Ole Red

I've posted about the red truck that was my Daddy's pride and joy before. I don't know why I became the caretaker of it because I really thought one of his grandchildren would want the truck as a fun means of transportation. When nobody really wanted to take on the responsibility, I told Mama that I would. So, Ole Red stays parked in Mike's barn for most of the time enjoying a well-earned rest. 

Every now and then I take it out for a Sunday drive and blow the dust off of it. It is fun to drive for nostalgia's sake. Ole Red is a 1969 Ford Ranger pickup truck. Most of it is just like it was when it rolled off the assembly line. Daddy had it painted and new carpet put in it and had the seat recovered years ago. He replaced some pieces of chrome on it and it has a newer tailgate and floor in the bed because I had a Dalmatian dog when I was in high school that rode in it and would sometimes relieve himself on the tailgate, causing it to rust. My sister and Daddy put a newer radio with cassette player in it back in the 1980s when she was driving it to school.  I've had to replace the windshield wipers because the style that came on it are no longer manufactured. (You can see the vintage nature of the ceiling in the photos!) The rest, however is just like it was in 1969!

I always have fun when I take it out but I know that if I am going to have to stop somewhere, I need to have my hair combed and wear decent clothes - not just jump in and go for a joy ride in the old grungies! Why? Because whenever we stop somewhere, inevitably somebody will stroll over and want a closer look and ask what year it was made and where did I get it. 

There have been a whole lot of advancements that I take for granted since 1969. The steering column is longer and makes the steering wheel sit a whole lot closer than my newer truck. The windows are the old crank style that take a little more time and effort to raise and lower. Reaching the wiper control is a bit further from my fingertips because the dash is further from me and the steering wheel is so close to my belly! The headlight dimmer is a button on the floor and there are a few more little things like that which make it different from a newer model pickup.

When I've had to have some upkeep on it like changing the oil or swapping out the wiper blades, the guys at the auto care place always enjoy the opportunity to work on it and many times will have their photo made alongside of it. A couple of other folks wanted to use it for photos as well and one friend told me she thought I could make appointments and charge folks to have their picture made with it! For us it is just a nostalgic ride and a wonderful connection to my Daddy. 

It almost always brings a smile to my face and to those around me when we take it out, though. I think Daddy would be glad every time we go out for a joy ride and I hope to pass it along to somebody else in the family to enjoy some day down the road. Of course, that means that it will have to be somebody who learns to drive a standard shift, on-the-collar!

In the meantime, we will just smile and scoot on down the road for a joy ride. If you see us, wave!

Painting Project

One of my summer projects was to paint the furniture that sits on the back porch. Even though I ordered multiple cans of paint, I still ran out before getting everything coated. So, I still had a little bit of a project to finish up this year.

One of the things that we got from the dairy barn when Mom sold the farm equipment was this table that Daddy had made. It sat in the tank room of the milk barn for years. I remember Daddy making the table and recall it getting painted with a barn red paint. Mike has been wanting me to paint it since the day we brought it home! 

Back in the summer when we were painting the other back porch furniture, he asked once again if I had plans to paint it and wouldn't I like to put it up on the porch rather than have it sit down on a concrete pad just off the porch. I'd kept it there to use as a potting bench and the dirt that fell through it didn't bother me since it wasn't up on the porch where we walked in and out each day.

I needed more paint to finish up a couple of things and picked the paint up at our local Ace Hardware. On a warm, sunny day, I dragged the milk barn table out into the grass and gave it a good once over with a wire brush. Then, I washed it off and let it dry before giving it a nice coat of paint to match everything else on the back porch.

After a thorough paint job, I asked our son in law to move it up onto the porch for me because it is quite heavy! He put it near to Mike's grill so that it can be handy for holding things when he is doing his outdoor cooking this next spring. I realized that I hadn't made a photo of the finished product when I noticed it sitting out there one morning after a shower of rain. 

I loved how the little droplets of rain on it made it look like it was covered in diamonds! Truly, I do think of it as a diamond. I remember resting drinks, medicines, phone books, and even a baby carrier with Bryan sleeping on it while I was milking cows. The fact that Daddy made it even though it is a rudimentary piece of utility furniture makes it even more of a diamond to me!

