My mom's dad passed away when I was seven, so my memories of him are fuzzy. I remember him napping on the dining room floor with a newspaper over his face, and him taking us out to the fields in his old green truck. I can remember the sound of his voice.
At this time of year about five years ago my mom, brother and I went to visit our relatives in North Dakota for a long weekend. In the course of whatever it is family does when it gets together, someone brought out Grandpa's old farming vest. It had been hanging in the basement of Grandma's house, just like the rest of his things, for almost 20 years. It was a big suede and wool monstrosity with a faint tinge of '60s hippie to it - a fitting vest for a man who had NOT A TRACE of hippie in him.
Someone ended up trying on the vest and discovered a handful of corn kernels in one of the pockets. Dried corn, years and years old, put there by Grandpa some fall in the late '80s when he was checking out the crop. Right there, in the pocket. Like a still-smoking pipe or a half-drunk cup of coffee.
Happy October.
1 comment:
North Dakota is one of the states I still need to visit.
Post a Comment