6 Comments

I wish I could have visited Wally’s farm and watched him work his clay.

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I catch myself at times wishing I could see him one more time on a tractor or driving his work pickup (rusty hitch balls notwithstanding) or using a shovel. You could just see how much he loved farming—every act given his full attention and done to his usual standard of excellence. Thanks again Jim for your engagement—I always love reading your reflections.

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We could open a library, between our homes, with the number of books! We go to the used book store - turn in 10 and come home with 20! I, too, am a book in hand reader 📖

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Yes, and my apparent problem, though I don’t see it that way, is that when I go to a used bookstore, I don’t bring books with me to sell back. I can’t seem to part with them. And by the way, thank GOD for bookstores still! No better way to lose oneself for a couple hours, or five, while the home is playing host to, say, baby and wedding showers. Just saying.

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Love this, Kert. The farm life is humbling... and rewarding... Most of my Goldendale relatives were farmers. I remember the dirt and long days -- I miss that. I also wish I could have visited Wally's/the family farm and watched all of you work the clay -- my kind of people. Love you guys.

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Thank you Sis! Looking back on it now, it was a great way to grow up. And kids are no longer having those kinds of experiences anymore—so there’s a sense of melancholy for those of us so lucky and can see what is missing from lives not cultivated off a farm. We should all get dirty, in the BEST sense of that word, more often. Love you and hope to see you very soon.

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