Last Respects

Tonight, Better Half and I went to a funeral home in a small nearby village to pay our last respects to a man who was part of the farm family for more than 30 years. We visited with his children, their spouses and his wife.  It was not an easy thing to look at his grandson.  His sadness tore straight to my heart. 

The farmer spent decades of spring days preparing and planting the fields.  In the fall, he spent hot, dirty, dusty days and nights in the driver’s seat of a combine, bringing in the corn and soybeans.  When he was not in the fields, he worked to make the farm a better place, always taking care of the rutted roads.

 He was joined in the fields, as time went on, by his son, and then later, by his grandson.  This past fall, when he was ill, it was his son and grandson who brought in the season’s crops. 

He was a big burly man, kind and hardworking, yet soft-spoken.  His was a comfortable presence on the farm. He always referred to Better Half as Porge.  There are only a handful of people in the world who refer to Better Half by his childhood nickname. 

Until this evening, Better Half and I could not recall a time when we saw him without  a John Deere or seed corn cap on his head.

One of this farmer’s proudest moments was being named Farmer of the Year by the local farm bureau.  The yellowed newspaper clipping hung alongside family photos at the viewing.

Bettter Half told his family a funny story. Some years ago, Better Half had a very sore wisdom tooth.  The farmer gave him some chewing tobacco, telling him to chew on it.  It apparently cured the pain.

It was comforting to spend time among the community of friends and family that had gathered to tell him good-bye.  While there was grief, to be sure, there was also a huge outpouring of support and strength within that room.

Frank was a loved man. He lived a good life.  He will be missed.  Good-bye Frank.    

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