Then the Spirit said to Philip, “Go over to this chariot and join it.”
Acts 8:29
Papaw, until the day he died, served as the king over his estate as if he were the regent of a mighty kingdom. He knew every corner of his property, and every undulating contour of the land. The lush green land cascaded from the area where the house is to a creek that ribbons through the center of the property, then rises again on the far side of the stream butting up against his neighbors’ properties. Every inch of that land he had covered manytimes, and knew it well.
In the early years that he owned the farm he walked every inch of fence line multiple times. As the years continuedon he began to make the journey across the rolling countryside in either his pickup truck or on his tractor.
Falling trees and limbs,as well as not-so-well behaved cattle are pretty hard on fences and, as a result, the fence needs a lot of care and maintenance. Tree limbs were also pretty hard on the head when riding a tractor; they had a tendency to sneak up on you and thwack you in the face when you least expect it. For those reasons, and perhaps a strange obsession with tree limbs, Papaw incessantly picked up sticks, twigs, tree limbs, and any other form of wood that may have dared cross his path. He would pull dead ones out of trees, and pick up an endless supply of branches from the ground. This became such an obsession for him that it didn’t even matter where he was, or whose property he was on; he still picked up sticks.
As he would stroll along he would pick up every stick that he came across. When I walked with himI was encouraged to do the same. Actually, encouraged is way too passive of a way of putting it; ordered or commanded comes a little closer. During his stroll across his farm land periodically there was a gully that had a tendency to wash out even further so that is where he would deposit this endless supply of twigs. From a very practical perspective it makes perfect sense; picking up one menace and using it to stop another menace. These same limbs also proved to be very useful in starting and keeping fires going in the various wood burning stoves and fire places. However, his single-minded focus on picking up twigs, sticks, branches and anything else that may come from a tree bordered on the obsessive compulsive side of things.
Anyone who knew Papaw at this point in his life wouldcertainly have experienced this unique eccentricity of his; there was certainly much worse trouble that he could have gotten into. However, as he did get older his ability to make his rounds surveying his kingdom became more challenging because, as he would frequently share, “My knees are a sore as boils.” The years of picking cotton and tobacco, and of hard work on the land had certainly taken a toll on him.
What really leveled the playing field for him was the year that his various children conspired and collaborated together, and purchased a golf cart for him from which he was able to survey his kingdom in style. In many ways that golf cart became his mistress over the next several years. He was able to go places and do things on it that I am positive it was never intended for. But, so were my litany of cousins.
The closest it came to being used for its intended purpose was when my cousins and I, along with our fathers and uncles would venture out into pasture as our makeshift golf driving range. We would start near the tractor shed and drive our golf balls well out into the pasture with the intention of going past the third telephone pole with our ball, and then returning to be the first to successfully hit the side of the tractor shed with our ball. I have not looked up the etymology of the phrase, “you couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with that thing,” but I am in little doubt that it came from us unsuccessfully trying to hit that old tractor shed with our golf balls. It was embarrassing because it really is about 60 feet wide and about 15 feet tall – that is really a very broad side of a barn to miss – repeatedly, but we did. That old building was in very little danger from us coming anywhere close to it. Honestly, I think a big part of the joy for us was joy riding in the golf cart with reckless abandon to chase down and retrieve our balls.
To Papaw, however, this was a part of his farm machinery as much as his tractor, bailer, and any of his trailers. In the same way that Cesar would survey his empire from his chariot, this was Papaw’s chariot and he was in no doubt the emperor of that land. He steered and powered that golf cart across hills and valleys that it was never intended for; perhaps that would explain Mamaw’s reluctance to join him on these excursions to survey his land.
You see, she did appreciate the land and the joy it brought to the entire family. She too spent many hours walking over the land, and was often the one to bring in the family Christmas tree each year. However, she did not appreciate the fearless manner that Papaw would crest a hill and traverse a steep, mud covered incline that broke in multiple directions; especially when that same incline ended in a relative deep part of the creek that cuts through the property. Her recalcitrant ways when it came to joining him on his golf cart excursions were in no way an impediment to him navigating his own Wild West adventure, no matter how much she begged him not to.
One of the realities of golf carts is that they were never designed to be used in the manner that he did. Golf carts are designed to hold two relatively rotund men, their golf bags, and perhaps even a cooler containing some refreshing adult beverages. None of that was ever on Papaw’s agenda for how to use his golf cart.
