Lifting the tree…

I asked my dad about a month ago, “Do you think you could take a day off this summer? I want to take the boys on a day trip.”

My dad and I have always been close. Not close in the way that we talk every day. But close in the way that I like to think we are wired pretty similarly. And from what I’ve always heard, he is a lot like my grandpa — his dad, Don.

I never got to know my grandpa. I was two on the day they buried him the cold, February ground at Chester Cemetery. It was years before anyone planned to dig a grave for him. He was in his early 60s. And he died of a massive heart attack. There was no chance to save him.

Sometimes I wonder if I remember him at all. But I’m pretty sure I don’t. I find myself wishing I knew what his voice sounded like. What his singing sounded like. What he looked like as he sat and took it all in at family gatherings as I am told he did.

My dad and his siblings were young when it occurred. When they had to stand, with their spouses and watch their father leave their mother. Not young like teens. Or like my boys. But young like I currently think of myself. Too young to have to say goodbye to a parent without a moment’s notice.

And gosh, that could so easily happen to my siblings and I. To any of us, you know? We could be going on about our lives and boom… without a moment’s notice. But, I got cancer. I got a wake-up call. I have an angel on my shoulder saying, “seize the day. live the goodness.”

When I was diagnosed, I was so scared that my boys would not know their roots. They would not hear the stories of their grandparents from their grandparents. They wouldn’t carry on the family recipes. They wouldn’t know Glory to God. They wouldn’t know about their heritage. They wouldn’t know what it truly meant to live in a holler. {Heck, I don’t even know what that means yet.}

And so, I made plans. Plans that when I felt better, included in our Summer of Goodness would be lifting the tree so to speak. Looking at our roots, exploring them, together.

Last Tuesday, three of my nephews, my sister-in-law, L, myself, and my boys all headed down to my hometown, Wilber, for the day. We met up and swam for a bit at my parents and then, after dinner, we settled all the boys down to bed for the night.

The next morning, my dad, myself, the two Olders, and the three E nephews, hopped in the Pilot and headed towards the Kansas border. To Chester. And Belleville. To lift the tree.

We drove as the boys stuffed their faces with donuts and sang to the radio and giggled. We drove and grandpa pointed out and questioned the boys about what was happening on the side of the road. What crops are growing over there? What are those large sprinklers called and used for? What are the silver cylinders behind the farmhouse?

I was content to just listen. I could listen to my dad talk and tell stories for months on end. I can remember as a child, I was always so taken with the way he knew every bit of information about every sort of thing. Like dads and grandpas do.

We first drove through Fairbury. A small town where my mother was born. The boys got to see her first house. The one her parents had built when her dad was moved there working with McDonald’s Department Store. The house that was near the park where she used to sled in the winter. And where she met a friend that, unbeknownst to her at the time, she would still have contact with today. The boys laughed when I told them that the Fairbury mascot was the Jeffs. They liked the brick streets. And they had plenty of jokes to make throughout the day about a town whose name is Fairybury.

It was a hot June day. Hotter and muggier than most, I’d guess. But the boys were happy to all be together regardless. And we made our first stop. We pulled into a tiny landmark outside of a small village. The Chester Cemetery. We parked the car. And we walked over to the section where so many of my dad’s aunts and uncles are now laid to rest. Where his parents also lay, for eternity.

The boys — ages 9, 7, 6, 5, and 4 — were incredibly interested. Much moreso than I had expectations for. And as my dad lifted the tree, we all peered underneath. We all got a look at the history of his dad. His mom. His grandparents. The Eickmans. The Davis’. The Fraleys. And the Larkins. We talked about how one family blended into another. About the Eickmans and the Corbits.

I taught the boys etching, like I remember learning on an elementary field trip, by rubbing crayons on paper over the graves. So they could take home a piece of the day with them. One of my nephews loved seeing his name throughout the cemetery. Davis. Another loved seeing he also shared a similar moniker. William. And though I was sweating as we walked through the rows, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to follow wherever my dad wanted to take us. Because, cancer.

As I recently shared, we walked by my dad’s cousin Mark’s grave. He had died of cancer in his early thirties. He had left behind a boy. And a girl. Both young. I couldn’t help, at seeing his grave — the short span of his life — but be even more grateful to be seeing his grave in person. Not because I was thankful that he had to go so early. But to be seeing and learning all of the history through my dad’s words, in person.

We loaded the crew back into the car and drove by the Chester football field. The sign that read, “Home of 6 man football” and my dad told the story of my grandpa being on the very first six man football team. And the boys all seemed to agree that that was a pretty impressive tidbit to take with them.

We saw the church where my dad’s parents were married. The hall where they used to have family gatherings. The boys — all from Kansas City and Omaha — made note of how small the town seemed. And I was happy that they were seeing a different pace of life. Away from the city scene.

We drove on, to a farm just between Chester and Belleville. Where my dad’s cousins, John and Kandy now run the family farm. The farm where my grandpa Eickman was born and lived the first few years of his life before moving to a farm across the gravel roads.

And it was one of the most fantastic field trips I’ve ever taken. The boys got to see cattle and a just fresh out of the shoot calf. They got to meet the farm dogs.

