faith of our fathers

Pawpaw was my mother's father. He was a big time businessman back in the day, owning not only the 555 corner service station but the greasy spoon next door called the Silver Castle where you could get a burger for not much of nothing and hang out with your friends between school and home and church. Miz Larson asked him to manage her property out here where we still live. Sometime before he died of heart disease in 1958 at the age of 45, Pawpaw suggested that my ag-educated daddy might do a good job with this particular parcel of land. He learned the hard way, bless his heart, as a sharecropper's only son back during the great depression. I never knew that tale about the reference until just recently, when we began to talk more about the history of our place. A rich patch of God's great green earth certainly deserves a turn of good stewardship if one is faithful and all like the Bible says to be. Check both testaments....they say the the same thing.

There is more to this story and I'm saving it up for a project that just might offer a bit of escape from the reality of everyday life as I know it.

More later.

^j^