An Anecdotal Life

Fathers and Daughters

         In my life, I have had a passel of “fathers.” There is my real father, of course, but he’s a military man and has only physically been in my life for about thirty percent of it. Then there was my grandfather on my mother’s side, Papa, who taught me to paint, and how to stack bricks, and how not to start a fire with gasoline. Briefly, there was Hugh, my mother’s husband; he was in my life as her lover, and for a short time as my friend, but I’ve never viewed him as a father figure.

         For the past few years, there has been Russell, my mother’s brother.

         There are no two different people in the world than Mom and Russell, but somehow the two of them managed to be the product of the same mother. Wonders never do cease. Mom is city; metropolitan events, plastic surgery, art galleries, champagne, rich friends, and keeping up with the Jones’. Russell is definitely country; cows, manure, tractors, feed store buddies, ball caps, and beer.

         That’s not to say that Russell doesn’t have his city side—he’s a successful regional vice president of a global company; he has a clue how to behave at a ritzy party—but he prefers the simple life. He has taught me everything I will ever need to know about running a farm of my own, which is what my entire family is convinced is going to be my fate.

         I can string a fence—barbed wire or field fence—castrate a bull calf, fertilize, bush hog, cut hay, rake hay, bale hay, throw hay, build four walls and put them together, change a tire, change my brakes, figure feed ratios, pull a calf, tag a calf, drive a stick shift (three on the tree AND four on the floor, thank you very much), and dig one hell of a mean post hole…all because of Russell.

         It was during one of our field-hand teaching exercises (this time it was “how not to dig a ditch”) that Russell decided it was time for a father-daughter talk.

         “Casey,” Russell yelled from his perch atop the old blue Ford tractor, the one that’s older than me. He waved his hands to get my attention and whistled through his teeth, drawing my gaze from the problematic broken pipe in the ditch at my feet. I dropped my shovel and trotted over to see what was going on.

         “Leave that for a while,” he said, lifting his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “Let’s take a break.”

         We’d been digging ditches in dizzying patterns all around the farm for two days straight. New water and electrical lines were to going in to all the troughs in every pasture, which meant absolutely no rest for the weary. I was surprised that we were taking an unscheduled break in the face of eight hundred feet of not-yet-dug ditches.

         “Sit,” he prompted, waving to the gnarled roots of an oak by the fence. He and I dropped companionably to the ground.

         “What’s the occasion?” I asked, passing him the bottle of water I kept in my overalls pocket. He shrugged, taking a swig.

         “Kind of wanted to talk to you.” I smiled to myself; Russell was not very comfortable with girl talks. I figured I was about to hear more about soil samples and methane levels.

         “Kay. What’s up?” I took the water bottle back.

         “You serious about Mike?”

         I choked on the mouthful of water I was in the midst of swallowing. My relationship with my boyfriend was the last thing I expected him to talk about in the middle of a cow pasture, digging ditches and sweating like pigs.

         “What?” I hacked. He thumped me on the back.

         “Are you serious about Mike? Mar—getti—errrr…moving in with him, I mean?”

         I nearly choked again when he couldn’t get out “marrying,” but I managed to restrain myself. I took another drink to wash down the first one, then smiled.

         “Yes, I’m afraid so.” Russell didn’t find that funny.

         “Do you think you’ll like living in the North?” he asked, pulling his pocketknife out to pick at his fingernails. He never could sit still.

         “I think it’ll be fine, yes.” I smiled gently. “I’ll be far away from here, but Aunt Sue and them are up there nearby, and Mike’s family is right there in Pennsylvania. We won’t be alone.”

         “I know,” he shrugged, reaching for the water again. I held it away from him for a moment, but he just punched me in the shoulder and reached past with his much-longer arm to snatch it. “You seem to like living on a farm, though.”

         “I love living on a farm, Russell.” I leaned back against the tree and crossed my arms on my stomach, surveying the land. It was gorgeous; all green waves of bahiagrass and black dots of Angus cows. Two of the dogs, the Parsons Russell and the Brittany Spaniel, were wrestling in the sun a few feet away, simply thrilled to be alive. The scents were all so familiar; warm grass, cool water, manure and dirt. I did love living on a farm. I loved it very much.

         “Well, you’ll be in the city up there, you know, which isn’t bad!” he qualified, holding up a hand. “I always thought it might be nice to have a place right smack in the middle of downtown, you know? You could go see shows and go out to eat and take walks and stuff.”

         I arched a brow in amusement. A medium sized suburbian town in Maryland wasn’t exactly New York City or anything, but he was talking and I let him.

         “I just...Debbie and I really don’t like the suburbs. Like where Sue Ann and them live.” Sue Ann is Debbie’s sister and lives with her family in the Virginia suburbs, near Washington, D.C. “It’s so busy and there are so many people, you can’t breathe.”

         “I know, and I don’t like them either.” I looked away from the wrestling dogs to glance at him. “You know we probably aren’t going to be able to be real picky right at the start.”

         He shrugged. “I know, but I just wanted to make sure that you’re doing things that’ll make you happy, too. Not just him. I know you’re moving up there because of his job, but that doesn’t mean you should sacrifice your own life.”

         “It doesn’t mean I will be,” I said with a smile, holding out my hand for the water. “Mike and I want the same things, Russell. And even if we didn’t, we’d work something out so we could both be happy. I’m not sacrificing anything.”

         He looked at me dead-on then. “Not even this?”

         I knew what he was talking about. The farm. My family. My life in the South—which, as stupid as regional differences sound nowadays, still makes a difference. No more unknown waitresses asking about family affairs, no more Gulf shores, no more month-long Mardi Gras celebrations, no more Jimmy Buffet way of life, no more Emma or Snowman or Skeeter, and no more Grandma’s meatloaf. No more life as I know it.

         “Yes. This.” I whispered it, but I didn’t look away.

         “Are you ready?”

         “Well, I won’t know how to fix a broken water pipe...” I trailed off, gesturing to the hole he’d called me away from. He smiled, glancing over, then looked back to me.

         “Are you ready, Casey?” He was sincere. So was I.

         “I am.”

         “Then I’ll miss you.” He sat for a moment longer, not saying anything. For once, he was perfectly still. A breath later, he stood. “Now about that pipe...”

         Russell has never in his life meant any disrespect to anyone, has never meant to take anyone’s place or do anyone’s job. But that day, he and he alone was my dad.