We're not feeding hogs...or are we?

I remember when I was a young girl that my Daddy often would say to me, "Remember now, we're not feeding hogs."  I had no idea what he was talking about.  I knew we were not feeding hogs.  We didn't have any swine on our farm.  We were operating a dairy farm.  We raised Holstein heifers and milked Holstein cows without a pig in sight.

So, finally one day I asked Daddy what he meant by that.  He said, "Have you ever been to a feed lot?"  I had not.  So, after the morning chores, followed by breakfast, we climbed into the pickup truck to go down to Nashville to get some minerals or a load of corn or some such and Daddy stopped off at a feed lot where they were feeding out pigs for slaughter.

We got out of the truck and walked over to one of the barns where hundreds of pigs were kept in narrow pens leading down into a lot away from the shelter of the barn.  The smell was overwhelming.  Pigs creating a strong and pungent odor.  The guys working at the feed lot were putting a grain mix of corn and such out for those feeder pigs.  They drove by on a tractor with a mechanical wagon that spit out the grain mix into a trough for those pigs.  Some of the pigs would come running and would dash from place to place lapping up the grain mix.  Some of them would lumber slowly up to the trough and push other pigs out of the way to get a lot of the grain mix.  Some of the pigs came to the trough but didn't get a lot because the other two types kept pushing them away.  Yet others just stayed back until all the other pigs ate their fill and then they came up and licked up the few crumbs that were left. The guys feeding, however, just slowly drove down the long row of troughs and kept the wagon spitting the grain mix out till they got to the end of the barn.  Then, they turned and came back down the other side of the barn to feed the pens on the opposite side.  Once they had finished with that barn, they drove the tractor pulling the wagon on to the next barn and never looked back.

After watching a while, Daddy and I climbed back into the truck and he pointed it toward home.  Once we were settled in and on the highway headed south, Daddy asked me what I noticed.  In my youth, I simply said, "There were a lot of pigs and only a couple of guys feeding them."  Daddy said, "Yep.  What did you notice about those pigs?"  So, I sat and thought and described the way the pigs responded in four general categories.  I was asked, "How do you think each different group produced with that kind of atmosphere."  After thinking a bit, I explained, "Well, those who rushed up to the trough and dashed from place to place got a good bit to eat. Those who lumbered up there and pushed the others away got a lot to eat.  Those who simply came to the trough got a little to eat but not enough to really flourish and those who held back probably didn't gain much weight or grow at all."  Daddy said, "And what was the goal for the pigs?"  I just looked at him like he'd lost his mind and finally said, "I think they were all expected to grow and thrive and gain weight so they can produce a lot of ham and sausage and pork chops."  Daddy said, "Yes, and how do you think our cows and calves would do if we took care of them like those guys were feeding those hogs?"

That is when the lesson really hit home to me.  We looked at each animal on our farm as an individual who was going to work hard to produce a lot of milk and provide us with a good living.  If one didn't come to the trough and eat well, we took a bucket over and fed her individually so she could continue to grow or so she could continue to produce as much milk as possible.  If one pushed the others away from the trough, we would move her to another place to eat alone so that the ones being pushed away could get more and the push-away cow would not get too much.  If one ran from place to place to eat, we made certain that there was grain in more than one place for her to eat.  We treated each individual like she was special because she was.  She was our livelihood and there were not hundreds more in the next pen to take her place.

Throughout my career as a teacher I have kept my Daddy's lesson in mind.  I haven't been just throwing corn out to the hogs and hoping they produced sausage and ham and porch chops.  I've tried so hard to meet teachers and students where they are and support them and nudge them and encourage them to grow to where the needed to be.

Yet things have changed since schools were closed and we began distance learning.  So very many people needed extra support and needed to quickly grow their digital skills that we have been working for the masses.  This week, especially, I feel like I've been feeding hogs - just taking a bucket and casting the corn into the trough and hoping for the best.

Honk and Grin!

I spent over half the day cleaning and pampering earlier this week.  Oh, I wasn't pampering myself or even Mike.  I was pampering a truck...and it wasn't even the one I drive every day.  How does that happen?  I guess the concept of pampering a pickup was instilled in me long, long ago.

