It has been quite some time since my last post, and this one won’t be easy.  I had been sick for a couple of weeks before the holidays, so that was my excuse for not writing.  Things changed pretty rapidly after that, however, when my father passed away unexpectedly the day after Christmas.  I have never experienced a loss like this, and it’s hard to imagine that I will ever again.  My father was the most important and influential man in my life, and we were very close.  I have taken a month off from work to cope, and I quit my extra jobs.  In my grief I have been unable to do much for the last month, and working certainly was not high on my priorities.

I started this blog because I wanted to document our journey and experiences with creating and maintaining our homestead.  I wanted to be a source of information for other like-minded people who were interested in similar things.  I also wanted it to tell a story to our future children.  When I was deciding whether or not I would in fact create this blog, the one deciding thought that I had was the thought of our children reading back on the stories that we encountered.  I thought that would give some credence to the work and toil that we are about to undertake so that they can understand everything that we’ve gone through- and maybe learn something along the way.

I wanted to write this post for the same reason.  Much like the experiences we are about to undertake, this is probably the single most defining experience of my life.  I don’t feel as though I’ll ever be the same.  That’s not all for sad or depressing reasons either.  A thought struck me the day after my father passed.  I’m sure it’s not a revolutionary thought, but I thought that you can never really grow up until your parents are gone.  To them, you’re still their child.  In a way, this gave me some relief.  Don’t get me wrong, I would gladly rather have my dad back, but it comforted me to know that I could take the next step and finally grow up.  More importantly, I wanted to write this post for my (future) children as they won’t have the pleasure of meeting their grandfather.  My maternal grandfather passed away before I was born, so I never knew him and he wasn’t that important to me.  The thought of this happening to my children breaks my heart.  My father was a great man who would have adored them to the ends of the earth.  And they would have loved him in return.  So, the best I can do is keep his memory present and explain how important he was and is.  My father made me the man I am today, and for better or worse, that’s the way it is.  I am grateful to have been his son, and thankful for everything that he taught me.  So kids, let me tell you a little bit about your grandpa.

My parents got divorced when I was 5.  I couldn’t understand why or the reasons, and I still don’t know.  I don’t want to know; it doesn’t matter anymore.  I will tell you though that their divorce changed my life.  I remember going to visit dad at our old house and there was nothing there.  Just one old metal fold up chair in the living room and a lamp on the floor.  He would take turns holding Gillian and me in his lap while he read to us, and I still remember feeling so sad for him.  It was sad for me too; I loved growing up in that house.  We had 40 acres to explore, a huge garden, big yard for playing catch, and my best friend lived within biking distance.  My dad loved living in the country, and I owe my love for it to him.

After my parents had separated, my mom ended up moving back to our place and dad went to go live with my grandma on Park Point.  It was weird to go to grandma’s to see dad, but that’s the way that it was.  Gillian and I used to love playing with grandma’s trash compactor as we had never seen one before.  Plus, there was always fig newtons and caffeine free diet coke.  We only got to see dad every other weekend, but he wrote us letters (back before the internet) and called us often.  He worked long hours as a truck driver, and I remember being so disappointed if he missed one of my baseball games.  I realize now that the divorce and child payments made it hard for him, and he had to work hard to make up for it.  I think dad told me that he worked the last 26 years of his life as a truck driver, and the last 21 of those years he worked overtime, every single week.  On top of this, he became a landlord AND he built his own house.  I have never met a man who worked so hard.

Eventually, dad moved out of grandma’s house and bought a few different houses.  He fixed them up and sold them, but he settled on a triplex that he fixed up and rented two of the units while he lived in the bottom one.  Gillian and I used to explore that house from top to bottom.  The basement was the creepiest place I think I’ve ever been.  Unfortunately, we didn’t have money to get dad gifts so we had to be brave and go find treasures in the basement for his father’s day gifts.  I can still remember the way that basement smells.  Upstairs, after the tenants moved out we’d always go help dad repaint (and look for treasures that got left behind).  Dad could fix or make pretty much anything.  He just knew how to do things, and how to do them right.

Then Dad introduced us to your grandma Mary Beth.  Grandma Debbie had gotten remarried, and dad had started dating Mary.  We did all kinds of fun stuff together; going camping, visiting the Boyce’s cabin, going on the Lutsen Alpine Slide, but I didn’t know what to think when he told us that they were getting married.  I had always hoped that my mom and dad would get back together, and we could move back to our old house and things could go back to the way they were.  This was the end of that hope, and that realization shattered me.  Dad and Mary ended up buying a 40 acre parcel of their own, and just a mile away from us.  Unfortunately, that didn’t work out so well, and mom and Charlie (my stepdad) decided that we should move further away.

Dad stayed put where he bought the land that he loved, and he worked incredibly hard to build an amazing house.  While it was being built he lived in “the little red shed.”  You might be familiar with this shed, because it’s now on our property.  Dad built little lofts up in the shed for all four of us to sleep in; there was a shower outside and a latrine in the woods.  I think it was hard for dad on the weekends that we visited while the house was being constructed.  I know that he cherished spending time with us, but we kind of got in the way.  The thing is, he was so busy trying to stay on schedule building the house that he honestly didn’t have time for us.  I can understand that now because when I get in the middle of a project, no matter how small, it’s hard to step away until it is done.  So, dad found “jobs” for us to do.  When the contractors were forming the foundation of the house for concrete, he sent Gillian and me down there to pick up nails.  He said, “boy those contractors sure are gonna be so happy you guys did all this work and found all their nails.” So, we did.  We spent HOURS picking up nails.  When we finally had every single last nail we most proudly presented our buckets to the contractors.  “Surely they’ll give us some kind of reward,” we thought.  Nope, they just dumped the nails back in the forms.  They were using them for fill!

