I revered my dad as one of the greatest men alive. I thought him kind, considerate, honest, and honorable. He worked like few others. Though most farmers work hard, it seemed he worked harder than most farmers, sometimes even digging portions of his ditches with a shovel. Only two things seemed to ever matter with him, the farm and the family. Though he didn't verbally state his love for us, it was clear in the way he treated us that we, as his family, were the most important thing in his life.
Sometimes, we would go out on the farm with him just to be with him. I remember sitting on the toolbox on the tractor when younger. As we got older, work became more a responsibility, and we hoed the beets, set the siphon tubes, and herded the sheep. I remember dad had a fast walk as we went out to work, and I had to press to keep up with him.
One of the incidents I remember is getting cornered by a buck, and Dad, perhaps seeing it as a growing experience for me, smiling and coaxing me instead of just stepping in and chasing the buck away. Dad threw a pitchfork over to me, and encouraged me to fight the buck off.
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