I remember as a little girl the day when my Daddy came home with a new-to-us pickup truck.  He came speeding down the hill toward our house and was honking the horn and grinning from-ear-to-ear the entire way down that hill.  Mama and I heard the ruckus and ran to the front yard to see what was going on.  As soon as he pulled into the driveway, we hopped in and he drove us around a bit.  Then, when we got back in the yard, I climbed all over it inspecting every square inch.  We were all so excited about that little red truck!

It was a well-loved vehicle when Daddy got it and he kept it for several years after that.  I remember climbing into the back of it to fill milk cans with water.  We would haul the water up to our old wooden milk barn when we first moved to the farm where I grew up.  I can see it and the rusty fenders in my mind's eye but I couldn't tell you much more about it - not even what make and model it was. 

When we cleared out all of Daddy's farming equipment a couple of years ago, one item did not go on the auction block - Daddy's 1969 pickup truck.  We talked Mama into keeping it just in case she needed a truck for hauling something around that wouldn't fit into her SUV.  It was rarely driven, though and was just something else for Mama to try to take care of.  She recently asked, once again, if one of us would take it and take care of it.  So, it made the way over here to our house.  It was parked in the hay barn and sat there for the past couple of weeks. 

Earlier this week I took some time to check into getting everything about it squared away.  I called the local insurance office and learned that it is considered a 'Classic Vehicle' and requires a bit of extra information when it comes to insurance coverage.  So, I did my homework to find out all the info I needed.  First, I Googled 1969 Ford Half-Ton Pickup to see if I could find something similar to put a value on it.  My expectation was that it would be worth two-to-three-thousand-dollars.  Boy, was I surprised to learn that I was dramatically incorrect!

The insurance company asked me to send them several photos showing the outside condition of the  truck and the motor.  Knowing that I didn't want to send them photos with dust and pollen coating the truck, I gave him a bath.  Then, I pulled him out into the lot and used my phone to take a few photos.  I emailed them to the insurance agent and checked to make certain that all I needed from that point was to provide them with a check and sign the policy paperwork. 

A short trip down the road and a quick signature and this little red truck is now protected.  The insurance agent was amazed at the condition of the truck, knowing that the Ranger had been Daddy's farm vehicle.  The agent could hardly believe that the Ranger only has a bit over 91,000 actual miles on him.  I told him that it was probably the newest truck Daddy ever bought.  I think there were less than ten miles on him when he picked him up from the dealership.  I also think Daddy was just as excited about getting that truck as he was that little red truck years earlier. 

Years later, Daddy got a ton pickup truck to use as the farm vehicle and for pulling a cattle trailer loaded with show cows.  This little red truck became our mode of transportation for my sister and I to get to and from school.  Then, after Daddy retired, he spent a bit of time replacing some chrome pieces on this little red truck and returning him to close-to-new condition.  He got antique tags for him and the Ranger became his folly, only to be driven for short joy rides.

Now the Ranger has become my responsibility.  I noticed that the cap for the windshield washer fluid is missing.  So, Mike and I will be on the hunt for that soon.  There is a bit more cleaning that needs to take place as well.  I don't think I should leave loose grass and the remains of a dirt-dauber nest on him.

As I was rinsing out the bed of the truck,  I thought about how many times I had ridden on those fenders and how my own children had also logged miles through the fields of the farm perched on those same humps with their hair blowing in the breeze.

This little red truck carries more than his own share of memories but he also hauls around memories of that other little red one that came before him.  I was very tempted to honk the horn and speed down the hill when I pulled him out of the barn to get ready for photos.

So, if you see us speeding down a hill some day taking a joy ride in the little red truck, honk the horn and we might just honk back and give you a casual wave while we motor and grin going on down the road!

Passing Time

Miss you today more than ever!

Saying Goodbye Too Soon

Our hometown experienced a tragic loss this week.  We lost a young man who had grown up alongside our sons.  Trust me when I say that flu and pneumonia are still serious infections and can be devastating.  Our heart is broken and there truly is a hole left in the fabric of our lives.

