September 04, 2025

On September 04, our father turned 88 years young. ANY birthday of his is worth celebrating in the eyes of his children. However, he is a very active man, with social obligations, such as the Masonic temple and the local American Legion. He still plays his guitar and sings in a band, and his voice still sounds like that of the famous country western singer Marty Robbins. He still farms, and to make life even more eventful, he is also a taxidermist. All of these things have been a part of his life since he was young, so getting an appointment with him or having him over for dinner requires reaching out really early to set it up. (I am thankful his life is so full and busy, and he is one optimistic, happy human)

So, the evening before his birthday, I invited him and his wife over for a simple dinner. Which didn’t turn out as I had hoped meal-wise. I am accustomed to cooking for large groups of people most of the time, with our children and grandchildren around us. That being said, I made a meatloaf that turned out to be too large, filling the pan to overflowing, and it took longer to cook than I had anticipated. The potatoes didn’t cook well; they literally boiled down to a soup. The only thing that turned out was the homemade carrot cake. I took a photo of Dad with his cake, and then I pulled a special plate out of my China cabinet. His mom, My grandma Doris had given this little plate to me years ago and said she served his birthday cake on it every year, his and his little brothers. It is very dried and cracked but so precious to see him holding the cake his mom used to put his small birthday cakes on.

Then, after cake and more coffee, Dad mentioned a few times that they had a mother peacock that had hatched some babies, and he was worried that if they didn’t get her corralled into the barn or chicken house, a raccoon would eat the new babies. Suddenly, I had an idea and offered to follow him home right then to find the peacock hen and her babies. It took a bit of coaxing to get him to accept our help, but soon we were all headed in our vehicles down the road to Dad’s, the farm I was raised on.

We weren’t even at his farm yet, which is only 3 miles north of my own farm, when it began to rain. Of course, it wasn’t a sweet, light Autumn rain; it was a full-fledged downpour. A fun game of HIDE AND SEEK would now begin. Dad was the only one who thought to bring a flashlight. I mean, these are large fowl, how hard can it be to find them? Haha.

We covered every inch of his barns, including the hay lofts. We searched beneath every piece of equipment, such as tractors and trailers, and moved large round bales of hay. We also moved just about every piece of wood or plywood leaning against a wall, as well as empty plastic bags of feed. Dad climbed on top of the round bales searching for her. He knew she could get up off the ground, but he also knew she wouldn’t leave her babies, and the babies could not fly at birth. It continued to pour rain upon our heads, the water was so heavy, we couldn’t hardly keep the rain off our faces to see, and we continued to look for the momma peacock and hen.

I walked past an old lift truck belonging to my brother and saw the gray peacock sitting on the top of it. I hollered for Dad. I may have found her. He came running, and guess what? It wasn’t her, but another mother-to-be sitting on a nest of four eggs. Dad made a mental note to keep an eye on her for the babies hatching, and we continued to play hide and seek with the momma peacock and her babies, to no avail.

Dad relinquished the search, primarily due to the intense rain, but he was sad about it. Before I jumped in the truck to come home, I ran and grabbed my phone to take this photo.

Is it a nice picture of either of us? No, but to me, I am one proud daughter who, on my father’s 88th birthday, I was blessed to play a game of hide and seek with him during a torrential downpour, laughing the whole time as we searched for a peacock and her babies. (Because the photo is so real, and we both look like drowned RATS. … I’m sharing a few pictures of us not drenched.)

Any time I get to spend with Dad is a precious time. All of my life, the man has been a great example of strength, fortitude, and determination. Sheer grit has pulled him and our family through some pretty tough times, some lean years when not only money tight or scarce, but the dinner menu dropped to pinto beans, burger, potatoes, and now and then the dreaded bit or two of liver that to this day I cannot like. Somehow, Dad kept the wolf back from the door. He even ran a trapline in 1973. Every morning, he and our baby brother, not yet in school, would walk a long trap line along the creek and through the woods for muskrat, coon, mink, or rabbit, and he would skin the varmints, fry the meat, and sell the hide.

The kind of living teaching adults and children something special about living and existing until times get better, that you will never leave being comfortable or wealthy. They are tough lessons to live through, but you learn so much during the struggles about life and about yourself. Dad worked hard for every single thing he got, and he was a good steward of the farm his parents bought in 1946, when he was 9 years old. His father would die of a massive heart ache that next year, and at age ten, he would help his broken-hearted mother to raise his 6-year-old brother and 4-year-old sister. He would go on to build a kitchen for his mom, bring plumbing to their home and buy the families first television set and many other amenities. He bought his first 40 acres just up the road from their home when he was a junior in high school. Today, 2025 he has lived on the same farm for 78 years.

Dad has never been overly demonstrative; he wasn’t raised that way, and neither were we. BUT…. we always felt that he loved us, enjoyed us kids being around. He would talk to us at the kitchen table about anything and everything, and we all got to voice our opinions and were allowed to ask questions without being ridiculed or told to sit down and shut up. He told us multiple times, no matter what the subject matter was, as long as we kept a civil, respectful tongue in our mouths, there was no subject off limits to discuss. Now, as the father, if he made a decision on something, the debate was over or could be addressed at a later time. He was always honest and fair.

School was the same situation. He would listen to us about a problem that may have come up, and a time or two, one of my three brothers would get into a small fight or argument. Dad would say, “You tell me the truth, and don’t be disrespectful to your elders, and no matter the consequence, I will stand beside you, and we will face it together, and for Goodness’ sake, please don’t let me walk into a principal’s office and find out that you have been dishonest or disrespectful. I don’t want to have to hang my head in shame. He never had to. Not with one of us four children.

Again, when I walk back through the pages of my youth, it wasn’t just the big moments or the special ones that stand out. It’s all the small moments, the lessons learned under his guidance, all the talks around that supper table, the laughter, the singing while he played his guitar, trying to gather the lyrics and the right beat from one of us for the latest country and western song. All the popular stars of the time were referred to on a first-name basis by all of us. There was never a need for the last name when Dad said, ” Hank, Marty, Ray, Glen, Dolly, Loretta, Patsy, Kitty. We knew their songs; heck, they were like family to us…. in our farmhouse.

Like many parents, he made numerous sacrifices for his family, and his wisdom was always spot on. He gave us more than I could ever put into words, the encouragement to think for ourselves. The stories of our ancestors proved to be priceless for me, and we took great comfort and security in knowing we could always reach out and ask for his help or suggestions. He would offer us his sage, tired, and true advice. In the event that we didn’t take his advice, we were the only ones to blame, and still, he was relatively soft-spoken towards us as he would grin, raise his eyebrows, tip his head, and give us that….”I told you so” stare.

I am grateful for the time we spend with Dad, for every single visit, for every word he speaks, his talents, and his intelligence, which are unmatched. Not because he is our father, but simply because he is such a good man. A giant of a man who only stands 5 feet 8, inches tall and might weigh 155 pounds soaking wet.

As I mentioned, it is not a good photo of either one of us, but the memory….well, it’s worth far more than gold or silver to this farmer’s daughter!