Every summer growing up I would visit my grandparents for a week. We would split the week between the two sides of the family. My mom’s parents lived out on the farm, and my dad’s parents lived in town. While I enjoyed visiting both sides, I enjoyed staying out on the farm the most.
Grammy and Grandad would get up early and turn on the radio every morning and tune it to KFMA news on the AM band and listen to the farm reports except on Sundays. We would eat lunch promptly at noon and dinner at five. Decades of farm life and the schedule it required were still ingrained into every aspect and decision they made each day long after farming was not a daily part of their lives.
When we were not keeping busy on the farm Granddad and I would go fishing. We would hop into his old Chevy pickup truck. While it did not have hundreds of thousands of miles on it the truck was full of dust and was worked as it was intended to be used on the farm. If you live on a farm or have ever visited one you know the smell. Road dust, corn, and bean dust, layered upon layers for decades stored inside and out in that truck. He always took good care of his machines but the country road dust could never be cleaned no matter how you tried. Despite all the dust it still looked like it did when he bought it brand new so many years ago.
I will never forget our fishing trips but what I enjoyed the most were the stories. He would tell me about growing up and all the best places to fish. Some days we would not go fishing and Grammy would join and we would drive. No planned destination we would just “go check the fields” as he would say.
We passed old schoolhouses that they attended or Grammy taught at, farmsteads that were no longer standing, and churches that still serve that rural Iowa county. Stories of winters that required horses to pull out the stuck tractors and bulldozers trying to build or clear the roads.
Stories of Jessie James and his bandits, how my granddad’s brothers, uncles, and cousins worked for the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) to help build ponds and levies to help the farmers irrigate their fields as well as work on roads and parks around the state.
He would point out land that the family had owned for generations and who owns it now. Watching his face light up as he told the stories and watching Grammy watching him. Sometimes correcting him or picking little fights to tease him. Maybe these drives are why I enjoy road trips and or just going for a drive to clear my head.
My grandparents are still married and in their mid-90s. We can no longer go on drives, but we are lucky enough to be able to sit and visit. There has always been a hypnotic way to their storytelling. They lived through amazing times and continue to do so. Through the ups and downs, they have seen and experienced an incredible amount. No matter the story they would always be told with such vivid details that you would find yourself drifting off into their world and seeing it as how they remembered things.
With the internet, social media, and incredibly faced paced lives I wonder if we will pass on stories to those who come next, or if storytelling will be a thing of the past. Something to ponder anyway!
Until Next Week!
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