My dad loved children. He was primarily a girl dad with four girls and one boy.
My brother was steady, quiet, and cheerfully followed rules. His sisters were not only an armful but also a handful!

From the age of five, I followed my dad around the farm. My earliest memory is driving the old army truck while he spread hay off the back for the sheep. I could reach neither the brake or gas pedal and was not strong enough to turn the steering wheel beyond a fairly straight line. My dad would have to jump off the back and take over as we approached a ditch or fence. Sometimes he cut it pretty close! Truck driving at that tender age was just one example of my dad’s tendency to let kids do dangerous things. My younger cousins now tell hair-raising tales of visits to the farm with my dad putting them on tractors they didn’t know how to drive and setting them on half-broke horses. Those hair-raising tales were just a normal day for me!

I learned early on to start running the moment I heard the pickup truck start. My dad took off immediately and I had to jump in the front or on the back while it was moving. I also jumped out while the pickup was moving when we were chasing sheep or cattle. Getting left behind usually meant a walk to the first full stop. Nobody counted steps in those days for exercise as there were plenty of them throughout the day so I rode whenever possible.

During all the time I spent with him, I absorbed most of my dad’s beliefs and character traits. The only thing I didn’t believe that he told me was that no one ever died from hard work. To this day, I’m hoping to prove him wrong! My dad and I frequently made the same comments and laughed at the same things. We had our own sign language to communicate with each other when separated by distance which signs no one understood but me, and I only understood half of them! But I mostly knew what my dad was thinking and it mostly involved more work.

One of the saddest times of my life was after my dad had a stroke that left one arm paralyzed and a leg partially paralyzed. It was heart-wrenching to watch my strong dad unable to do farm work. In later years, I would mow my parents’ lawn and afterwards, my dad would ask if we could go for a drive around the farm in his old pickup. I was hot and tired and needed to get home but I usually said yes. He would tell me stories from the past as we drove around and I would realize that these were precious moments. I still cherish that time with him 17 years after he went to heaven. Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I can’t wait until I hear the pickup start again!

-Priscilla Martens