My grandparents have been a big
part of my life, so I think about them all a lot. These are special times in our
family so they’ve been in my thoughts even more in the last few months and I wanted
to share some memories that pertain to me and these properties we call Pig’s Ears. Now I think of my parents all the
time too, but it seems like it’s more in a personal way. For example, when I'm complimented or recognized for a positive trait that someone sees in me, I
typically think, “I wish Mom or Dad could hear that because they’re really
talking about them.” Or I say or do
something that’s thoughtful or extra funny and naturally think, “That’s something my Dad
or Mom would do/say.”
My thoughts that link back to my
grandparents are more work related. I
don’t know how else to explain it, but when I’m working I'm reminded of them frequently.
Today would be my Grandpa’s birthday;
my Dad’s dad. His family traces back to
the Pennsylvania Dutch which is likely why he always called Eastern PA, ‘God’s
Country.’ My grandpa stopped going to school
when my great-grandfather got sick with what he always called ‘the muscle
disease.’ Besides taking a lead role in
helping my great-grandmother keep their small family farm going, he was also a primary
caregiver for his bedridden dad for over two decades.
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| My grandpa w/ his dad before the Great Depression and prior to my Gt. Grandfather's illness. |
When my great-grandfather passed
away, my grandpa got married and started his life away from the farm. He traveled and worked in sales selling feed
for a milling company. As a side
business (and then into retirement) he boarded and trained horses. He had a sizable barn for the animals, feed,
and equipment that he needed to operate his stable so because Grandpa was a
horseman I had plenty of opportunities to work with him.
Hauling material into one of my
projects reminds me of stocking my grandpa’s barn with hay or straw. These are really good memories. The messiness that is oftentimes a part of
the initial cleanup of some of my Pig’s Ear properties has more than once
reminded me of cleaning out the stalls and loading up his wooden manure
spreader, which was a little on the nasty side, but all things considered still
pretty fond recollections. But the thing that
reminds me most of my grandpa is the nails that I use to put my houses back
together since he always supplied me with this hardware until I left home for
college as a teenager.
My grandpa was a pipe smoker and
his tobacco was Sir Walter Raleigh. He
bought it in cans which he saved and reused.
When I ran out of nails at home, I’d let him know and he’d hook me up
with more; 8 pennies or framing nails (16d), either of the two different sizes that
he always had a 50# box of for mending fences and the barn. I used those nails for our own barn maintenance
(something that I really enjoyed doing whether we needed it or not) and also
for building my tree houses. Hammering
nails is a skill. It’s easy to learn,
but it takes some practice and I learned early and got comfortable with a
hammer and nails with the help of Grandpa and his endless supply in the orange and
black cans.
Last month, I had to buy more 16d sinkers and was surprised that something about
buying that 30# bucket of hardware still filled me with some boyish-type excitement,
the same thrill that I’d get when my grandpa would give me another full can. Like the smell of someone smoking a pipe, the plodding, the clean-up, and the nails that are part of my work will always remind me of my grandpa.
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| 2000 - Our last family picture with Grandpa. He was 93 and had one more birthday. |
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