Happy Father's Day

Frog Nursery


Dee-wish-us Pappy Cakes



Obstacle course in the chicken tractor




Nice job Mr. Handy Man -Happy Father's Day from all your chickens!




Eventhough it's been nine years since Daddy's been gone, there is never a Father's Day that I don't feel a wee bit out of sorts. Most of the time, I don't think about it, but today I will reflect on being fatherless, not for long, or in a boo, hoo sort of way, just acknowledge it. Actually, you might say I was fatherless a long time, then again, not really. My dad had a stroke when I was eleven and became the family's baby. Perhaps toddler would better describe it. He could see, though not well, hear, walk and talk, but lost his short term memory and never worked again. He didn't read, or have a hobby, he was just there, and all of our lives sort of circled around him and Mom. He loved my kids, and was always happy to come to my house and sit on the front porch a spell, otherwise he was quite cantankerous, so my Mom came to visit a lot. After the stroke, they told us to expect him to live seven years, as the potent meds he was on would eventually kill him. He lived twenty-nine years, and though he couldn't parent in the typical way, I did surely miss him when he was gone, and miss him still. I would far rather miss him here and look forward to seeing him again one day, then for him to have stayed, as he was so very sick at the end.
The "then again, not really," part refers to a father figure I've had these many years. I was eight when Kaye met Pete, so when Daddy's stroke forced him to bail out of parenting, Pete stepped in. Pete got me through algebra, and listened to all my grief and woe about my girlfriends and guy friends, doctored my mosquito bites, and gave me what for when I was up to no good. His constant love and support kept me from seeking it the wrong way in places I shouldn't in my teen years and I thank God for him.
People aspire to a lot of things. Growing up, I wanted to be a mom and a teacher, mostly a mom though. Thankfully, I thought it would be a good idea for my kidlets to have a dad, so that came first. Again, God was certainly merciful to me in the area of daddy picking. Handy Man Pappy is a loving and helpful dad to his kids. He is proof that you can learn to father differently then you were fathered. Hardly a week passes that one, if not all three of the kiddos, needs help with their car, hanging a door, replacing a part and on and on. He is always there for them. The other night, I had to be gone for the third night in a row, and I told Handy Man to call some friends and go out please, don't stay home by yourself. He called his boys.
Handy Man will eat whatever I put in front of him, but he really likes Little Debbie Snack Cakes.
When Miss Bugg was a baby and growing up, she thought her Pap could do no wrong and wouldn't look at any of the rest of us if he was present. Since he ate those little cakes, she was going to share them and they became "Pappy Cakes." Now, that's their little joke, her sneaking into Pap's cakes.
Later, after I got the mom and teacher all done, I dreamed of having chickens and goats. I wanted my grandchildren to know and understand where their food comes from. Once again, thanks to Handy Man, we have chicks. How differently my children and grandchildren will think of fathers and grandfathers. How thankful I am.

Of course, I know I have never been and will never be fatherless, as I am confident in the ever present God I serve.

The chicks seems none the worse for wear after their outing yesterday. There is still one pasty butt.
And, if I didn't have enough nursery animals, we're also raising frogs. Handy Man's sister had a plague of tadpoles in the water on her pool cover. Handy Man brought a cooler full of tadpoles to put in the creek. I saved out a dozen or so, because, heaven forbid, I'd ever let a learning opportunity go by for the grands. It is neat, because they are at all stages, some have already hopped away.

Call or hug someone who's been a good father figure to you today.