Loving in All Ways Always

My Dad took me back to the airport after a long weekend in Iowa several years ago. As we turned right to go down the main street of Toddville and started the 20-minute drive to the airport, Dad announced, “I’m not afraid to die. I’ve had a great life.”

My Dad was usually quiet, and this statement took me by surprise. He went on to say, “Marge and I have been married for 65 years and we have done a lot of things. We have seen the world. Not many people have done all that we got to do.”

            My father passed away seven years ago this month. I think about him every day. When I was growing up, I saw him as a humble farmer when I had designs on trying to do something great to change the world. I now understand how my Dad’s life was anything but insignificant. To be a farmer who cared deeply about his family and the land was remarkable. As I reflect on my Dad, I am grateful to him for inspiring me about travelling, the outdoors, animals, and leisure.

            I saw how special travelling was to my parents. I remember going to Arizona to visit my grandparents on a train when I was 10 years old. In the middle of a moonlit night rumbling through Kansas, Dad excitedly explained to me all that he knew about wheat fields. He loved to talk about what he learned about farming on their trips to Canada, Europe, Brazil, Norway, Australia, and New Zealand. He prided himself in having been to all 50 states. I was with him when he got the 50^th one—South Carolina—in 2004. When I have the privilege of travelling, I think about how much Dad would have enjoyed my trips.

Dad loved the land. I doubt he would describe himself as an environmentalist, but I saw what he did. If anyone practiced repair, reuse, reduce, and recycle, it was my Dad. When Dad sold the farm, the Soil and Water Conservation officer in Linn County said he had created 1 ½ inches more fertile topsoil than when he began farming. He embodied leaving the earth better than he found it.

Dad loved animals. He cared that the animals he raised were healthy and comfortable. He also had pets that were special. For several years he had a pet goat that followed him everywhere. When Herbie died, dad spent a day finding a suitable burial spot for the animal on the top of a hill where the goat could forever behold the farm operations.

            My Dad’s work ethic was central to his good life. He taught me to work hard, and also to take time to enjoy the simple things of life—a beautiful sunset, a baby rabbit, a raccoon peeking out a hole in a tree. Although he worked from before sunrise until after sunset, he showed me how to find leisure in unpretentious pleasures.

            My father was a man of few words. I learned something exceptionally touching about my Dad two years ago after my mother passed. My sisters and I were reading some of the letters my Mom had saved from Dad when he served in WWII. They planned to be married when he returned home. Several of his letters ended with a heartfelt salutation to my mother, “I love you in all ways always.” That statement sums the secret to Dad’s great life—loving one’s spouse, family, animals, and the land zealously.