Missing our Dad. Ok, since my two little brothers have taken a stab at it , I thought I should fill in the blanks from the earlier days perspective. Some of my first memories are of the house in Norfolk and a little green plastic peddle car that was no match for the large floor furnace vent I left it parked on. I just recall a kind of half melted silhouette atop the vent... Next memory is the trip on the old school bus to Alaska. We didnt average very many miles a day by todays standards, but what an adventure. My sisters pet ladybug, prairie dogs along Destruction Bay, and always the unconquerable feeling that no matter what obstacle we might face along the way, my Dad was up to the task. I looked up to him, not just because he was real tall and I was a little kid. But because my Dad could do anything. Such was the thinking of many who grew up in my time . Our Fathers lived through the Great Depression, the Great War, recycled everything way before Al Gore was even born, could keep an old broken down car ready to start, with no electricity, when it was 60 below, just in case there was any kind of emergency. I watched him cut wood at 40 below, outrun charging moose, kill dangerous stalking porcupine, and lift 55 gallon drums of fuel off the ground into the back of our school bus to fuel his old D-8 dozer, with which he cleared land. Another of my early memories is of he and I heading off up what is now called Hatcher Pass Road on that old D-8, to help clear land for fellow homesteaders. Armed with an old metal lunch box and a thermos of black coffee, a wide eyed little boy watched as his Dad conquered the giants of the forest. He was no quitter, although he eventually gave up the dream of a homestead of his own. I watched as he headed out early every morning to walk up into the mountains to work on rescuing his dozer after my uncle got it stuck in a bog. It took him 30 days, but he emerged from the trees one day atop his noble yellow workhorse, proud as if hed raised the Titanic itself. He showed me how to chip ice to let the water run away from the cabin, taught me to shovel snow, fish and hunt.... We even bought a little Jon boat together one year after I started working a little. We took many a memorable trip to Skilak lake and the Kenai River in those days, before all the school teachers from Oregon showed up and made a tourist trap out of the place. My Dad would not have approved of what we have done to exploit our own backyard to try to make a buck. The pristine river I remember so fondly is now lined with mansions and estates along with a few cabins, and is hardly recognizable in comparison to the way it was, when my brothers , Dad and I plied her waters all those years ago. Dad wouldnt even hear of a trailer, heavens no, we just heaved that 18 foot boat atop the old 59 Ford and tied her down. No jet units around here. Just carried plenty of extra shear pins for the old 20 horse Chrysler motor which we would throw in the back. Dad believed, as did most in his generation, that being a man required a certain degree of measurable rugged independence; to which I have aspired all my life. I left home at an early age, struck out on my own, married and began raising a family... But I was always guided, in part, by the principles I saw modeled in my Dad. I still have a few of his tools, which I treasure, but most of all I thank him for discipline, love, teaching me to work hard and not be afraid to laugh at yourself. I miss him immeasurably, and I cant wait to see him again some glad day.
Posted on: Sat, 01 Nov 2014 19:15:13 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015