Growing up on my home farm, we were taught how to work and there were endless opportunities to live that out. We never heard, “OK, today I’m going to teach you how to work.” Our dad just walked the talk.
When it came time to get things done, we four kids pitched in. Dad had a bucket attachment on one of the tractors and used it to periodically clean the cow yard. Because he couldn’t get into corners, we kids had to literally shovel them out, scraping into every nook and cranny and dumping the contents of our shovels in his bucket. It was a stinky, thankless job and one we all detested.
Our farm was handed down to Dad by his father. Our dad was my grandma and grandpa’s only child. Lamenting he grew up lonely, with no siblings to play with, he’d reminisce with a chuckle as a small child Grandma would grab him up by the seat of his pants as she walked from the barn to the house, never pausing for breath; just grabbed him and kept going.
Playing with the cats and a couple of dogs in his childhood qualified as his friends. He was never was too fond of dogs, however, as one had turned on him once, biting him in the face and as a result, was left with a trace of a scar near his eyebrow.
As children we seldom, if ever, heard an “I love you” from either of our parents; they weren’t overly physical in their show of affection. That came later, as we grew to adulthood. We just knew as kids that we were loved, we “heard” it in other ways. We were fiercely protected, always given every sort of materialistic thing we needed, not pampered in any way — we all had to work — but knew intrinsically that we belonged to each other, bonded together in every way.
Thunderstorms made me feel cozily loved. Whenever there was a storm, Dad would come in from his work and sit down with all of us at the kitchen table, waiting it out. While he wasn’t anxious often, he’d have his moments of apprehension. During thunderstorms, I felt he relished the downtime, as he knew there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
When he married my mom and when our family was complete, there were six of us altogether, plus his parents who lived with us for a time. All of this responsibility fell on his shoulders. He’d work long hours to provide for his growing family plus felt the burden of carrying the legacy of a family farm, which his dad had established.
To this day, the farm is still in our family, with my brother taking over and handing the reins to his boys, who are stepping up to carry on. I’m very proud of Cornerstone Dairy, named in honor of Jesus, our Cornerstone. Dad would be very proud, too.
Dad was over-the-moon with all of us and with our unique talents. When introducing me to anyone new he’d say with a delighted smile, “Kay is our writer.” Recalling this brings me to tears, he was so incredibly proud of us.
One day I asked my husband what thoughts he had of his father-in-law. Pondering it for just a moment he said, “He was a good man and really loved your mom.”
I agree wholeheartedly — oh how he loved her — plus add he was a man of God who believed Romans 10:9 and lived it. “For if you confess with your mouth Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”
We were always church-goers, but later in Dad’s life he received salvation after understanding that he had a relationship with Jesus, and his faith ripened. The rest of us grew in our faith along with my parents.
He began to change, becoming extra tenderhearted and reflective. He started talking more about Colin, my older brother who died in infancy at the age of 6 weeks; a tragic experience in my parents’ lives that the rest of us knew very little about, as in our childhood it was rarely discussed. Only as we all aged and became parents did we truly understand their anguish and reluctance to talk about it.
The closer my parents got to be called home, the more they mentioned my older brother. They intuitively knew they’d see him again and were anticipating the reunion with profound gladness. Such hope was made secure by their deep faith in Jesus.
Every time we saw Dad he’d smile his endearing, crooked smile and quote his favorite passage, “This is the day the Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
Toward his last days on earth, physically spent and on his way to heaven, from his nursing home bed he’d quote that verse. In moments of fatigue he’d gently whisper the first half and get tuckered so we’d have to finish the last. Eyes closed, he’d smile gratefully.
Dear Dad, we will surely meet again and until that day, I love and miss you.
(“This is the day the Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
FARM LIFE FROM A FARM WIFE: Dad made sure family knew value of work
