This is Linda 4 years after her accident.
This was in the big hair years, but personally, i liked the look!
She is a class lady.
Gratitude #83 - Sweet Biddies!
11 years ago
Saturday, August 1, 2009
linda
This is Linda 4 years after her accident.
This was in the big hair years, but personally, i liked the look!
She is a class lady.
more healing
The risks for Linda were several.
The big one was that she could cause one of those blood clots to come loose and have a major stroke -- at 14.
She had to limit her activities and let those clots dissolve slowly. She had bicycled 500 miles the year before, Lots of miles in training for each trip, and then she had ridden a 150 miles on this trip. She was in good physical condition, except for her head, which looked OK.
Her arm healed quickly and she looked perfectly normal, but there was that blood clot thing hanging over her head. It took some months for it to heal enough so she could resume an active 14 year old life!
A group of her church friends went out to some sand dunes an hour from our home. They all went and played in the sand and had a great time.
Linda had to stay in the car and watch while her friends have such great fun.
She cried.
I never did blame her for that.
Whenever I think of this story, I am reminded that one of those $30 helmets saved her life. Had she not been wearing a helmet, had she not bothered to fasten it, we would have lost her.
Life hangs by a thread sometimes.
The big one was that she could cause one of those blood clots to come loose and have a major stroke -- at 14.
She had to limit her activities and let those clots dissolve slowly. She had bicycled 500 miles the year before, Lots of miles in training for each trip, and then she had ridden a 150 miles on this trip. She was in good physical condition, except for her head, which looked OK.
Her arm healed quickly and she looked perfectly normal, but there was that blood clot thing hanging over her head. It took some months for it to heal enough so she could resume an active 14 year old life!
A group of her church friends went out to some sand dunes an hour from our home. They all went and played in the sand and had a great time.
Linda had to stay in the car and watch while her friends have such great fun.
She cried.
I never did blame her for that.
Whenever I think of this story, I am reminded that one of those $30 helmets saved her life. Had she not been wearing a helmet, had she not bothered to fasten it, we would have lost her.
Life hangs by a thread sometimes.
Friday, July 31, 2009
deanna
Deanna on one of our bicycle trips.
I took a Leica with me on both trips and a lot of film. But some how I cannot locate the pictures right now. There were some good ones. I'll keep looking and post some later.
hospital 2 and 3
As soon as we could get her out of the hospital, we loaded up and took the group straight west to the coast.
That made us miss Astoria, a place I was looking forward to visiting again, but we were a few days behind, and it did not matter that much, really.
We found a campground, and slept well. The next day we rode our bicycles on the beach, a foolish idea, but it was a lot of fun.
The foolish part was that we filled every moving part full of sand.
When we woke up the following morning Linda complained of a serious headache. We quickly took her to the little hospital in Tilllamook. They looked at her and said we had to take her bak to Portland to St. Vincent’s hospital. They had better equipment and diagnostics.
St. Vincent's is where Emily went when we were in Portland, to be checked out for a possible appendicitis. It is not too far from where Linda and Emily live!
We drove, Linda, Miriam and I, in some silence. I did not know what to expect.
At St. Vincent's the doctor and staff treated Linda good. They checked and prodded, but they wanted to do some procedure that would necessitate injection of a dye so they could see it better. (This was way before computers were every where in hospitals).
The doctor, a good man who found our trip to be a fascinating adventure, told us of the risks involved with the dye. Usually there are no problems, but the list of possibilities included some pretty heavy words. However, he added, rarely do kids have any reaction to the dye. Well, after all of that, of course she had a reaction. BIG.
It was not life threatening, just another hurdle. After they got her over the dye reaction, they were sure nothing else was going on, but that she had had a major concussion and all sorts of nutty things could and was happening. But, they warned, keep her quiet, do not let her move around too much, and nothing remotely strenuous.
