Day 283: My dad’s father ran a commercial potato cellar, along with running his own farm. Farmers sold their crops to Grandpa and he loaded the potatoes into train cars and sent them to buyers all over the West, concerned about getting the very best price he could for his farmers. My dad had great respect for him. He said that when his dad finished at the cellar he would clean up and spend the evening at the church. Like father, like son. He was devastated when his father was diagnosed with skin cancer and died at the age of 51. My dad was only 26 when his dad died. There are so many similarities between them. Even their looks. When I was a little girl, I would see photos of my grandpa and think it was my dad.
I only know these things about my grandfather because of the stories I have been told. These stories are all that I have of him . . . along with this adding machine that sits atop an old trunk in our home. It weighs an easy 50 pounds. It’s an ingenious thing. It is from Grandpa’s potato business. He used it to “keep the accounts” as my dad would explain.
Every time I dust it, or try to pick it up, I’m grateful for the calculator app on my iPhone. And I’m awfully grateful that Dad told me stories about his dad. Are you listening, kids of mine? 😉😉
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