Brad,
Man, that’s gotta hurt. But hey, might this salve-up the least bit of comfort for you: Just remember, you still have your dad!
Here’s the story about my father and my grandfather: I tell friends (though it’s the least bit humorous, it’s so gut-wrenching sad), I tell them that my granddaddy died in the woods, my daddy died in the woods—and I working on it.
My grandfather, age 52, was heading to hunt camp with his buddies. On the two-track to their cabin a fellow whose camp was located a bit farther in was mired down in front of them. Grandpa and his pals got out to hump the guy on up the rut. Lifting on the bumper, he went down, and that was it for grandpa. As for dad, age 71, he’d just finished heap-loading his ’52 Ford pickup with oak and hickory, threw his saw on top, then sat down on the running board. That was it for dad. I’m a long-distance hiker, age 72 now, spend all the time I possibly can in the woods, either cutting firewood or trekking. Love both, especially the many months and thousands of miles on the trail. But my time is coming; actually it’s way past.
Anyway, Brad, be thankful, the saw’s gone, but your dad’s still with you!
God Bless,
Old Crosscut…