We stayed overnight, Linda at the hospital, Miriam and I at a nearby motel. I remember the movie we watched back at the motel: Norma Rae with Sally Field. While we were gone the guys carefully took all of the bicycles apart and cleaned out all of the sand. Bless them. They had become very competent bicycle mechanics.
If you bicycle the Oregon coast from North to South, we were on the ocean side of the highway all the way, and there is a wide shoulder for bicycles. There were a few tunnels, and the provided a button to push at the entrance, that made light to flash on both ends warning motorists that there were bicycles in the tunnel.
The rest of the trip went fairly well. We did not carry packs now, just water and maybe a snack. We would point to a spot on the map and have Arline (who was driving Jim’s VW bus) and Miriam (who was driving the borrowed van) meet us there with the food.
Remember Jim, my dear friend who died last year? His two teen age kids rode the whole trip. Jim and Dot met us at the hospital and rode with us down the coast.
That trip was the last of our serious bicycling. That accident took the wind out of the whole idea. We did some back packing into the Idaho Wilderness and in the winter we took up Cross Country Skiing, but then we went to Texas. Hmm.
Incidentally, I have lived most of my life without any health insurance, it just is not there for the small contractor. I paid for my kids birth out of my wages (you can tell how long ago that was). But this time I was working for a medium sized tile contractor whose benefits included health insurance for our whole family.
I just flashed that magic card and it was all covered. I am still amazed.
Maybe insurance does cause accidents!
That made us miss Astoria, a place I was looking forward to visiting again, but we were a few days behind, and it did not matter that much, really.
We found a campground, and slept well. The next day we rode our bicycles on the beach, a foolish idea, but it was a lot of fun.
The foolish part was that we filled every moving part full of sand.
When we woke up the following morning Linda complained of a serious headache. We quickly took her to the little hospital in Tilllamook. They looked at her and said we had to take her bak to Portland to St. Vincent’s hospital. They had better equipment and diagnostics.
St. Vincent's is where Emily went when we were in Portland, to be checked out for a possible appendicitis. It is not too far from where Linda and Emily live!
We drove, Linda, Miriam and I, in some silence. I did not know what to expect.
At St. Vincent's the doctor and staff treated Linda good. They checked and prodded, but they wanted to do some procedure that would necessitate injection of a dye so they could see it better. (This was way before computers were every where in hospitals).
The doctor, a good man who found our trip to be a fascinating adventure, told us of the risks involved with the dye. Usually there are no problems, but the list of possibilities included some pretty heavy words. However, he added, rarely do kids have any reaction to the dye. Well, after all of that, of course she had a reaction. BIG.
It was not life threatening, just another hurdle. After they got her over the dye reaction, they were sure nothing else was going on, but that she had had a major concussion and all sorts of nutty things could and was happening. But, they warned, keep her quiet, do not let her move around too much, and nothing remotely strenuous.
We stayed overnight, Linda at the hospital, Miriam and I at a nearby motel. I remember the movie we watched back at the motel: Norma Rae with Sally Field. While we were gone the guys carefully took all of the bicycles apart and cleaned out all of the sand. Bless them. They had become very competent bicycle mechanics.
If you bicycle the Oregon coast from North to South, we were on the ocean side of the highway all the way, and there is a wide shoulder for bicycles. There were a few tunnels, and the provided a button to push at the entrance, that made light to flash on both ends warning motorists that there were bicycles in the tunnel.
The rest of the trip went fairly well. We did not carry packs now, just water and maybe a snack. We would point to a spot on the map and have Arline (who was driving Jim’s VW bus) and Miriam (who was driving the borrowed van) meet us there with the food.
Remember Jim, my dear friend who died last year? His two teen age kids rode the whole trip. Jim and Dot met us at the hospital and rode with us down the coast.
That trip was the last of our serious bicycling. That accident took the wind out of the whole idea. We did some back packing into the Idaho Wilderness and in the winter we took up Cross Country Skiing, but then we went to Texas. Hmm.
