Memories from a Swing

Eight years ago today, my dad died. He was out in the wind and was opening the barn door which flew open. He fell and broke a cord in the back of his neck and he was gone! He had had a perfect day of work and service. He would have been 90 years old five weeks later. This a reflection I wrote while I was home with mom, after everyone else had left:


I am swinging gently from the high rope swing he hung from the ancient black willow tree near his driveway gate.

The forgotten irrigation ditch and the country dirt road is at my right. A bee buzzes past, while birds chirp, warble and screech all around. Tall grasses rustle under my feet, a bird near by is asking a question.

I am admiring the solid brick house he built, framed with pine trees, quaking asps, lilacs and weeping willows, each with a story of their own.

In front of the house, the cherished wind charger that sat on top of his old granary, now stands perfectly balanced, rotating slowly in the breeze.


To my left is a beautiful garden, evidence of Dad’s last days. Recently planted beans, corn, carrots, radishes and peas are poking through the soil. Strawberries are in bloom and dense rows of freshly caned raspberries stand deserted.

His cat hovers close, meowing, missing his master.

The sound of the gentle wind is rushing through the trees, water spraying, distant farm machines and a motorcycle add to the peaceful valley sounds.


The garage where he worked to keep the farm humming stands motionless and silent. Inside, are his tools of every kind: welding, carpentry, fishing, gardening, and farm machine repair. All of his many inventions, even Hondas are left to the next generation.

The van he bought so that he could travel with family, to visit family has a sad face that in days gone by might have looked like a happy smile.


His hand is everywhere.
Vacant now, is the barn he designed. He spent many hours milking the cows he loved for the family he loved. Who would have guessed his life would have ended on it’s threshold? His last act of service would have been to share potatoes he had stored in that serviceable bulk tank.

The morning sun is climbing. The breeze is blowing in the trees. The birds are singing. It is a day like many of his days. Does nature know he is gone? Does nature know he was here? I have to say a resounding YES!

Just outside the kitchen window, a few paces from his back porch steps, on a beautiful flowering tree, hangs three bird feeders. Hummingbird feeders brought joy to him, his sweetheart, and their posterity.


He loved to watch things grow. Even though he was retired from farming, he surrounded himself with growing things, plants, animals, and grandkids.

Oh dad, I love you. I will remember you when I see a vibrant patch of dandelions, the flowers in bloom at the Craters, when I think of the pasture, as I enter the Idaho Falls Temple, when I read Section 76 of the Doctrine and Covenants, when I see Holstein cows, when I pass a farm surrounded by trees and out buildings, when I see President Hinkley, when I see a strong gentle old man with a smile, a smile that can never be the same as the smile that lit up your face for Mom, your children, their children and all of your many friends in this valley, and every one you met.

Oh yes, my father, you will be remembered and cherished. I am not alone in my love for you. You touched many lives! You will be missed.

The wind took you away from all of us, without time to say good-bye, but your touch on everything around the farm, brings you close to our hearts.


The ax stands where you left it, deserted as all the other useful tools you used. The tractor speaks of you, the pickup speaks of you, and your many hats on the wall speak of you! Your children and grandchildren each carry an attribute, a talent, a skill, a mannerism, or an interest that speaks of you.

You left us a legacy and a great heritage. I thank you, I love you! Words cannot express what is in my heart: joy, sorrow, peace, love, pride, happy memories, and a few tiny regrets. I have a deep resolve to live in a manner to bring you joy and comfort until the day when I meet you with outstretched arms in the place we call heaven and you call home.

The valley road hums with tractor and trailer. The tree creaks as the swing goes back and forth. Kirby loads your pickup with bags of fertilizer. Mom is in the house doing her chores. Each one you know and love is busy today. Life goes on.

Kathy, May 20, 2001