All Grown Up

Yesterday i mailed a package of art etchings done by my grandfather 100 years ago. He kept them for much of his life and I’ve had them with me for over 50 years. I decided that his namesake, my 1st cousin once removed, deserved the third shift of custody. Our grandfather and great grandfather was a man that every child ought have in their life. He was self made, self disciplined, self educated and a self determined man. We had no idea as children that grandpa “Pop” was special. He was just safe, fun, comfortable and our haven who ran the only movie theater in our small scandinavian fishing village in the Pacific Northwest. 

Pop also taught himself to play the violin and to draw. He built one of his homes on a modest part of his 40 plus acres in the woods. The out house was still most operative as we were children as was the Sears catalog for reading and disposing. An indoor bathroom with plumbing was completed in 1960.

His newly plowed fields of corn would become our training ground for learning to drive. Fast and furious was my plan for his ’34 Ford pickup truck. We were country folk and driving was learned before much of anything. After all, someone had to drive the tractor to get the work done.

Beyond the milestones of memories he left his art. The one thing that faded slower than memories was his etchings. Few photographs exist yet we will forever know our heritage of art, wisdom and honor. My mother followed in the pattern of artistic DNA as have I in my own development.

Our ancestors have given so much and I often fail to remember that I am merely the sum total of all of my ancestors. I am but a conduit and a messenger. I am forever grateful for all who walked before me. And to those who taught me how to walk. We are never alone and/or lonely.

As I now reflect on who I am and where I’m going - I’m just afloat in the family stream.