Incidentally, I have lived most of my life without any health insurance, it just is not there for the small contractor. I paid for my kids birth out of my wages (you can tell how long ago that was). But this time I was working for a medium sized tile contractor whose benefits included health insurance for our whole family.
I just flashed that magic card and it was all covered. I am still amazed.
Maybe insurance does cause accidents!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
recovering
In the first hospital. Her left arm was the injured one, and of course she is left handed.
One of her sisters found a little fuzzy duck in the gift store, and then conspired with the nurses and put a bandage on the little duck's left wing.
Somewhere I have a picture of that one.
the hospital
I rode hard and fast. It was pure adrenaline. I made it to the hospital in 30 or 40 minutes. Distance is a lot different on a loaded bicycle.
When I got to the hospital I was shown the room where Miriam was waiting. Linda was in the bowels of the hospital some where. They were still determining her injuries.
The hospital staff told us there was a campground not far from the back of this rather rural hospital. I sent Deanna and her friend Jeff to see if we could camp at the campground, (we could and did). They took good care of us there.
The hospital, we were told, serviced three towns, and was set in the country between the three.
Linda’s injuries appeared to include a broken arm, but it turned out not to be broken, but badly bruised. There was enough damage to make it hard to figure out. Her panniers (packs) and tow clips had kept her feet and legs relatively protected, and though skinned, there was no real damage there.
There was more, and it was not good. She had dropped off the edge of the pavement, trying to make as much room as possible for the cars, and had then slammed into the pavement, hard.
She was wearing a helmet, but even with the helmet, she had a fractured skull and a blood clot on both sides of her brain.
The next day, Miriam stayed with Linda, the rest of the group went to visit a local attraction, and I took the bus back to Eugene to pick up the borrowed van and trailer.
Later, two car loads of families and friends arrived, as had been arranged. We consulted with the doctor and decided that Linda and Miriam could ride in one of the vans and Arline would drive the other, while the rest of us continued the trip.
Some time later Linda told me that she had been riding all morning with her helmet on her head, but without fastening the chin strap. Just before we went down that last section, she had reached up and buckled her helmet. I quake when I think of that one. I still have the helmet with the crushed foam padding.
But it was not over yet.
When I got to the hospital I was shown the room where Miriam was waiting. Linda was in the bowels of the hospital some where. They were still determining her injuries.
The hospital staff told us there was a campground not far from the back of this rather rural hospital. I sent Deanna and her friend Jeff to see if we could camp at the campground, (we could and did). They took good care of us there.
The hospital, we were told, serviced three towns, and was set in the country between the three.
Linda’s injuries appeared to include a broken arm, but it turned out not to be broken, but badly bruised. There was enough damage to make it hard to figure out. Her panniers (packs) and tow clips had kept her feet and legs relatively protected, and though skinned, there was no real damage there.
There was more, and it was not good. She had dropped off the edge of the pavement, trying to make as much room as possible for the cars, and had then slammed into the pavement, hard.
She was wearing a helmet, but even with the helmet, she had a fractured skull and a blood clot on both sides of her brain.
The next day, Miriam stayed with Linda, the rest of the group went to visit a local attraction, and I took the bus back to Eugene to pick up the borrowed van and trailer.
Later, two car loads of families and friends arrived, as had been arranged. We consulted with the doctor and decided that Linda and Miriam could ride in one of the vans and Arline would drive the other, while the rest of us continued the trip.
Some time later Linda told me that she had been riding all morning with her helmet on her head, but without fastening the chin strap. Just before we went down that last section, she had reached up and buckled her helmet. I quake when I think of that one. I still have the helmet with the crushed foam padding.
But it was not over yet.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
1980 group
Front row: Deanna; Tim (Jim's son), Dot (Jim's wife), Arline and Linda.
Back: Jeff (Deanna's friend), Lora, her friend Larry who is behind Lora, Jim, Sid, Miriam, smiling me, Carie (Jim and Dot's daughter), and Monte, Miriam's nephew.
blue
I glanced up and saw a swish of blue. Something was wrong.
