixing things. I remember how much my father enjoyed life in his later years.
March 19th, 2007 at 9:57 pm
Bev, thanks, again, for writing this and for all you share with us. I have grown to admire you and others who visit your site so much. You’ve taught me much about real life, life outsife the city, life interacting with the natural world. Would that everyone had the opportunities I’ve had to learn from you and your friends. Keep it up!
March 20th, 2007 at 7:33 am
Laura – Yes, it *is* good to remember this way! (-:
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Clare – I have to say that I can barely imagine the world without my father too — even to this day. I guess it gets less difficult over time, although I think he does live on in each of us that knew him.
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am – Very interesting about your father saying that he should have been a farmer. I suspect that many of us don’t truly know what we want to do until later in life. So often, we hear about people who did various jobs in their younger years, and then seemed to break loose and start doing something totally different – farming is one for sure, gardening, writing, painting, photography. I suppose part of it is because we have to earn a living whatever way we can, but I believe there’s more to it. It seems that, at some point, we realize that there’s more to life than our work — that we are more than our work — and that seems to bring out our creative, personal side.
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John – It’s always good to hear that you’re enjoying this blog. I also admire the people who post comments here as it adds so much to the discussion — and I learn a lot too!
March 20th, 2007 at 10:55 am
What a gift. Your father, of course, was the gift, but the rocking horse allows me to recognize that.