Craig Childress was certainly a one-of-a-kind sort of fellow.  I feel extraordinarily honored to have known him and had him touch my life.  Craig came into the life of my family when he was five years old and started to play coach-pitch baseball.  He was on my son, Bryan's team.  They were all such little fellows and had so much to learn.  As it turned out, they all learned baseball together over the years.  Every single year that Bryan played baseball, he and Craig were on the same team.  Most years, Craig's dad, Bo, served as their coach.

One time the boys ran into the dugout from playing defense and Bo began lining up the fellows to get ready to bat.  He asked in his quiet tone a couple of times before he shouted out, "Who's number one?"  The boys were all laughing and messing round but all of them stopped when Bo's voice was so loud.  They all looked at one another and, suddenly, Craig shouted, "We are!"  Guess whose jersey had the number one on the back.  Yep.  Craig's!  Bo rolled his eyes, handed Craig his helmet, sent him out to bat, and the game continued.  That is the type of humor Craig carried with him wherever he went.

There are loads of baseball stories and Craig figures into most of them.  A couple of summers he spent lots of time at our house hanging out with Bryan on days between games.  The boys would just climb into the back seat after the game and I'd throw the extra uniform in the washer when we got home.  They would pile up on the sleeper sofa in the den.  He would pull on some shorts and a t-shirt of Bryan's and Craig would simply follow my children out to the barn the next morning.  We hardly knew he was around because he just fit right in and never minded chores alongside my children.  On the hottest of days they would watch movies during the heat of the day to save their energy for the evening games.  One of the favorites during a summer was "Sandlot."  I wish I had a quarter for every time our VCR played that movie or a nickel for every time one of the guys uttered a quote from the movie.  I'd be wealthy beyond my wildest dreams!  The boys were brothers through baseball.

Throughout his childhood and even after reaching adulthood, Craig was one of the most polite and considerate young men I have ever known.  He always took time to stop and chat and share a memory whenever I bumped into him out and about.  It never mattered where we were, nor what he was doing, he always would pause, give me a hug, and chat.  My father always mentioned when he had seen Craig around town somewhere or at the restaurant where Craig was working.  Daddy was always heartwarmed that Craig would hug him and take time to chat as well.  Daddy also appreciated the courtesy Craig showed by saying yes-sir and no-sir to him as a means of respect and honor for an elder.  He was a young man who respected and earned the respect of others.

As I blink back the tears and see the many memories and times shared with this honorable young man flickering across the screen of my mind, I cannot imagine the void that is left in the world by his passing.  Those of us who had him added to our lives are fortunate and what a sorrow it is that we will no longer be faced with his smile, quick humor, and easy-going manners.

I hope my Daddy was at the gates of heaven to hand Craig a piece of bubble gum when he arrived.

Shine Your Light

New Year's Eve is generally a time for reflection for most people and around here we are certainly no different.  The other day as Mike and I sat at the table mapping out our day, we marveled at the fact that we are facing our eighth anniversary.  How can it be that long?  It seems like only yesterday that the day was chilly and snow-dusted and muddy and grey like this and our family gathered together here in our den to witness our vows and celebrate our union.

We had a bit of a hiccup as we got a call from Mr. Clyde Lynch saying that his wife had been involved in a car accident and would not be able to drive him over to perform the ceremony.  So, Daddy volunteered to perform taxi services.  The story of the trip was shared by our soft-spoken-brother-in-law, Dwayne.  Daddy had hopped on I-840 at Arno Road and he and Mr. Lynch were carrying on a conversation as they zizzed down the road with Dwayne a passenger in the back seat.  Just before the Nolensville Road exit, Dwayne peeked over the seat from his back-seat-nest to notice that the speedometer was registering over eighty and the exit was passing by on his right.  Dwayne said that he asked Daddy where he was going and all of a sudden the brakes were slammed.  Dwayne recalls, "Then, he simply backed down the side of 840 going forty miles an hour for about a quarter of a mile. And he never stopped talking the whole time."

I'm certain that my family recalled all sorts of experiences just like this as we weathered our first Christmas holiday without Daddy.  I know that I did.  I'm sure I will for the rest of my life.  When you experience a loss, people will often tell you that it will get better.  The wisest advice I ever heard, however, was that it won't get better - you will just get better at dealing with it.