We were on our 3rd day of a 14 day bicycle trip from Eugene, Oregon up through the edges of Portland on to Astoria and then down the Pacific Coast. There were 12 riders. The trip was to be about 500 miles.
Several had blue panniers and blue bicycles, so I could not tell who it was, I rode as fast.
All day we had been riding on good roads, some of it on exclusive bicycle trails, but we had a stretch on an old concrete highway. Just a few miles. We were going down hill and were going at a good pace. It was one of those narrow highways from the 30’s without a shoulder, and often with an 8 or 10” drop off the edge. Apparently the rider had dropped off that edge and crashed.
I was the leader of the group, though I rode last. I always wanted to make sure everyone was ahead of me.
When I got there I could see some one lying on the highway. It was Linda, our youngest daughter. Miriam has always been calm in times of crisis, but this time she was delirious. “My baby, she is dead.” “My baby, she is dead.”
I am not a medical person, but I got off my bicycle fast and felt the side of Linda’s throat, her heart was beating, but she was unconscious. I assured Miriam that she was not dead. Deanna was already directing traffic around our injured rider. I jumped up to help.
Shorts, white helmets and fingerless gloves. We took over until the police arrived.
The third car stopped, the driver said he had a radio (this was before cell phones) and that he could call for an ambulance, if we liked. “Please do” was all I could say except “thank you.”
It did not take too long for an ambulance, two fire trucks and a police cruiser or three to arrive, thoroughly blocking traffic.
The paramedics were thoroughly professional, of course. They got their board and carefully moved Linda onto it. She was still unconscious and they were making sure that if her neck was broken they would not cause added injury.
Then as suddenly as it all started, everyone was gone.
The ambulance driver told us where they were taking her, it was a hospital we had passed some hours before. He outlined a shorter route.
I turned over the responsibility for the other riders to Sid, our trusted son-in-law. Linda and Miriam had gone in the ambulance, their bicycles had gone another direction with the fire engines. We retrieved the bicycles later.
There was way too much emotion for me to wait for any of the other riders, so I rode on.
Tomorrow, chapter two.
We were on our 3rd day of a 14 day bicycle trip from Eugene, Oregon up through the edges of Portland on to Astoria and then down the Pacific Coast. There were 12 riders. The trip was to be about 500 miles.
Several had blue panniers and blue bicycles, so I could not tell who it was, I rode as fast.
All day we had been riding on good roads, some of it on exclusive bicycle trails, but we had a stretch on an old concrete highway. Just a few miles. We were going down hill and were going at a good pace. It was one of those narrow highways from the 30’s without a shoulder, and often with an 8 or 10” drop off the edge. Apparently the rider had dropped off that edge and crashed.
I was the leader of the group, though I rode last. I always wanted to make sure everyone was ahead of me.
When I got there I could see some one lying on the highway. It was Linda, our youngest daughter. Miriam has always been calm in times of crisis, but this time she was delirious. “My baby, she is dead.” “My baby, she is dead.”
I am not a medical person, but I got off my bicycle fast and felt the side of Linda’s throat, her heart was beating, but she was unconscious. I assured Miriam that she was not dead. Deanna was already directing traffic around our injured rider. I jumped up to help.
Shorts, white helmets and fingerless gloves. We took over until the police arrived.
The third car stopped, the driver said he had a radio (this was before cell phones) and that he could call for an ambulance, if we liked. “Please do” was all I could say except “thank you.”
It did not take too long for an ambulance, two fire trucks and a police cruiser or three to arrive, thoroughly blocking traffic.
The paramedics were thoroughly professional, of course. They got their board and carefully moved Linda onto it. She was still unconscious and they were making sure that if her neck was broken they would not cause added injury.
Then as suddenly as it all started, everyone was gone.
The ambulance driver told us where they were taking her, it was a hospital we had passed some hours before. He outlined a shorter route.
