I couldn't sleep.
Thus this post, written at 4 in the morning. A lot of things that need to be done, some worries about family, and Father's Day have been on my mind.
This is the third Father's Day I've celebrated without my dad, Pete DeVries. A big Dutch farmer, he never had much to say -- except to me, my brother, and The Mama. But his life spoke volumes.
I miss him so much.
Thought of him last week, when we used the roll of hardware cloth he'd given us years ago to rig up a chicken run. Thought of him again, when I looked at the Brick's clever design. (Dad would have been so proud -- Dave used an old library table, wrapped it with close-knit wire, then 'married' the whole thing to the chicken coop. Not an extra cent spent -- and the chickies love their new space.)
Dad grew up in rural South Dakota, where you had to work like this -- there were no part stores or Wal-Mart to run to, in Corsica. Then it became a skill; at our niece's wedding, the preacher mentioned being on a church youth bus trip to New Mexico, where the bus broke down. According to him, Dad repaired the bus with little more than gum and a rubber band, so they could get it moving again.
I wouldn't put it past him, at all.
Even when he had access to parts and such, he still took great pleasure in 'being a Hollander' and figuring out it out himself. (He could even listen to a motor on the phone, then diagnose it, including parts needed.) When he died, he was working on a perpetual energy motor -- knowing my dad, he would eventually have figured it out!
I am lucky to have married a man that, whether or not I realized it back then, was a lot like my dad: quiet, resourceful, deep convictions. I am lucky he not only loved and cared for me, but our girlies, as well.
Even though he is temporarily gone -- I will see him again -- I am lucky to have had my dad in my life for as long as I -- we -- did.
Happy Father's Day David -- and Pa. I love you both.