He would take it on very long adventures across his farm land, stopping every minute or so to pick up more sticks, limbs, and branches. The unfortunate soul who had decided it was a good idea to venture with him would become the Sherpa for him to pick up the various sticks that he pointed out, and it seemed that no matter how much his eyesight had waned in his later years he was still able to spot sticks to be picked up with hawkish attentiveness. The small ones were to be thrown into the gullies, but the larger ones he would keep for firewood. Inevitably, he would load the golf cart to the point his traveling companion was forced to walk. Of course, you would be expected to keep up beside him in the golf cart so that you could continue to retrieve the limbs he pointed out to you. If you stayed in the golf cart with him the weight of the amount of wood he was carrying on the incline, would drain the battery to the point that unless he kicked you out that both of you would have to walk, and he was certainly never going to be the one walking. So, enjoy your walk and your game of Pick Up Sticks.
Often, as I would visit their farm, I would be greeted with a quick hello, but just as quick, “You reckon you can have a look at that golf cart of mine; it’s acting up something terrible.” This, of course from his perspective, fit right into my profession and my degree in electrical engineering in much the same way that ceiling fans did.
Actually, I have always had a proclivity for electro-mechanical things. Mamaw and Papaw both recognized this and never missed an opportunity to capitalize on it. Once, Mamaw was concerned about her front porch light not going back out after a few minutes since it was on a motion sensor. She was right, I sat and watched it for about 15 minutes, and never did it go out. I looked at the sensor and it seemed to be setup correctly, so I just sat and watched and thought about it for a little while. Then, I went over and took the American flag down that was directly in front of it and brought it inside, and sat down again. After just a couple of minutes the light went out, and Mamaw exclaimed, “You fixed it!” She was quite amused when I pointed out to her what the problem was.
What Papaw presented to me in his golf cart’s woes I took as a challenge, and was it ever a challenge. The wires, the switches, the motor, the batteries, etc. were all sourced and placed in the golf cart by the manufacturer who envisioned two rotund golfers and their small amount of equipment. They did not design it for an eighty-five-year-old man who weighed 150 pounds and 600 pounds of firewood, climbing a 45 degree, muddy incline. To say that the golf cart was in constant need of my attention is an extreme understatement.
Each time I would cut out a burned piece of wire and replace it, or resurface the contacts of the main switch – again – I would urge him to take it easy on it. He paid about as much attention to what I said as he would if I had invited him to go use the golf cart for its intended purpose of playing golf. By the way, he hated golf. I began to feel like the cardiologist who attempted to convince their patient who is at least twice their recommended body weight that the Golden Corral buffet is not quite what is meant by dieting. But how I kept that golf cart running for the balance of his life I will never know; it was on par with the oil and flour that never ran out for Elijah and the Widow of Zarephath. The miraculous survival of the golf cart is compounded in my mind as I remember my cousins enjoying it as well.
It is doubtful that I will ever forget the time I was at my grandparents’ home doing something in the kitchen. From the kitchen window you have a very good vista of a significant amount of the farm. However, on this occasion, I did not need to see far at all. In fact, about 20 feet was more than sufficient as I watched no less than about 8 cousins and / or friends all on the golf cart at once and bounding across the yard with glee and joy. I had heard them long before I saw them as they boisterously made their way up the hill from the barn and across the yard, and then repeated it multiple times. I grabbed my tools, and prepared to repair that beloved golf cart one more time as this time it more closely resembled a clown car than a golf cart; it had many incarnations.
Acts 8:29
 |
| The Baptism of the Chamberlain Abraham Bloemaert, 1620-25 |
Papaw, until the day he died, served as the king over his estate as if he were the regent of a mighty kingdom. He knew every corner of his property, and every undulating contour of the land. The lush green land cascaded from the area where the house is to a creek that ribbons through the center of the property, then rises again on the far side of the stream butting up against his neighbors’ properties. Every inch of that land he had covered many
In the early years that he owned the farm he walked every inch of fence line multiple times. As the years continued
Falling trees and limbs,
As he would stroll along he would pick up every stick that he came across. When I walked with him
Anyone who knew Papaw at this point in his life would
What really leveled the playing field for him was the year that his various children conspired and collaborated together, and purchased a golf cart for him from which he was able to survey his kingdom in style. In many ways that golf cart became his mistress over the next several years. He was able to go places and do things on it that I am positive it was never intended for. But, so were my litany of cousins.
The closest it came to being used for its intended purpose was when my cousins and I, along with our fathers and uncles would venture out into pasture as our makeshift golf driving range. We would start near the tractor shed and drive our golf balls well out into the pasture with the intention of going past the third telephone pole with our ball, and then returning to be the first to successfully hit the side of the tractor shed with our ball. I have not looked up the etymology of the phrase, “you couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with that thing,” but I am in little doubt that it came from us unsuccessfully trying to hit that old tractor shed with our golf balls. It was embarrassing because it really is about 60 feet wide and about 15 feet tall – that is really a very broad side of a barn to miss – repeatedly, but we did. That old building was in very little danger from us coming anywhere close to it. Honestly, I think a big part of the joy for us was joy riding in the golf cart with reckless abandon to chase down and retrieve our balls.
