One day Grandma June had a talk with Grandpa Jim. She feared that big old farm would be the death of him.
“Our daughters have their own plans. They don’t want this place.”
“I know,” Grandpa said. He had a sad look on his face.
“Let’s talk about it later, I don’t have time right now. There’s hay to be put up, and a field I have to plow.”
The farm had been my home every summer of my youth. I didn’t like what Grandma said, though I knew it was the truth.
That day instead of plowing or putting up the hay, we grabbed our fishing poles and fished the day away.
We didn’t get a bite, but we really didn’t care. I knew there was a reason Grandpa wanted to be there.
Grandpa Jim and Grandma June, had been this boy’s salvation. Grandma always told me I was truly God’s creation.
I wanted to ask Grandpa if it would be too tough, for him to run the farm, till I got big enough.
Grandpa Jim looked straight ahead. I knew what he was thinking. My eyes filled up with water and Grandpa’s eyes kept blinking.
“We better pack it up, son. You know we can’t be late. When supper is all ready, Grandma puts it on our plate.
I chuckled to myself as we picked up our rods and reels. Grandpa’s never late and Grandma never serves cold meals.