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Family is forever
During this Fourth of July week, the memories of family flood back, as they do for me on all major holidays. The penalty for living away from my "Roots" is that I don't get to see relatives except on special occasions. The reward of living away from family, humorously stated, is that I don't see family except on special occasions. Most of us don't appreciate family ties until we get old enough to realize that the societal group of our upbringing is evolving and changing. Thirty-four years ago, Gail and I married in the high school auditorium in Union City, Okla. The next week my oldest nephew David, married Marsha in the Baptist Church in our home town of Luther. In the years since, we have gone our separate directions, always keeping track of each other through our parents and siblings, but rarely devoting time to get together. They had two children. We had two children. They have two grandchildren and we have two grandchildren. Our lives have paralleled but rarely touched. This week we changed that, as David and Marsha and his younger brother Harold and wife Lisa came to Iowa to the big tractor ride. I'd been telling them about this "corn country" and the three-day event where people bring 500 antique tractors and ride through the countryside for three days. Harold (10 years younger than David) restored the family MT John Deere for dad's 90th birthday back in 1997, so they had a vehicle that fit the ride perfectly. It was a great feeling to see the big dual wheel pickup, with the little MT on a flat bed trailer, pull into the yard. I remembered my aunt Nola, who lived in Texas when I was a child. She was mom's sister and every summer they would come to see us on the farm. We'd get a letter or phone call with the approximate time they'd arrive, and we'd sit outside or keep an eye to the window to watch for them coming down the gravel road. When they arrived, there was hugging and visiting and running and playing. We'd carry their suitcases in and stay up late into the night to catch up on each other's lives. In the age of e-mail and cell phones you'd think we wouldn't have that much of a gap in communication. My nephews and I exchanged handshakes, hugs and hellos, as we carried in their luggage and begin visiting that lasted late into the night. Resemblances to older generations become shockingly clear when a family gets together. This shouldn't be surprising; those who were just grinning children in my earlier memories, now are the middle-age embodiment of a grandfather or an uncle. I have a nephew who walks like my dad, and they point out that I look like ancestors from both sides of the family. It is amazing to note how much we become like our parents no matter how hard we try not to do so. Then the hard reality hits me: Mom is gone, dad is gone, my second oldest brother (who died too young) is no longer with us. Family is a living, breathing thing, but each generation only has a certain amount of life and breath. When a new generation is born, there is great joy and the sober realization that the turn of generations is inevitable; our own turn will come with time. So why do we only see our family on holidays? Why do we wait 30 years to get back together? I think it's the immortality of youth, the press for success, the false assurance that all will remain as it was when we journeyed away from home the first time. All of that, of course, is only known after we get old enough to realize our own mortality and realize the generational turn is inevitable. As the week progressed, we had a great tractor ride through the green and growing corn fields of southern Iowa. The MT broke down the first day and we borrowed another tractor from a very kind and accommodating man, who had done custom wheat harvesting in Oklahoma. We realized that we knew many of the same people and a friendship was quickly established. He had his own family and they were "making memories" that will be the bond with future generations. All too soon, my nephews loaded the tractor and had a last meal with us. They set out to see their grandchildren and to return to their lives and work. It's said that we spend the first half of our lives trying to get away and the second half trying to go back. At times like these, at least in my heart, I find peace and acceptance that I'm in the second half of life. Editor's note: Ken Root is now celebrating his 34th year as an agricultural professional. His career began as a vocational agriculture teacher then turned to agricultural broadcasting and writing as well as environmental consulting and association management. He was the original host of AgriTalk (1994-2001) and now is lead farm broadcaster for WHO Radio in Des Moines, Iowa. Date: 7/5/07
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