During the time that dad was building the house, there were sections of the house for us to “live in” while the rest was being worked on.  For a good couple of months the “living area” was in the basement while dad finished the upstairs.  The walls were determined by a rather vivid shade of blue tarps.  I’ve forgotten a lot of things in my life, but I don’t think I’ll forget those blue tarps.

While we were growing up, dad was always quick to take us on an adventure.  We didn’t get to see him very often, so he always tried to make the most of it when we could.  We’d go camping and fishing on Island Lake, or up to Finland to the Boyce’s cabin, or hike out to Captain’s Cove.  Dad also took me to my firearm safety class to prepare me for hunting.  Part of the class was to spend a night outside in a “survival situation.”  You had to create a shelter and camp outside in it.  Dad went ALL OUT for this because I think he loved it even more than me.  He had bought some freeze dried food and survival blankets (glorified aluminum foil).  We trudged out to the most remote corner of his property and spent the day creating our survival lean to.  We had a nice fire and cooked up some excellent freeze dried food.  After that we went to sleep, and woke up to one of the fiercest thunderstorms I can remember.  The fire quickly went out and we were very cold and wet.  It was a quick decision, but we decided to abandon the quest and return home.  The problem was that it was pitch dark and we only had one flashlight.  As creepy as dad’s old basement was, I think I was more scared running through the woods that night in the dark.  I can fondly recall Gillian snickering to us both in the morning once we had sheepishly admitted our failure.  Somehow, we left our hatchet behind.  To this day, that hatchet remains lost in the woods at our abandoned camp.

After I had passed my firearm safety class, dad took me hunting often.  When it wasn’t season we’d spend time practicing shooting.  We’d hunt for grouse and deer, but mostly it was just a good opportunity for us to spend time together, out in the woods.  I think those were two of my dad’s favorite things.  I know they were mine.  Also, he usually brought with some beef jerky, so that was a plus.  The last few years that I hunted I had no intention of shooting anything; I just wanted to spend time with my dad.  Now that your mom and I are vegetarians I have no use for hunting, but I still appreciate the time dad spent with me in the woods.

Unfortunately, as it tends to happen, as I got older I spent less time with my dad.  In high school, I was more interested in spending time with my friends.  So, instead of seeing my dad for two weekends a month, it was more like one.  Or every other month.  Mom had moved again, this time into town, and I was close to a lot of my friends.  It became a hassle for me to go out to the country, and I didn’t enjoy it like I used to.  I regret that immensely.  I will never get that time back; the time with my dad, and the time to be in the woods.

Once I got to college, I saw my dad even less.  Between work, school, and spending time with my friends, I really only saw my dad on some of the holidays, and sometimes for breakfast.  We drifted apart, and the time that we spent together we usually bickered.  It wasn’t until I graduated and got a job and bought a house that we got closer.  Selfishly, I must admit, it was because I needed him.  Dad knew everything there was about fixing a house, and that was what I was trying to do.  He taught me how to remodel the bathroom and the basement, how to do the wiring and the plumbing, and he was always ready to come by and lend a hand – even when he had just gotten done working overtime.  This gave us time to bond, and I am thankful for it because we had an opportunity get close once again.  Over the past seven years I have seen my dad more than the previous ten.

Last year your mom and I had the opportunity of a lifetime, and that was to buy our own 40 acres.  It was the realization of a dream that I’ve had for quite some time.  I had gotten to the point in my life where I wanted to be more like my dad, and to pursue his path.  The best part about it was that he only lived 2 miles away; close enough to walk to.  Your mom and I talked at length about how perfect it would be to be so close for family dinners and picnics by the river.  Dad was equally excited.  He had talked about selling his house and moving, but I knew that he loved our property; he loved the river and the field; he loved that we wanted to be by him, and that he was proud of us.

A big part of why I wanted to move back to that area was because grandpa was still there.  Even though he’s not anymore, I’ve realized that it still means a lot to me to be there.  So much of my happiness as a child was in that area, and I can’t explain how satisfied it makes me feel.  I remember riding in dad’s old green pickup truck down the McQuade Rd. and looking over that field.  I used to be terrified that we’d crash into Lake Superior.  I had always loved that field, but also thought it unattainable.  It took me 31 years, but we bought that field.  That field is now our home, and the mindblowingly minute odds of that happening at precisely the exact moment that we could afford it still take my breath away.  I hope that every day we come home you can feel the love I have for this place.

We are going to plant a tree in honor of dad this spring.  A white pine on the edge of the field, so that he can look over us, the river, and the field.  In it we are going to place some of his ashes so that it will truly be his tree.  And I plan on building a memorial bench out of a cedar tree that fell on his property.  I am sorry to you children that you didn’t get an opportunity to meet your grandpa.  He was a loving and gentle man, and I understand him better now.  Both the good and the bad.  He was just as stubborn as me, and I think that he was insecure at times.  I remember some of the words I said in anger cut him deeply, and it showed.  I understand what he felt like then because I have also felt it.  Grandpa was a private man, and he never shared when things were wrong with him.  All of the years of hard work ended up costing him at the end, and he left us too soon.

Grandpa knew how to do just about anything, and he passed that on to me.  I hope that someday you can see all that I know, and know that I learned it from him.  He taught me how to fish, camp, hunt, woodwork, carpentry, plumbing, electric, farming, building, playing baseball, hockey, football, and working on cars.  More importantly, he taught me how to love, how to be a good man, and how to be a great father.  So if you see me cry when someone mentions Grandpa Tony, just know that it’s because I love him dearly, and I miss him very much.

Happy Birthday Dad; I love you.

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