Thursday In Holy Week

It’s a shame that we’re going to have some snow today, along with freezing temperatures the next two nights. The blooms and blossoms around our little farm are particularly zestful right now, with the peach trees, dogwood, redbud, forsythia, pear trees, daffodils, and various bulbs all in full glory. It would have been a spectacular Easter Sunday morning, but will probably  be somewhat muted. Ah, well. The good Lord knows what He’s doing.

Today marks what would have been the 100th birthday of my wife’s beloved father. Pawpaw was a remarkable person, a self-made man in every sense of the term. Forced to leave school at age eight in order to help his family, he worked hard all his life. Enlisting in the Army in WWII, Pawpaw served under General George S. Patton, Jr. at the Battle of the Bulge, service of which he was particularly proud. Like most of his generation, he was reticent about his wartime experiences, but I learned that a cup of coffee on his front porch while watching his horse graze and letting him have time to find the words worked wonders in loosening his tongue.

Halfway through his life, Pawpaw decided he wanted to learn to breed horses. He knew nothing about the business and knew no one involved in it. But he acquired a stack of books and taught himself from the ground up, and he ended up being one of the top breeders of Arabian horses in the USA. My wife loves to remember a banquet given in his honor, a ceremony in which high tribute was paid to this tough, taciturn man. She still gets tears in her eyes when she recalls him doffing his LBJ Stetson while the crowd gave him a well-deserved ovation.

Other than our times of sharing coffee and military stories, my favorite memories of Pawpaw are the ones in which he was poking fun at me. A genuine dry wit, he loved to torment me about things like the spindly  nature of the tomatoes I grew outside our back door in Texas. One of the last photos I took of him was one of him chortling with laughter after making just such a remark. He was what we might call “thrifty.” He loved his groceries, as we used to say, and he and I used to discuss the merits of various cuts of steak with great enthusiasm. He was also a legendary dangerous driver, routinely sideswiping mailboxes and playing demolition derby in grocery store parking lots. He used to carry a brand-new spare side-view mirror in the floorboard of his battered Ford pickup, because, well, you never know when you’ll need to replace one.

Pawpaw was full of life, a man of energy and discipline and a ferocious work ethic, traits he passed on to his beautiful and beloved daughter, with whom I share this life.

We miss you, Pawpaw. After all these years, we miss you. May you rest in peace, and may perpetual light shine upon you.

~ S. K. Orr