Another well-written post, Adam. Awesome homage to Uncle Lawrence. I loved that you included his 2021 interview—I hadn’t seen it before. It was great to see his face and hear his voice.
Thank you. My Daddy was a farmer who managed to survive the various calamities related to farming from the 1950’s to 2006, when he passed away at 82. When our Mamma died, we sold the farm to the son of one of Daddy’s best friends, who was a big farmer. We split the check three ways and called it good. We were sent to college and instructed to not become farmers. He meant it and we understood. He believed in himself and he loved his land very much. He was his own boss, making his own decisions, and he died a very satisfied man. The farm is now absorbed into the holdings of the new owner’s family and they are doing a great job because they know what they’re doing and they care for the land. While Daddy lived to be 82, the farmer who bought our farm died in his recliner of a heart attack at 65.
Nice tribute Adam. I love reading your stories. I'm a spectator. Grew up around dairy farms and remember when the farm kids got on the school bus bringing the smell of the cows and the barn with them. I loved it then and still do. Andy Mazerak Sr milked maybe 30 cows I'd help out once in a while. He lived down the road from my house and I'd also get some hay every now and then from him, $1 a small bale. I remember coming by the farm late one night and one of his heifers had gotten out wandering around next to the highway. Thought I'd do him a favor pulled in and knocked on the door. Told him one of the cows was out and the look he gave me was so damn ...tired. Like maybe the best thing was to let them get hit by a car and he could get off the treadmill that just kept him working from sun up to sun down and then some. Watched that farm just settle into the rust and dirt and mud over the years.
Lovely story, I liked the writing and enjoyed the story I feel like I know something of the man. I am reminded of Wallace Stegner's Big Rock Candy Mountain. The similarity is not too close but has similar feelings.
I understand that life gets in your veins like many lives do but I couldn't help thinking getting a good price to get out might be a mercy of kinds. Sometimes commitment is merely a lack of options. I respect his struggle.
You grandfather was born a year before my dad. His accent is it local or does it come from the old country? I get a hint of something I can't put my finger on maybe Norway?
Another well-written post, Adam. Awesome homage to Uncle Lawrence. I loved that you included his 2021 interview—I hadn’t seen it before. It was great to see his face and hear his voice.
Thank you. My Daddy was a farmer who managed to survive the various calamities related to farming from the 1950’s to 2006, when he passed away at 82. When our Mamma died, we sold the farm to the son of one of Daddy’s best friends, who was a big farmer. We split the check three ways and called it good. We were sent to college and instructed to not become farmers. He meant it and we understood. He believed in himself and he loved his land very much. He was his own boss, making his own decisions, and he died a very satisfied man. The farm is now absorbed into the holdings of the new owner’s family and they are doing a great job because they know what they’re doing and they care for the land. While Daddy lived to be 82, the farmer who bought our farm died in his recliner of a heart attack at 65.
Beautifully written, as always.
Like wisps of smoke, I keep trying to grasp how you turn the brutal and the tragic into soothing prose, into art.
Nice tribute Adam. I love reading your stories. I'm a spectator. Grew up around dairy farms and remember when the farm kids got on the school bus bringing the smell of the cows and the barn with them. I loved it then and still do. Andy Mazerak Sr milked maybe 30 cows I'd help out once in a while. He lived down the road from my house and I'd also get some hay every now and then from him, $1 a small bale. I remember coming by the farm late one night and one of his heifers had gotten out wandering around next to the highway. Thought I'd do him a favor pulled in and knocked on the door. Told him one of the cows was out and the look he gave me was so damn ...tired. Like maybe the best thing was to let them get hit by a car and he could get off the treadmill that just kept him working from sun up to sun down and then some. Watched that farm just settle into the rust and dirt and mud over the years.
Keep it going.
Lovely story, I liked the writing and enjoyed the story I feel like I know something of the man. I am reminded of Wallace Stegner's Big Rock Candy Mountain. The similarity is not too close but has similar feelings.
I understand that life gets in your veins like many lives do but I couldn't help thinking getting a good price to get out might be a mercy of kinds. Sometimes commitment is merely a lack of options. I respect his struggle.
You grandfather was born a year before my dad. His accent is it local or does it come from the old country? I get a hint of something I can't put my finger on maybe Norway?