I turned over the responsibility for the other riders to Sid, our trusted son-in-law. Linda and Miriam had gone in the ambulance, their bicycles had gone another direction with the fire engines. We retrieved the bicycles later.
There was way too much emotion for me to wait for any of the other riders, so I rode on.
Tomorrow, chapter two.
Uncle Chet
Chet married my fathers sister, way back in the 30’s.
Chet was about 18, and my father was unimpressed and referred to him as “the kid.” But Chet was a good guy and he was married to my aunt until he died in his mid 80’s.
At one point he went to see his doctor and the doctor said that Chet had blockage of the arteries (remember I am not a medical person so my words could be technically wrong!), and that a triple or quadruple bypass would increase his health and longevity. He was otherwise very healthy and so the doc said, he was a very good “candidate”.
So they did the surgery, and there were complications, and when that complication was dealt with another would crop up. It took about 2 months of pure hell for Chet to die. It was agonizing for all of us.
There is a huge lesson there. He would have lived longer and a LOT cheaper without the cussed surgery.
Which brings me back to Lloyd. Both Lloyd and Chet were avid fishermen. About the time Lloyd retired he invited Chet, who was 10 or 12 years older, go to fishing.
That was the beginning of a very close friendship, and a lot of fishing trips. Out on the water in that aluminum boat, there is a lot of time to visit, and these two men really bonded. They told stories they would have told no one else, fully trusting each other.
It was one of those once or twice in a lifetime experiences for both of them. My aunt, a vegetarian, was not thrilled by all of this fishing stuff, but after Chet was gone, she regretted that she did not encourage him more to do the one thing that he really enjoyed.
I am about as much younger than Lloyd as he was younger than Chet. We are very good friends, but if I were a fisherman and if we went fishing together a few dozen times, that friendship would deepen, I am positive.
But one of my two major failings in retirement (the other being that I do not play golf) is that I am not a fisherman. I have offered to go along just for the company (Lloyd and I would have a good time I am sure), but it seems you are born a fisherman or you were not.
Old age conversions are rare among fishermen, I would guess. And, as much as I am not into that sport, once in a while I wish I were!
Chet was about 18, and my father was unimpressed and referred to him as “the kid.” But Chet was a good guy and he was married to my aunt until he died in his mid 80’s.
At one point he went to see his doctor and the doctor said that Chet had blockage of the arteries (remember I am not a medical person so my words could be technically wrong!), and that a triple or quadruple bypass would increase his health and longevity. He was otherwise very healthy and so the doc said, he was a very good “candidate”.
So they did the surgery, and there were complications, and when that complication was dealt with another would crop up. It took about 2 months of pure hell for Chet to die. It was agonizing for all of us.
There is a huge lesson there. He would have lived longer and a LOT cheaper without the cussed surgery.
Which brings me back to Lloyd. Both Lloyd and Chet were avid fishermen. About the time Lloyd retired he invited Chet, who was 10 or 12 years older, go to fishing.
That was the beginning of a very close friendship, and a lot of fishing trips. Out on the water in that aluminum boat, there is a lot of time to visit, and these two men really bonded. They told stories they would have told no one else, fully trusting each other.
It was one of those once or twice in a lifetime experiences for both of them. My aunt, a vegetarian, was not thrilled by all of this fishing stuff, but after Chet was gone, she regretted that she did not encourage him more to do the one thing that he really enjoyed.
I am about as much younger than Lloyd as he was younger than Chet. We are very good friends, but if I were a fisherman and if we went fishing together a few dozen times, that friendship would deepen, I am positive.
But one of my two major failings in retirement (the other being that I do not play golf) is that I am not a fisherman. I have offered to go along just for the company (Lloyd and I would have a good time I am sure), but it seems you are born a fisherman or you were not.
Old age conversions are rare among fishermen, I would guess. And, as much as I am not into that sport, once in a while I wish I were!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
River- Horse
Coming into the end of our anniversary cruise a few years ago, I was badly infected with cabin fever.
