This is my last post about my grandfather, Alvin John Curtis who we will be burying later today. It will be time for him to rest and for those who remain to carry on. A final excerpt from the eulogy I will be sharing later this morning: This week, as I was considering Grandpa’s life, I imagined what it might have been like for Grandpa when he died Sunday morning. I imagine Grandpa’s release and the sudden freedom from the decrepit bag of bones that was once his strong and able body. He feels a lightness and a sense of relief and contentment. For the first time in decades, Grandpa’s vision, his hearing and all of his senses are crystal clear. He finds himself on the familiar landscape of his farm but it is the farm of his childhood. He is running now as a six-year-old carrying a clay jug of water from the house out to his father, John Luther and his older brothers, Vilas and Damon, as they cut and bundle the wheat on a hot summer day. He returns to the house and goes into the summer kitchen. He peeks through the doorway and sees his mother and her sister Hattie working with Nelly to get dinner ready. Mildred is on the porch setting out the plates, Helen is making last minute trips to bring in carrots, green onions and the first ripe tomatoes from the garden. Florence is making the finishing touches on blackberry pies made with real lard. The whole house is filled with the comforting sounds of the Curtis and Davidson women visiting in Swedish and in English as they prepare to feed the men. He can smell chicken, onions and potatoes frying. It’s a hot summer evening. Grandpa is riding on Bounce, his pony, heading out past the bee hives on his way to the big pasture to bring the cows back to the barn. The Toland boys, Clyde and Cline, are running alongside. They are planning a quick dip in the creek before rounding up the cows and heading back to help with the milking and other chores. The scene shifts. Now, it’s July 30th, 1939 and Grandpa is lacing up his baseball cleats that he worked two full weeks to pay for. He is playing for the Gin Ridge baseball team. His dad, John Luther is the coach and his older brother, Vilas is the catcher and captain. They are just a group of young men from the neighborhood: Warner and Harry Frakes, Obe and Merrill Willey, Vernon McFadden, Eldon Stiner, Dale Stump, Blondel Hoyt and Grandpa. They may be just local farm boys, but they take their baseball seriously and they are very good. They crush Bardolph 15 to 0 that day and advance to the tournament in Springfield. They don’t know it yet, but a great war is coming and many of these young men, including Vilas, will be heading to Germany to fight the Nazis. The scene shift again: The sun is just peeking over the horizon and the roosters are crowing all over the neighborhood as Grandpa walks through the outbuildings of his farm in Hire Township. He scratches the backs of his dairy cows, speaking to them softly and soothingly and notices that their bags are tight with milk. The barn cats take notice of his visit and the kittens meow in excitement, anticipating a squirt of milk expertly directed at their mouths. Grandpa moves on to the horses. They are like old friends. This is a good team and it is his last. He knows that he and Grandma will be buying a tractor soon. Agriculture is changing and Grandpa isn’t going to be left behind. Nevertheless, he is proud of his beautiful horses. He raised them from colts and trained them as a team. These horses are an extension of himself when they are out together in the field plowing, harrowing, seeding and cultivating. They have kept him company on those cold evenings in January as he works his way down the quarter mile long rows of corn. All of his life, Grandpa has treated his animals with care and affection but the connection to his horses is special. Grandpa heads out towards the clover pasture where the pigs have recently been moved and he is joined by his dog, Tippy. Grandpa smiles big and Tippy gives his best dog smile back and wags his tail furiously. It’s a joyful reunion. Grandpa knew, and befriended many dogs in his lifetime but only a handful of them were ever good help. Tippy was the best of the lot. They look over the hogs together, Grandpa scratching the backs of the old sows with a stick as they grunt appreciatively, Tippy checking the fences and moving quickly to correct any pigs that seem out of place. On the way back toward the house, Tippy and Grandpa look over the fields. The corn looks is tasseling and looks very good, probably some of the best in the county. He thinks it will make 100 bushel or more. This cropland is good, prairie dirt; some of the best in the county but he still longs for the old home place of his childhood. He turns toward the house, and through the kitchen window, sees Lois working. She is young and beautiful but also really smart and equally dedicated and focused to making their farm succeed in spite of tough economic times. He hears little Dan’s voice and then the voice of the baby, Linda. They have been renting the farm from the widow, Marion Simpson in Hire Township and they have a promising start. The scene shifts again. Grandpa is back at the old farmstead after purchasing it from his siblings years before. He’s returning to the house after a trip to the sales barn. He has just sold the last of his pigs and with the proceeds of that sale, will pay off the farm. He feels an overwhelming sense of relief and accomplishment. He and Grandma have worked hard for 35 years even farming two farms for a while, living thriftily, patching the old patches, making do with what they have and putting every extra nickel toward the mortgage. Finally, they own, free and clear, the Curtis family farm. The scene shifts and Grandpa is back to the present. It is Sunday morning, July 13th, 2014. And he makes one final journey through and over the farm that he has shaped and that has helped shape him most of his life. Grandpa knows this landscape more intimately than he does his own body and passes through it as silently as a shadow. It’s cool for July and the corn is green, thick and well-watered. It will be a good crop. Grandpa looks over the dry dams and ponds and the marginal crop lands that he has converted to his forestry projects. He is satisfied with the work completed but feels the tug of the jobs not finished; the projects unrealized, the parts of the land that need attention. He knows he has to let those go. It is for the next generation to decide how it cares or does not care, for the land. He passes through the gate into the big pasture that has long since become woods and forest. The morels are long gone and the Mayapple umbrellas have largely disappeared under the new growth of the honey suckle and roses that have taken over the understory. Grandpa sees the last of the wild strawberries and notices that the blackberries are almost ripe. Here and there he sees sign of the wild animals that he and his family have hunted and trapped for generations: rabbits, fox and gray squirrels, possum, red and grey foxes, raccoons, channel cat, bass and bull heads, snapping turtles, bull frogs, geese, ducks, turkeys and deer. All of these have graced his table at one time or another nourishing him and his people, helping to supplement meager incomes. Suddenly Grandpa thinks that maybe he hears the sound of quail calling to each other in the distance. It gives him a sense of hope. Finally, Grandpa arrives at the top of the bluff that overlooks the creek and the bottoms. He breathes out and settles in himself. He is ready now. He releases his hold and his demands on his landscape, his loved ones and his old life. He looks up and then he’s gone; to join those who have gone before. Those who remain are diminished by his absence. We are left to do the best we can, without him. My grandfather, Alvin John Curtis lived well. He lived a long life, a full life, a good life, a strong and clean life. I challenge you to think of a better one. What my grandfather has been called to do in this lifetime, he has done. Grandpa has fulfilled his duties as a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather, and as a friend and neighbor. He has fulfilled his moral obligations to the land, to his farm, to the animals that he has cared for and worked with, to his family and to his community. It is now left to the rest of us to live up to his example.
Posted on: Sat, 19 Jul 2014 11:44:33 +0000
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