Friday, June 14, 2013

Father's Day 2013: Memories of our Dad, Russell M. Blood




Father's Day 2013.  Dad has been gone since 1993.  I stopped writing in my journal on the day Steve called me at 4:00 a.m. but I knew what the message was before I picked up the phone.  I haven't written in my journal since though I have tried to start numerous times.

Dad lived a hard and troubled life, never fully recovering from the loss of his parents and the treatment he received from the people who raised him.  Mother struggled all her life to restore his confidence, to instill a sense of self worth.  And yet he lived a good life.  All of those hard years during the Great Depression.  We often saw him only on rare weekends when the Model A roadster would come put-putting down the lane, and here was Dad with the Denver Post and we were whole again for a weekend and then we would wave goodby to him as we watched the Model A roadster vanish down the dusty Penrose lane as he was off to try and make a dollar here, a dollar there and Mother nearly wept when she used something strong in her dishpan and a hole sprung through in the bottom and she didn't have a quarter to buy a new one.

Then the hard years on the farm, from the fateful day Uncle Orvil lost his life in a home fire and Dad moved us to Penrose to farm Grandpa Wasden's place.  Up at 4:30 in the summers to change the water.  Home for breakfast and milk the cows.  Work all day in the fields, on the tractor, in the hay fields, for years with a painful hernia and troublesome truss because he could not afford surgery to fix it.  Back to the house for supper, milk the cows.  Rain or shine, snow or sleet, milk the cows and feed the cats.  Maybe read an article or story in the Saturday Evening Post before going to sleep, bone weary.  Next day, a repeat of the day before.  And the day before.  Maybe only once or twice a summer Dad took us to the Park, up Northfork for a picnic, up to Sunlight Basin where he spent his youth.

Yet we had a good life in those last idyllic days of a small subsistence family farm with chickens and pigs and a team of horses and two broken down tractors and some ancient farm machinery held together by Grandpa Wasden's wizardry in his blacksmith shop and Dad's not-too-patient comments. The smell of cow manure punctuated our yard and we never thought about it.  Dad cussed the "bog clods" of the gumbo-laden Penrose soil.  He was hard on us children some times, but we never held anything against him, and he would freely admit it when he realized he was wrong.  He took us to the movies.  He took us to band concerts.  He skimped and saved and went without so we could have socks and shoes and pants and dresses for school.  He shared his one box of cherry chocolates each Christmas with all of us, barely enough for one apiece.  I spent a quarter each Christmas to buy him a package of Gillette blue blades at Fryer's Pharmacy in Powell.

So, Dad, much of what we six children are today we got from you and Mother.  We learned how to work. We learned how to figure things out when we needed to.  We learned to have a sense of humor. We learned how to persevere through tough and unrelenting times and tragedies.  We have learned that things aren't all that easy, and as we tried to do our best and made our share of mistakes, we know how hard you worked and struggled to do your best and provide the necessities for your family.
What we remember most is the laughter, the sights and sounds and smells of the fields, the river, the barnyard, the cellar full of food for winter, the beet fields, the hay fields, the irrigation water running down the furrows to water the desert soil of Penrose.  We remember it all and we, all six of us, share in honoring you once more this Father's Day 2013 for giving your all so that we might have the necessities of life and then find our own way down the uncertain and sometimes-treacherous paths of life.

P.S. The petunias for Dad's Father's Day are from Ann's beautiful flower pots.

9 comments:

Louise Blood said...

What a gift you have in expressing memories and the lovely tribute to our father. You certainly touch my heart and bring on the tears. Thank you for this remarkable bit of bringing out so much of who and what our father was. I know that it is because of Dad's and Mother's devotion to each other and to us that has kept the six of us so close for all these years. Happy Father's day, Daddy! I love you.

Elizabeth said...

Thank you again, Dwight. You manage to give us an overall perspective on the blessings we had in growing up in the family we had. One thing about Dad that I realized when he died in March of 1993 - he was greatly loved by his children, in-laws, and grandchildren in spite of his difficulties and less than perfect life. He just kept trying, no matter how hard life was. The saving grace for me in that lesson was and is that I don't have to perfect, either (impossible) - just on the path. Dad taught us a lot in his life and ours, and we all shared special bonds with him.

Ann said...

I tried to write something earlier, but gave up. Dad was, and still is, such a blessing in our lives. Wouldn't he have fun with our nonsense these days. Weren't we blessed to have so little in a few ways and to be so rich in all the ways that counted? Thank you for stirring up tender memories.

Judy said...

I was thinking that it was high time Dad got to my house for his monthly haircut, because I am running short on his payment: a kiss and a hug. And I recently painted the wood box that he made for me in 1986. The wood had become dirty looking and I wondered if he would approve of the paint. Funny how we still care about those things even though I am sure he is way beyond it.
Every time I look at my left hand with the funny knot in the palm, I think of Dad's hand and how he continued to use it even after it had curled significantly. This last week I noticed the beginning of a knot in my right hand, so now I'll have 2 to remind me of Dad.
Thanks for your writing Dwight. We count on you......

Steve Blood said...

Funny how this all comes out. I was pushing some curly maple through the table saw Friday and realized for the one thousanth time that I was using the push stick that father had fashioned probably 20 years ago. I was so bad at woodworking in Jr High that the shop teacher had to help me finish my project, but Dad never gave up on me when I wanted to make something. I remeber the first piece of marquetry I did, when I showed him the pattern his response was, "are you Nuts?" Still am a little nuts but Dad cleared a path for me anyway. Happy Fathers Day to all.

Steve Blood said...

that would be 1000th

Judy said...

I feel like we all were just sitting around the dinner table together and letting the talk flow. Couldn't be better.

Elizabeth said...

Judy, the woodbox - I have a picture of it somewhere in these piles of it when it was brand new. It is the only woodbox I know that has dovetail joints. Maybe it will be ready for Antiques Roadshow someday?

Judy said...

Dovetail corners is correct. It was a beautiful box, but so used and worn. If it goes to Antiques Roadshow, it will be worthless because it lacks the original finish.