There is no way to even count how many days I have spent in my dad's "Shop." Right by his side, talking, learning, cleaning, sanding, holding, sawing, helping. "Put your work clothes on and help me in the shop," he would say on his way out the door. I'd jump into my old clothes, grab one of his work coats or flannel jackets, and head to the barn. Roll the big green door to the side, turn on the lights, and my dad would set the radio to NPR or Weevil. If I was lucky, Lake Wobegon.
In winter, it was my job to get wood scraps as "kindling" to start the pot belly stove we kept warm with. Whenever it got so cold I couldn't feel my fingers anymore, I'd head over and stand by that stove and soon, I'd be warm and toasty. When I was little, I used to put pennies on the top and watch them turn colors. Or we'd spit on the top, and watch it bead off and disintegrate. In the summer, we'd roll the gargantuan fan over to the door for a nice breeze in the scorching heat. Spray our legs and arms for mosquitos. Dad would ask mom for more tea, please. No matter whether it was summer or winter, spring or fall...the smells are the same. Lacquer thinner. Wood shavings. My daddy's sweat - which never, ever seemed anything but my daddy to me. Never foul. Just hard-working sweat.
I miss those days. Me, right there by my daddy. I prided myself in knowing which tool he would need before he asked for it. Having it right there and surprising him. Sweeping the wood shavings. Using the air compressor to blow all the dust from the work benches. As I got older, I was allowed to used the BIG stuff. The planer, the table saw, the band saw. That was the big-time - when you go to use the big tools. Scariest of all? Router, no question. Still surprised I have all my fingers.
I tell you what. I know God won't let me keep my mama and daddy here on earth forever, but when that day comes, I am going to have a really hard time letting go. When daddy dies, which will hopefully be another 40 years from now, I imagine, we all will spend a lot of time in that shop just sitting there, feeling his presence.
We don't work out there very much anymore. We have gotten so busy. Last year, we mostly spent our time working on the boat. But, my little Brady-Lady, however, has been enjoying my daddy like I always did. They have a new project...to make Bradyn's very own dulcimer. I made mine when I was twelve. It's her turn. I would venture to guess not too many thirteen-year-old little girls jump out of bed on Saturday morning eager to spend time in a dirty, dusty, cold, shop with her Pa. Mine does. She's a lot like me.
Think I need to come up with a project, so I can have some more shop time with my daddy. All three of my daughters are a lot like me in different ways. This is the way Bradyn is like me. I love her, and I love my Daddy...
In winter, it was my job to get wood scraps as "kindling" to start the pot belly stove we kept warm with. Whenever it got so cold I couldn't feel my fingers anymore, I'd head over and stand by that stove and soon, I'd be warm and toasty. When I was little, I used to put pennies on the top and watch them turn colors. Or we'd spit on the top, and watch it bead off and disintegrate. In the summer, we'd roll the gargantuan fan over to the door for a nice breeze in the scorching heat. Spray our legs and arms for mosquitos. Dad would ask mom for more tea, please. No matter whether it was summer or winter, spring or fall...the smells are the same. Lacquer thinner. Wood shavings. My daddy's sweat - which never, ever seemed anything but my daddy to me. Never foul. Just hard-working sweat.
I miss those days. Me, right there by my daddy. I prided myself in knowing which tool he would need before he asked for it. Having it right there and surprising him. Sweeping the wood shavings. Using the air compressor to blow all the dust from the work benches. As I got older, I was allowed to used the BIG stuff. The planer, the table saw, the band saw. That was the big-time - when you go to use the big tools. Scariest of all? Router, no question. Still surprised I have all my fingers.
I tell you what. I know God won't let me keep my mama and daddy here on earth forever, but when that day comes, I am going to have a really hard time letting go. When daddy dies, which will hopefully be another 40 years from now, I imagine, we all will spend a lot of time in that shop just sitting there, feeling his presence.
We don't work out there very much anymore. We have gotten so busy. Last year, we mostly spent our time working on the boat. But, my little Brady-Lady, however, has been enjoying my daddy like I always did. They have a new project...to make Bradyn's very own dulcimer. I made mine when I was twelve. It's her turn. I would venture to guess not too many thirteen-year-old little girls jump out of bed on Saturday morning eager to spend time in a dirty, dusty, cold, shop with her Pa. Mine does. She's a lot like me.
Think I need to come up with a project, so I can have some more shop time with my daddy. All three of my daughters are a lot like me in different ways. This is the way Bradyn is like me. I love her, and I love my Daddy...