I understand that the first year is often the hardest - and it has been hard.  Yet, I often feel my Daddy with me via the voice in my head providing advice and instruction.  I know it when I stiffly get out of bed each morning with an aching back and think about how he would do the same day after day, year after year.  I sense it when I am listening to the news and his quips will pop into my thoughts.  I feel it when I hear things coming out of my mouth as I talk to my husband or my children.

Even though living without my Daddy has been a struggle for me, I think there have been things put in my path to help me learn to navigate my journey without him.  Today I share this link to an article which was particularly meaningful for me this holiday season.  I am following suggestion number eight with this post.  Another timely post set me thinking and helped me to shape my focus on the future.  I do see this upcoming year as one of "profound opportunity and thus great responsibility."  It helped me to pause and realize that there are a host of things I have started and need to work toward finishing.  I have a huge responsibility and cannot delegate responsibility.  As the missionary, I've got work to do on my journey and I'd better get busy!  I have bookmarked this one and made calendar appointments to remind me to go back and re-read it periodically throughout the year.  I also found a bit of courage and encouragement in this post and will use it to guide my New Year's Resolutions for the upcoming year as well.  I've got a light to shine and I'd better use it wisely!

The Apple and The Tree - First Time For Daddy's Birthday Without Him

I am so thankful that I was attending a conference today and meeting up with other folks who share the same interests and learning and connecting.  It was the perfect way to spend the day.  

You see, today was my Daddy's birthday.  It was the first time for us to survive his birthday without him.  

I woke up this morning thinking about what day it was and had a little cry.  Then, I got on with my day.  Off and on throughout the day I would think of Daddy and smile a little knowing that he would have loved the opportunity I was enjoying.  I wandered through the trade show chatting with people I've never seen before and probably won't see again after the conference.  I bumped into educators I've seen at other events and chatted with them like they were old friends.  Daddy would have been proud that his legacy continues on through me - meeting up and carrying on conversations before moving on to a new audience or partner for interacting.

The irony of the day was really poignant because when I walked into the conference center, I saw all these men walking round with a Co-op insignia on their vest, jacket, or cap.  You see, today was the last day of a Co-op conference at the very same conference center.  I bumped into a couple of fellows who recognized me and we chatted about the weather and the coincidental crossing of our paths.  Daddy's Co-op connections became connections for me as we stood and shot the breeze.

This afternoon I caught myself sending messages to my daughters to ask if they know educators whose listing as attendees shared that they were from the counties where my grandchildren live and go to school.  Yep, they recognized the names and gave me a little information about those educators.  My first thought is, I need to stay on the lookout for those folks and introduce myself.  Yep.  That is something my Daddy would have done - and would have encouraged me to do.  I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Tonight the keynote speaker was Leslie Fisher who shared her journey through technology integration.  Her message was entertaining, inspirational, and encouraging and that was before she shared that her father had been placed in hospice care yesterday.  You guessed it, I began crying again - one of those ugly kind of cries.

Keynote Speaker, Leslie Fisher, had this slide in her presentation tonight - a strong message.

These ironic events truly helped me to make it through the day without being a weepy, puddle-in-the-floor mess.  They reminded me that life goes on and, indeed, we are not alone.  We carry those we love and lost with us and share their story and legacy with the world as we do.

Break Time

Working on a project that requires intense physical labor, outside, with the summer sun beaming down, on the hottest day of the year may not be the most fun thing in the world.

Then, when you toss into the mix that the project tends to touch the emotions, a whole new aspect comes along.

After a couple of hours of sorting, and gathering, and arranging tools on wagons, we noticed that the labor force was dwindling a little bit.

So, we glanced over at the shady grave yard where the cooler filled with water bottles was nearby and found it to be somewhat magnetic.

Lynn (one of the owners of Tradition Auction Services) looked at me and said, "I think it is time for the Union Break."

I know this photo snapped by Lillie is a bit blurry but it really shows the heat exhaustion and need for a cold drink of water we all felt.

This image of Bob and Mama shows how we were drooping from the heat.

I also like that this photo includes a vital part of our day - wasp and hornet spray was kept at hand and used frequently!

Lynn also shows how the pecan trees and the Gosey cemetary embraced us as we needed rest and shade and a break from the heat and sun.

Mike, who has worked in the heat of the day for years and more conditioned to it, was ultra- hot as well.

