The second of four boys, Dad was born on the farm in 1926. His parents, Palmer and Galena, were the grandchildren of Norwegian immigrants, and Norwegian was Dad’s first language. At a time when many rural kids quit school after the eighth grade, Dad roomed in Fergus Falls for four years to finish high school (a distance too far to commute daily). Two sons continued to farm the land after Grandpa and Grandma retired to town; but with the modernization of equipment, two families could not make a living on this land. Dad, being the oldest son who wished to stay, received that opportunity.
Dad’s passion for farming came from deep within his heart. Throughout his life, he plowed, planted, and harvested corn, oats, wheat, and alfalfa, and he cared for cattle and pigs. For Dad, there was no better existence than being a farmer. He loved the rural lifestyle, farming the land, and having a strong identity in a local community.
Initially, Dad used horses for fieldwork; they pulled machines such as drills, discs, harrows, cultivators, binders, and plows. However, by the late 1930s, tractors replaced his horses, and Dad witnessed a sharp rise in productivity per acre when he changed from horse-powered farming to tractor farming. Dad farmed during a time of rapid change in the American farming industry, and he embraced the changes, utilizing new methods of planting, fertilizing, cultivating, and harvesting. The Farm Journal and Successful Farming magazines became Dad’s textbooks, and he read them with discernment and an open mind.
Reading and Smoking
My father’s six-foot-five-inch distinguished stature, jet-black hair, and deep brown skin—sun-baked and leathered from his time on the tractor—gave him a Native American appearance. He whistled as he drove his blue pickup truck into town each morning, resting his arm out an open window and giving oncoming motorists his one-finger wave. He delivered cream and milk cans to the creamery; then continued on to his Uncle Roy’s café to drink black coffee, tell jokes, and talk farm business with the locals. When one of us kids accompanied him, Dad bought us a Nesbitt’s orange pop or a Hines root beer to sip while we spun on the chrome-legged stools with red vinyl seats. He never left the café without buying a bag of candy bars for his children at home.
In the evenings, Dad settled himself at the kitchen table with a cup of steaming coffee, his chambray shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a bulging Salem cigarette pack in the pocket, and a cigarette in hand. Engrossed in a book, magazine, or newspaper, he was oblivious to “Your Cheating Heart” droning from the radio or any of the other commotion in the room.
When I was growing up, it seemed like most men smoked. I never saw a woman smoke. Every house I knew had ashtrays in every room. A fancy ashtray on a stand would adorn the living room, and there was always a glass ashtray on the kitchen table. My dad smoked three or four packs a day, in the house and out of the house. I must have been so used to the smoke that I thought nothing of it. I am not aware if Dad knew about the health risks of smoking, but I am sure he had not heard of the dangers of secondhand smoke.
Family First
Dad lived his life with decency and morality. He did not tell dirty jokes or swear in front of women or kids. We seldom saw him get angry. He gave to those in need without fanfare, lent neighbors a helping hand, and made a conscious choice to treat others with kindness. He performed his civic commitment by being a member of the school board and the township board. Dad taught us that happiness depends less upon circumstances than attitude. Mom and Dad placed family first and made extreme sacrifices for us kids. If anyone asked Dad what his greatest accomplishment in life was, he would answer, “My children.”
Embracing Life with Humor
Dad, a charismatic, brilliant man, captured our imaginations and taught us to embrace life with humor. He used laughter to cheer us up and to make work fun. He encouraged us to laugh at ourselves and not to take ourselves too seriously.
Dad was excited about life and family, and he made his enthusiasm known to others through his quick wit and humor and by spinning tall tales. We enjoyed the silliness he showed by wiggling his ears, “pulling his thumb off,” performing card tricks, and mysteriously extracting a quarter from his ear. His lighthearted spoofing convinced us kids to explore for gold and attempt to dig a hole to China. Dad’s humor and enthusiasm were contagious. People from all areas of his life enjoyed listening to his jokes, his stories, and his hearty laugh.
Storytelling was Dad’s art form, and we kids were not always sure what was make-believe and what was real. According to Dad, Norwegian elves with red caps were living in our barn. In exchange for a place to stay, they secretly helped Dad with the chores. Dad swore it was true.
Another of his tales concerned leprechauns. One summer morning, Dad appeared at the door with his usual mischievous grin on his face. “I’ll be danged! I spotted two leprechauns standing by our lilac hedge.”
“Oh, really?” Mom raised her eyebrows and glanced at us kids.
“I bet we’re the only farm in Tumili Township with leprechauns,” Dad said. “I heard they only visit a farmstead if an Irish person lives there.”
“Really, Milton?” Mom said.
“Yep, and if we find their pot of gold, we will be rich.” Dad poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table.
“Dad, what did they look like?” we asked.
“They were little men in green suits.” Dad shut his eyes to think. “The one with a hole in his pants held a crock of gold while the other one carried a spade.”
“Wow!” We struggled to distinguish reality from fantasy with Dad; but, as always, he swore it was true.
Dad smiled, “I know for a fact that if you capture one, he will direct you to their pot of gold.”
When my siblings and I visited our playhouse that afternoon, we discovered that leprechauns had indeed visited and left us coins! For one week, we planned how to capture the leprechauns. We designed a perfect lookout, decided how to signal each other when we spied them, and tried to determine what we would say to the little men in green.
One day at the dinner table, my brother Daryl announced, “I talked to the leprechauns this morning.”
We stared at Daryl. “What did you talk about?”
“We just talked,” he said, piling food on his plate. “I can’t remember what they said.”
“I knew they would connect with one of you,” Dad said with pride, winking at Daryl.
That night, leprechauns left several coins under Daryl’s pillow. Over time, we other kids grew leery of looking for leprechauns. Dad and Daryl were the only ones who ever saw them.
He will turn the hearts of the parents to their children, and the hearts of the children to their parents . . .
–Malachi 4:6 (NIV)