Isn't it suprising how lighthearted a funeral can actually be? One moment, you are dabbing a hankie to your eye, and the next you are musing, visiting, even chuckling. There was music: a sweet little tune sung by the great grand children, a violin piece by my two charges with me on the piano (shaking fingers, of course), and a beautiful duet by two cousins. And there were plenty of stories to share about Grandpa Bud. Lots of the stories told how much he adored Grandma Libbie and how he died seven years to the day after her. Others told about his kindness, his character, his sense of humor, his strength, and his courage. I hadn't know that he was so fearless around rattlesnakes. He'd kill them with hoes, tire irons, rocks or even the cowboy boots on his feet. In my book, that makes him even braver than Indiana Jones. And it's important that a certain little boy and a certain little girl know that about him, too. Because someday it will be there turn to tell some other little boy and some other little girl about their great great Grandpa Bud. And this is why you make a 20 hour drive through ice and snow to go to South Dakota. It isn't so much for the funeral, per se. It's so that you can see your Grandpa Bud's once thriving farmand the land that he loved. And you can meet cousins that you never knew you had, and form friendships that are thicker than water.So you can hear the stories that are meant to live on. So you can remember that those that went before you worked hard to make life better for you. And they did that because they loved you.
Farm Country Multi Grain Loaves