Bittersweet.

That is how I would describe my Tuesday.

I was in no major hurry to make the drive West to my Dad's farm. Actually it was my scheduled day off from helping Chris at his store, but I was needing to do some personal recognaisance on the equipment a friend is coming to pickup so I made the hour drive anyway.

Several years ago I had parked this equipment. Locked all the tool boxes save one, hid the keys and left, confident that it would be O.K.. After all it was parked at my Dad's barn with numerous tractors and other farm equipment scattered around. Add to this, that just a couple of hundred yards away is Fred's house.

Needless to say I was extremely disappointed in what I found. Someone wanted in badly enough to search for the keys and now every tool box had been opened. In fact, two tool box doors were open when I arrived. All the tires and wheels have been removed and six of them replaced (although two are extremely slick and flat). I had been asked if the tires and wheels could be borrowed from it, but I had stipulated that it needed to be put back together where it was movable. This was when things were getting extremely tight and the family business was waiting to go to trial against the lying, thieving bustards from North of the border with main offices across the big pond in Germany. (If you are driving a Mercedes, Dodge, Chrysler, Jeep, Freightliner, Sterling or Western Star, you are a co-conspirator with some of the most despicable excuses for human beings on the planet.) Back to the equipment. I had not left a great number of tools in this piece of equipment, however two tools had come with it and they would cost between two and three hundred dollars. Both were gone, in addition to assorted smaller hand tools, grease gun, and assorted lubricants. When I continued my assessment, I found the battery "gone". Probably the most frustrating thing I found was that someone had robbed a simple two dollar switch, but they couldn't take the minute it would require to undo two screws to unhook the wires so they cut them.

Sorry bustards.

On the other side of things I walked around the old farm. This is the old home place of my grand parents. This is where I developed my love of the land. This is a place, rich with memories.

I did a lot of reminiscing.

Several years ago the old home place was split up. Fred's house, the interior shell of which was the old farm house, sits on one part of it. Of course Fred is going down the same road that I traveled a couple of years ago and barring a miracle, I suspect that his land will be sold on the courthouse steps too. The big difference is that his home is located on his land. I know this process is not pleasant. I know the sense of helplessness. I have wondered what words of encouragement I might possibly offer, but from personal experience I realize how delicate the situation is. I would hope that if he wanted to talk he would know I am available.

It was interesting during my walk around the farm as I had flashbacks to times with my granddad. Buildings are gone, fences removed, but every where I look I can see him. I can see the farm as it was, and as it is. I remembered Hambones, the dog. Lady the horse. "Twenty-five dollars" the cat. Farm hands Pete and wife Ruth, Hill and Mineola (who raised twelve kids just down the road (that house is now gone too), Fred "T" (and Florence), Valentine and his brother Richard. I reminisced about the fort, the guest house, and of course the tree house.

I could not help but laugh to myself about Valentine. He was a small, lifelong bachelor, Hispanic lineage, who spoke in broken English and battled daily with alcohol. This incident I was reminiscing about took place a few years after my grandfather died and my Dad had taken over the farm. One particular day my Dad smelled beer on Valentine. We were setting plows on the cement slab under the canopy of six huge trees located in front of the old farm house. Valentine kept disappearing, going to the small travel trailer he lived in on the farm. This was a sure tell tale sign he was imbibing. The only thing that kept Valentine off the bottle was when he was "broke". When my Dad thought he smelled beer, he asked Valentine and Valentine had had just enough to drink that he wasn't thinking before he talked, it just kind of flowed. To say the least, his answer wasn't what my Dad deemed to be appropriate and he commenced to chew Valentine out and sent him to his trailer for the balance of the day. A little later my Dad had taken one of the plows to try it in the field, and the next plow had been placed on the slab when Valentine appeared once again. I guess Valentine didn't think us boys knew what was going on because he wanted to tell us. He began, "Your Daddy. He eat outta my ass!"

But we all knew what he meant to say.

I think that was Valentine's last day on the farm. I can remember when his relatives came with a wrecker to get his little travel trailer with a wrecker. They didn't even hook the trailer to the truck, they just hooked the cable from the wrecker around the tongue of the trailer and off they went, snaking down the road. Fred Sanford would have been proud of their resourcefulness.

Well, I'm back to the parts store today. I know some of the specialty inventory I ordered came in yesterday. I did stop by briefly on my way through town yesterday!

Have a day!

FATHER, I am thankful for memories permanently inscribed in my mind, where nothing is changed. I am thankful for YOUR faithfulness to my needs, and for YOU being the same today, tomorrow and forever.