Generations
My father was a man of few words, but when he said something, I listened.
Dad was a dreamer who longed for a life in the country.
Some of us have the country in our hearts, but not the good fortune to actually live there. That describes me, and for a long time, it described my dad, Don Simonson, as well. While he was never really a farmer, he had a great love and respect for the land, which became a magnetic pull on his soul; he was a country dreamer to be sure. Eventually, after many years, a smaller version of his dream finally came true.
Dad was a handsome man with a likable face that people found easy to trust, and a heart as big as the Kansas prairie, where we lived.
Popsy, as I nicknamed him, was a firstborn child with two younger brothers. He was an Eagle Scout, an intelligent student and was as amiable as they come. Even though Dad became a businessman, he truly longed for the smell of the earth and wide-open spaces.
My family lived in the town portion of a farm community in central Kansas. Dad and I both loved being outdoors. And his ever-present life message was “If you’re gonna do a job, do it right!” His version was more colorful.
That message is etched deeply in my consciousness, along with the sound of his voice. Popsy believed in fairness, and he taught me that everybody deserves a chance.
When I was young, Popsy was the manager of a local automotive parts store. In 1965, he began a new business venture in real estate. He was a fast learner and a good networker, and soon he built a modest success.
Finally, 1985, Dad got close to his dream. On a parcel of 10 acres north of town, Dad bought his own little farm. He loved that place, even though it required hours of mowing on a regular basis. He didn’t grow crops but indulged his “farmer instincts” by planting a multitude of trees and a big garden filled with tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, watermelon and corn. My family teased him, however, about “growing cats.” A stray female showed up one day, and every four months or so after that, we had a new batch of kittens. Thus, we dubbed it The Cat Farm.
His prized possession was his tractor. I never saw his face more peaceful than when he was at the steering wheel of that tractor. It was as though he belonged there and had finally come home.
Pure contentment shone on his face when he pulled a chair up at dinner, weary with the fatigue that comes from long hours of honest labor. That’s what country living meant to Popsy—a labor of love and a dream come true at last.
I still carry a bit of that dream in my heart, too. We often live our lives not realizing that we have become an example to someone else, but the legacy is there. Maybe that’s why I love the feel of my hair being tossed in the wind, the warm sun on my face and the fatigue in my bones after a good day’s work. It’s the country dreamer still living his dreams…in me.
“If you’re gonna do a job, do it right!” -Don Simonson