 |
| Marshall Davis Hersberger (Feb 23, 1912 - September 18, 1995) |
The journeys our fathers take are long, circuitous, and full of life lived. From Saskatchewan on the Canadian prairies, to the state of Maryland on the east coast of the United States and back to Saskatchewan, my dad seemed to have lived a very full life. Was it all to his satisfaction? I will never be certain. The young man standing by his cab #112 in Maryland, U.S.A., very likely had the dreams and ideals of a young man setting out. He could certainly have had the desire to be a dad someday. I’m grateful that he was our dad ~ all nine of us. To support this large and busy family, he rode the tractor spring, summer and fall to raise the grain that was our families mainstay. Plowing was not limited to the field but to preparing the gardens, planting them and carrying for them. Was he perfect? As perfect as any human being who has walked this earth.
He loved his family and he loved the land. A favourite memory of mine is going with my mom to the field he was working on with supper for dad. My memory says it was a hot meal on a real plate, coffee from a thermos in his favourite coffee cup and dessert and it was my turn to go. My memory suggests it was a hot summer day. How often this occurred I don’t recall. What I do know is that my dad's journey included, not the greatness of fame and fortune, but the greatness of being my dad. The small things? Little bits of how to hold a hammer, plant seeds, and table manners and so much more.
“It doesn’t matter who my father was;
it matters who I remember he was”
~ George Herbert (poet 1593-1633)
No comments:
Post a Comment