My Dad - Arnold

Dad was a farmer. Just an average farmer at the time when a man could raise a family on a small dairy farm and never work a job off the farm.  He was not a mechanic, but he and brother Len could fix the combine with the most rudimentary of tools when it broke down in the field; he was not a carpenter, but he could hammer together a chicken house with a little help from neighbor Clarence; he was not a horseman, but he know all about untangling harnesses and how to hook up Jiggs and Maggie to pull a load of just about anything; he was not a writer, but his penmanship was classical and sometimes wisdom came out of his mouth like bits of poetry; he was not musical, but delighted in whistling a tune and worshiping God through the old hymns in church as he mouthed the words almost inaudibly; he wasn’t well-read, but did read two newspapers a day and listened to the news three times a day; he was never prosperous, but had a deep appreciation for the fertility of the soil and land of which he was a faithful steward, and for the richness of good conversation, his family’s happiness and for his community.  So, dad was not good at much, but he was excellent as a neighbor, husband, brother, and especially as a dad.