They stood between the family farm sign and the house. And on the back of the sign, engraved is the history of the farm. Which Eickmans have manned it. Which have loved it. Cared for it. And kept it alive.

The house, original to the land. The house that has been maintained beautifully. Kept to honor the legacy that it holds. We saw the farm equipment. And the treasures… an old plow contraption, a stagecoach… restored history. Living every day on their land.

And. The barn. Maybe my favorite part. The barn that didn’t blow away with the tornado. The old horse barn that has been maintained with great integrity over the decades. The boys heard about how they would use a lever and pulley system to move bags of hay up from the ground to the loft. And even I learned what the big door up top was meant for, bringing the hay into the barn via the pulley.

And then, into the home. The home, full of antiques. Pictures. Furniture. And stainglass windows. All true to the home. All holding memories. And stories. And I think even my dad was able to learn some new things about his roots. About his tree. And I couldn’t thank John and Kandy and Jason enough for giving us their time and their words.

We went into get lunch in downtown Belleville. My dad asked if we should just do Dairy Queen but I insisted, if there is a diner, that is where we’re going. Because that’s how I grew up in my small town life… no real fast food. And so we walked, the seven of us, into The Dinner Bell. There was one small table of gentlemen in the front window, chattering about town happenings. There was one waitress. And one cook. My cousin Kacey stopped in to give me a squeeze and I got to see her in person after years of growing up seeing each other every year and less and less as the years have gone on.

The boys were content to order corn dogs and burgers and chicken strips with fries. And were all happy to wash it all down with a soda. My dad and I ordered burgers. And my dad, of course, recognized one of the men at that front table. And so we chatted. One of the other gentlemen offered the kids “raffle tickets” and they jumped at the chance. Even though the raffle was for nothing. It was like the simplicity of the pace of life where we were actually made them excited about imaginary raffles. And they didn’t ask all day when they’d be playing xBox or Wii.

We drove all around Belleville. We saw where my dad played baseball. Football. Ran track. The schools he went to. Where his best friend lived. And where he lived. He showed the boys what his walk home from school was like and they could hardly believe that he had to walk it solo, even in hot weather. They asked questions about his teams. And his schools. The house that was his mother’s favorite. That they’d built when the business was going well. That had land all around to run and play.

We headed by the fairgrounds where he and his siblings showed cattle.

And we even made a stop at a local wonder, the Boyer Museum, which, if you’re ever in the area, is worth a donation to.

The boys actually loved learning about local artist, Paul Boyer’s animated wood carvings that are run by his own wiring and engineering. I thought, when we went in, it would be funny. And it turned out being educational and one of the Oldest’s favorite parts of the day.

And then, we loaded back up again. We did do a Dairy Queen stop. Before we headed out of town. All the boys picked their ice cream of choice in lieu of dinner. It was 5:30 by that time, I’d guess. But I can’t say as I’m sure. I’d lost track of time throughout the day. And really didn’t care what time we returned home.

On the drive home, the boys all played on iPads together. And I talked with my dad. About his family. His parents. His moving right before his Sophomore year.

I could tell as I watched him describe the places and things throughout the day, “where the old drive-in was… how he’d get up in the summer and catch the “activity bus” for the morning and then have baseball practice and then hit the field and not see his parents all day… how he and his brother would play in the creek and woods behind his house… and how played Centerfield… how the corn mixture that would solidify on the in-ground silo would get sort of moist and mushy and create a sweet smell that he can still smell.” I could tell that for him, it felt like no time had passed. Like not a thing had changed. I could tell that in his eyes, the movie theater had the same old marquee, the Arbuthnot’s Pharmacy still had sodas, and that his dad’s business that ended when he was in middle school — it was all still there. It was all still in his memory just as my memories from my childhood are burned in mine.

It was, for me, the perfect day. I was tired for days after. Just a month post-radiation, my energy is not yet restored. But I can’t imagine many better ways to have become exhausted.

Later this summer, we will travel again, and we will lift another tree. And I can only imagine the awe the boys will feel.

Knowing that you come from something so much greater. From a line of people who lived in tougher times and survived. Knowing that you did not just appear from nothing. It’s a powerful feeling and reminder… to want to carry on and leave a legacy. To make the world a greater place than when you came into it. And to leave your children with the truth of their history. And the reality of where they have come from.

We lifted the tree. Last Wednesday. We saw our roots, in person. My dad was our historian. And we were along for the ride.

And it was one of the most incredible days I’ve ever gotten to have. Though I didn’t get to hear his voice, I feel like I got to know my grandpa a little more that day. And as for my dad, the whole day, I felt as though I had been transported back to our 10 minute rides to school that he used to give me every day as a child. The times where I would ask questions and he would always have the answer. And I believed him to be the most interesting man in the world. In my world.

Thank you, to my dad, for the gift of your time. To my sister-in-law for keeping the Littlest for the day. And thank you to all of “my boys” who accompanied me on a somewhat selfish journey… the Goodness of Lifting the Tree. Each of them made me so proud that day. To see the spark in them. To hear the questions they asked. To watch the way they respected their grandfathers words. And to see that in the simplest of things, they could find the best of times. Together.