The fact that the ship was large changed nothing. I wanted out and off. The books I brought were not appealing. I had written pages in my journal. I was bored. My oldest daughter saw the signs.
When we stopped in Ketchikan for a day Arline grabbed me and said: “Dad we are going to find you a book store.”
We asked and walked and found this wonderful little bookstore on the second floor of a building in the older part of the town. http://ketchikanbooks.com/
The owner met us and asked how she could help. “My dad is about to go nuts, sell him a good book to calm him down.” I asked about the author: “William Least Heat-Moon.” He had written a book I really enjoyed: Blue Highways.
I knew he had a later book, and with a bit of searching the store owner pulled a copy of “River Horse” off a low shelf. It saved the day. When we got home, I put the book aside. Recently I picked it up again, tomorrow night, I will finish reading it.
There are not a lot of books that I find riveting. I rarely read fiction, though I have no argument against fiction. I tend to read how to books, and guide books. Once in a while I come across an adventure story that really excites me.
Yet as a kid I think I read all of Richard Halliburton’s adventure stories. I read a lot of sailing adventures, and some about native americans. Mom read me Albert Pason Terhune dog stories. Thoreau fascinated me, and still does.
I intend to do a lot more reading. Some one asked me if I was going to write a book once, and I said: “No, there are too many books being written now.” I need to read more of them.
I had an art teacher once who had served as a judge of a painting contest in Nebraska. He said he was amazed by the number of Sea Scape paintings entered in the competition.
Maybe that is why we dullards like adventure stories.
The fact that the ship was large changed nothing. I wanted out and off. The books I brought were not appealing. I had written pages in my journal. I was bored. My oldest daughter saw the signs.
When we stopped in Ketchikan for a day Arline grabbed me and said: “Dad we are going to find you a book store.”
We asked and walked and found this wonderful little bookstore on the second floor of a building in the older part of the town. http://ketchikanbooks.com/
The owner met us and asked how she could help. “My dad is about to go nuts, sell him a good book to calm him down.” I asked about the author: “William Least Heat-Moon.” He had written a book I really enjoyed: Blue Highways.
I knew he had a later book, and with a bit of searching the store owner pulled a copy of “River Horse” off a low shelf. It saved the day. When we got home, I put the book aside. Recently I picked it up again, tomorrow night, I will finish reading it.
There are not a lot of books that I find riveting. I rarely read fiction, though I have no argument against fiction. I tend to read how to books, and guide books. Once in a while I come across an adventure story that really excites me.
Yet as a kid I think I read all of Richard Halliburton’s adventure stories. I read a lot of sailing adventures, and some about native americans. Mom read me Albert Pason Terhune dog stories. Thoreau fascinated me, and still does.
I intend to do a lot more reading. Some one asked me if I was going to write a book once, and I said: “No, there are too many books being written now.” I need to read more of them.
I had an art teacher once who had served as a judge of a painting contest in Nebraska. He said he was amazed by the number of Sea Scape paintings entered in the competition.
Maybe that is why we dullards like adventure stories.
Monday, July 27, 2009
friends and time
Friends are not very permanent.
Not that they are flaky or bad friends, but a lot of things change over a lifetime. Friends move away, get sick, die. The message, as I see it is to cherish your friends.
I have known Lloyd as long as I can remember. When I was in junior high going to church I remember Lloyd and his little wife, they looked like they were just kids, and they had a baby! Actually Lloyd was 25 or 26 and his wife 21 or so.
It was many years before we went from acquaintance to friends. That is how life often is. I could talk about Lloyd a lot, but I want to just tell one or two things about him today, but be warned, I’ll be back on this subject. By the way, Lloyd reads this blog, so this is as much a tribute to friendship as a story about a friend.
Lloyd was a dairy farmer, back when a small dairy might have 20 or 30 milk cows. Now we have dairies around here that are 6000 and 10,000 cows. Lloyd raised a lot of the feed for his cows and ran the farm with the help of his 3 daughters, one son and his hard working little wife. The kids learned the joy of work at an early age.
