Watermelon and Long Talks

The last time I saw Daddy Owens we ate watermelon.  My grandparents had recently moved to town from the farm and my grandfather was the Deputy Chief of Police.  I think farm work had worn him out and also it was becoming harder and harder for small farmers to make a living.  It was nice to have them in town, but seemed unnatural somehow to have them live in an ordinary house on a street with other houses and only a small yard to care for.

On this day I was a troubled teen and needed them and was thankful to have them near. When I got to their house, they both fussed over me and Daddy Owens took me out back and said he had a cold melon just crying out to be cut.  The two of us sat at the picnic table talking about everything and nothing just like always.  Daddy Owens was always a man of few words, but when he said something, it was worth saying…and hearing.  It wasn’t long before my world calmed down and slid into the rhythm of theirs.  They always had that effect on me.

He had always been my hero.  As far back as memory takes me, I remember being happy and at peace just being with him.  Whether we were walking down to the pasture to get the cows, riding a cultivator behind two mules, or sitting in his front porch swing…it was always more than enough just to be by his side.  I was never bored there as a child and cannot for the life of me remember having one toy in their house.  Why would you want a toy when everything that went on at the farm was fun, magic and exciting. 

His talents knew no bounds.  He could whittle a whistle for me and then show me how to make it work.  He taught me how to draw water from the well and to appreciate its cool sweetness on a hot summer day.  I used to tag along behind him down the path to the cornfield once or twice a week on a mission which was difficult for me to understand.  He always kept a fairly fresh dead crow tied to the fencepost to the entry of the field.  He said it kept other crows out of his corn.  It was the only time I ever knew him to harm anything, but I figured it was for a good cause.  He depended on that corn to feed his livestock over the winter.

He taught me how to shoot a 22 rifle and I got pretty good at it.  We’d go down to one of the empty pastures and he’d set up cans on top of a bale of hay.  He had a rifle for each of us and we took turns.  What a thrill when one of those cans went flying for me!

On a winter evening after supper, we’d play bingo.  I’d often have to run down the lane to the corn crib in the barn for a cob of corn, run back to the house and shell it to use for markers – we only had the cards and corn worked just fine!  We sat at the table by the old coal stove, warm and cozy, and played until my eyes would droop with sleep.  I’d fight it as long as I could and then off to bed I’d go where I would be tucked in good and tight.  I have no memory of ever going to bed in their home without one or the other of my grandparents tucking me in.

Now I was older and the farm was gone.  No more carefree days in the sunshine running through the fields or helping Mama Owens in the garden, running iced tea and tea cakes to Daddy Owens in the field and helping feed new spring chicks.  Their water came out of the faucet now and they had an indoor bathroom.  They bought their milk and butter at the store and flowers were the only thing growing in Mama Owens’ garden.  Daddy Owens’ old overalls had given way to a blue policeman’s uniform and his work vehicle a car rather than a mule-driven cultivator.  But they were the same…inside they were the same.

I moved away not long after that day and never saw Daddy Owens again…he was only 56 years old when he died of a massive heart attack.  In my youth and having no idea the regrets that would haunt me, I couldn’t bring myself to go back for the funeral – I didn’t want to remember him that way.  I do have regrets.  I had many, many more years with my grandmother and he was always present in our conversations – right up to her death at 99.

I’m older now than Daddy Owens was when I lost him.  But I will never be too old to forget and long for that warm feeling of love and complete security I received from him.  There’ll be another time – I know for certain – for watermelon and long talks.