To Papaw, however, this was a part of his farm machinery as much as his tractor, bailer, and any of his trailers. In the same way that Cesar would survey his empire from his chariot, this was Papaw’s chariot and he was in no doubt the emperor of that land. He steered and powered that golf cart across hills and valleys that it was never intended for; perhaps that would explain Mamaw’s reluctance to join him on these excursions to survey his land.
You see, she did appreciate the land and the joy it brought to the entire family. She too spent many hours walking over the land, and was often the one to bring in the family Christmas tree each year. However, she did not appreciate the fearless manner that Papaw would crest a hill and traverse a steep, mud covered incline that broke in multiple directions; especially when that same incline ended in a relative deep part of the creek that cuts through the property. Her recalcitrant ways when it came to joining him on his golf cart excursions were in no way an impediment to him navigating his own Wild West adventure, no matter how much she begged him not to.
One of the realities of golf carts is that they were never designed to be used in the manner that he did. Golf carts are designed to hold two relatively rotund men, their golf bags, and perhaps even a cooler containing some refreshing adult beverages. None of that was ever on Papaw’s agenda for how to use his golf cart.
He would take it on very long adventures across his farm land, stopping every minute or so to pick up more sticks, limbs, and branches. The unfortunate soul who had decided it was a good idea to venture with him would become the Sherpa for him to pick up the various sticks that he pointed out, and it seemed that no matter how much his eyesight had waned in his later years he was still able to spot sticks to be picked up with hawkish attentiveness. The small ones were to be thrown into the gullies, but the larger ones he would keep for firewood. Inevitably, he would load the golf cart to the point his traveling companion was forced to walk. Of course, you would be expected to keep up beside him in the golf cart so that you could continue to retrieve the limbs he pointed out to you. If you stayed in the golf cart with him the weight of the amount of wood he was carrying on the incline, would drain the battery to the point that unless he kicked you out that both of you would have to walk, and he was certainly never going to be the one walking. So, enjoy your walk and your game of Pick Up Sticks.
Often, as I would visit their farm, I would be greeted with a quick hello, but just as quick, “You reckon you can have a look at that golf cart of mine; it’s acting up something terrible.” This, of course from his perspective, fit right into my profession and my degree in electrical engineering in much the same way that ceiling fans did.
Actually, I have always had a proclivity for electro-mechanical things. Mamaw and Papaw both recognized this and never missed an opportunity to capitalize on it. Once, Mamaw was concerned about her front porch light not going back out after a few minutes since it was on a motion sensor. She was right, I sat and watched it for about 15 minutes, and never did it go out. I looked at the sensor and it seemed to be setup correctly, so I just sat and watched and thought about it for a little while. Then, I went over and took the American flag down that was directly in front of it and brought it inside, and sat down again. After just a couple of minutes the light went out, and Mamaw exclaimed, “You fixed it!” She was quite amused when I pointed out to her what the problem was.
What Papaw presented to me in his golf cart’s woes I took as a challenge, and was it ever a challenge. The wires, the switches, the motor, the batteries, etc. were all sourced and placed in the golf cart by the manufacturer who envisioned two rotund golfers and their small amount of equipment. They did not design it for an eighty-five-year-old man who weighed 150 pounds and 600 pounds of firewood, climbing a 45 degree, muddy incline. To say that the golf cart was in constant need of my attention is an extreme understatement.
Each time I would cut out a burned piece of wire and replace it, or resurface the contacts of the main switch – again – I would urge him to take it easy on it. He paid about as much attention to what I said as he would if I had invited him to go use the golf cart for its intended purpose of playing golf. By the way, he hated golf. I began to feel like the cardiologist who attempted to convince their patient who is at least twice their recommended body weight that the Golden Corral buffet is not quite what is meant by dieting. But how I kept that golf cart running for the balance of his life I will never know; it was on par with the oil and flour that never ran out for Elijah and the Widow of Zarephath. The miraculous survival of the golf cart is compounded in my mind as I remember my cousins enjoying it as well.
It is doubtful that I will ever forget the time I was at my grandparents’ home doing something in the kitchen. From the kitchen window you have a very good vista of a significant amount of the farm. However, on this occasion, I did not need to see far at all. In fact, about 20 feet was more than sufficient as I watched no less than about 8 cousins and / or friends all on the golf cart at once and bounding across the yard with glee and joy. I had heard them long before I saw them as they boisterously made their way up the hill from the barn and across the yard, and then repeated it multiple times. I grabbed my tools, and prepared to repair that beloved golf cart one more time as this time it more closely resembled a clown car than a golf cart; it had many incarnations.
Comments
Post a Comment