About the time his kids were teens, the church asked him to be in charge of the youth ministry, a post he held for some time, and one I held some years later. Under Lloyd’s supervision the group had a very busy schedule of parties, feeds, camp trips -- lots of good times together.
With some frequency Lloyd would take the group camping. He would go with them, set up camp, then scurry home to milk the cows, stay overnight at home, milk the cows in the morning then high tail back up to the group. He would do this every day of the trip. The cows had to be milked.
That is called dedication to a job that needed to be done. Many of those young people still keep in tough with him. It was a very special time for all of them.
Now Lloyd was a pretty good farmer. Like all good farmers he would tell you that he did not do as well as he wished he could, but he still did the job well. But in his retirement, he has learned to be a pretty casual gardner. I’ll talk about his forest later.
He is not as casual as I am, mind you, but still pretty relaxed. It has been good for him. He is pushing up in that middle 80 territory now. He tells me he sometimes even feels old. Some things that he would like to do at his place, just don’t get done, he tells me.
Shucks, I am a bit younger than him, and there are a lot of things on my place that do not get done.
Right now I just want to honor a dear friend. I have been to funerals when he saint they talked about and the person I new did not seem to be the same. We forget to say good things to our friends when they can hear us.
There are no guarantees in this life. Friendships come and go, but at my age they tend to go mostly, but as long as I can I will cherish this friendship and hold it close to my heart.
Thanks for sticking around Lloyd.
Not that they are flaky or bad friends, but a lot of things change over a lifetime. Friends move away, get sick, die. The message, as I see it is to cherish your friends.
I have known Lloyd as long as I can remember. When I was in junior high going to church I remember Lloyd and his little wife, they looked like they were just kids, and they had a baby! Actually Lloyd was 25 or 26 and his wife 21 or so.
It was many years before we went from acquaintance to friends. That is how life often is. I could talk about Lloyd a lot, but I want to just tell one or two things about him today, but be warned, I’ll be back on this subject. By the way, Lloyd reads this blog, so this is as much a tribute to friendship as a story about a friend.
Lloyd was a dairy farmer, back when a small dairy might have 20 or 30 milk cows. Now we have dairies around here that are 6000 and 10,000 cows. Lloyd raised a lot of the feed for his cows and ran the farm with the help of his 3 daughters, one son and his hard working little wife. The kids learned the joy of work at an early age.
About the time his kids were teens, the church asked him to be in charge of the youth ministry, a post he held for some time, and one I held some years later. Under Lloyd’s supervision the group had a very busy schedule of parties, feeds, camp trips -- lots of good times together.
With some frequency Lloyd would take the group camping. He would go with them, set up camp, then scurry home to milk the cows, stay overnight at home, milk the cows in the morning then high tail back up to the group. He would do this every day of the trip. The cows had to be milked.
That is called dedication to a job that needed to be done. Many of those young people still keep in tough with him. It was a very special time for all of them.
Now Lloyd was a pretty good farmer. Like all good farmers he would tell you that he did not do as well as he wished he could, but he still did the job well. But in his retirement, he has learned to be a pretty casual gardner. I’ll talk about his forest later.
He is not as casual as I am, mind you, but still pretty relaxed. It has been good for him. He is pushing up in that middle 80 territory now. He tells me he sometimes even feels old. Some things that he would like to do at his place, just don’t get done, he tells me.
Shucks, I am a bit younger than him, and there are a lot of things on my place that do not get done.
Right now I just want to honor a dear friend. I have been to funerals when he saint they talked about and the person I new did not seem to be the same. We forget to say good things to our friends when they can hear us.
There are no guarantees in this life. Friendships come and go, but at my age they tend to go mostly, but as long as I can I will cherish this friendship and hold it close to my heart.
Thanks for sticking around Lloyd.
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