Our clothes were soaked through with the sweat of the morning!

We sat and shared tales and laughter and memories before ambling toward the next stash of tools and equipment and sorting, gathering, and arranging for the sale continued.

On to the next barn...

We are grateful for the patience, guidance, hard work, and expertise of these guys (Bob, Lynn, Roy, and Gerald from Tradition Auctions and Cary, Mom's neighbor).  They made a hot, difficult job move along faster and with purpose while encouraging us to wear a smile.

Getting Ready for an Auction!

We have been cleaning up and getting ready for an auction.  My Daddy farmed for more than fifty years in one spot.  That is a lot of time for tools and equipment to accumulate.

For most of those years on that farm, we operated a family dairy farm.  Daddy led us through milking, corn-growing, silage-harvesting, hay-harvesting, and lots more.  That farm grew from a run-down place with an old house with a fallen-in chimney and an old-time wooden barn to a real showplace due to his leading through those things and working daily.  

After he retired, he continued to do what some might call hobby farming there, raising some steers and cutting the pastures and cropland grasses for hay to sell.  He kept most of the equipment used when it was a producing dairy farm, however.  

Since his passing, we have simply tried to maintain the farm.  There has been a spring hay-harvesting overseen by Mike and Mama.  A couple of guys were hired to come in and cut the grasses.  Mike raked it.  Those guys baled it, and one of Daddy's hay customers bought it and hauled it away.  Mike and a young fellow also took down some drooping and unnessesary fences.

Maintaining all that equipment is quite an undertaking and when it isn't being used on a daily basis the maintenance becomes another chore.  So, Mama has decided to sell the equipment and tools.  She hired a couple of guys who have become life-long friends beginning with our interaction as children involved with dairy cow shows at the fair.  Their Tradition Auction Services business is handling the back-breaking work and guiding us through the process.  

They came a couple of weeks ago and we took photos of the equipment to be posted online and in print advertisements.  

Click HERE to activate the collage above.  You will simply hover over a photo to expand it.

Recently, we tackled Daddy's tool shed.  What an undertaking!

There were lawn tractors, wheel barrows, carts, and lots more in this section.

This one held buckets, tool boxes, hand tools, welders, grinders, and loads more.

There were nuts, bolts, rolls of wire, buckets of electric fence materials, hand-carts, and even more.  We sorted through every single piece of it.  Every.  Single.  Piece.

Then, we grouped some of it into buckets and boxes

 and wired together different kinds of blades and pieces before laying it all out onto wagons.

Daddy grew up poor and he believed in making do till you could do better.  Then, when you could do better, you get the best you can to do with.  He believed you should never throw something away that might be useful later and that tool shed was a testament to his beliefs.  At one point as I was sifting through a section of tools that he used frequently to work on tires and the commercial lawn mower, I found no less than seven used spark plugs.  I was so mad at Daddy for saving those and a lot of other broken or used up items and leaving them for me to sort through without him.  I marveled at the number of hammers and wrenches he had accumulated to repair and maintain all that equipment no matter what field he happened to be in when the need arose.  It was a hot, emotional, and hard day's work.

When we finished with one section, Bob (one of the owners of the auction service) would lead us on to the next spot and we would gather and sort and load some more.  We kept Mike moving with hauling the trash as he also completed a project of getting up some fallen limbs and hauling them off to fill in a sink-hole.

I love how this photo shows Mama contemplating where to begin with this collection of pitch-forks, halters, and such!

When we got the wagons loaded with all that, the wagons were pulled across the lot to a barn to keep them in the dry as Daddy would have insisted.

Lynn, one of the owners of the auction service, crept along with those loaded wagons to keep everything stable and in place.

Lynn carefully backed the wagons into the barn to keep everything organized, dry, and ready for viewing when we pull them out in a couple of weeks.

It was probably the hottest day of the year with temperatures hovering around triple-digits in the shade.  Yet, we sifted through the years of accumulation that represented Daddy's daily hand tools and prepared them for a sale where other folks can take a bit of his legacy and put it to use in their own lives.  We hope you will join us on August 6th, Sale Day and that you will find something of useful or sentimental value to take home with you so that Daddy's legacy of hard work will be a part of your days.