BG was born during the last days of my daddy's tenure with the USDA which included frequent trips to such far off places as Miami, FL where he helped to inspect the produce that they carried on the lifeboats from Cuba. Only he worked the airport, if you know what I mean. That's where he was stationed on BG's first Thanksgiving. We took pics at the table and waved but I'm sure it wasn't like the real thing....being with your family on such a special holiday and eating his momma's dressing. Our dear friend Tim took his place as a customs agent and that was the end of the Japanese beetle, per se. The USDA went more global and he had already put in too many years to chase that dream. And why would he? He had lived the dream here on his farm for fifty years.
My mother's daddy died at the age of 45 from heart disease, something that is dealt with swiftly and at a high price these days. She still cries when she talks about him and how special he was to her and she's almost eighty. I reckon there's some things we never get over until we meet at the pearly gates, Everybody loved Harold as a person and a business owner. He treated 'em right and was always quick with a smile. He died when I was three years old and momma has told me how we used to ride down into the woods by the river in his old car with an ice cream cone just looking for adventure. I can't say that I can remember much except from her oral history of how we landed here and stayed.
Following Papaw's death, Daddy became the manager of the farm and spent many years doing his best for the landlord. He got a cut of each year's crop check and money from the cattle that he tirelessly tried to fence in with barbed wire. That's the way he was raised up....during the great depression and the grapes of wrath. Poor guy had three sisters with two still remaining who get all over his nerves when they show up and try to wipe his butt like they did when he was a 13 year old and fell out of the barn loft over at Roellen breaking both arms in the process.
My father is currently dealing with fronto-temporal dementia and my mother is blind. They are nearing their eightieth birthdays and seriously deserve a party. Maybe since we have some good AC up in here, that could be a possibility if we do our own cake and put up some curtains. Time will tell. I hear the birds peeping so it's time to get clean and prepare for another day at the sawmill which almost pays the bills.
Over and out from Pecan Lane ^j^