Book and Hook: Sort of an ode to my dad

My father has this wonderful, beautiful plan.

In a couple years he plans to sell his house and move with his wife to a house boat in Hawaii.

To know why this is amazing and the last thing I would have expected to hear from my father I suppose you need to know a bit more about my father. My father was born into a hard working farming family in south-eastern Idaho. He grew up working the land, canning, butchering, and making due. When I was growing up we lived in a house my parents built right next to my grandparents house, we had fresh milk in glass gallon jars in the fridge that we had to wait for the cream to rise on, canned goods on the pantry shelves, and homemade salami and meats in the meat house. We moved from that house when I was 4, we moved about 30 minutes away, my dad opened up a butcher shop, and on weekend we all went back out to the about 1 acre of farm land and 6 rows of thorn-less raspberry bushes. We left early and came home when the sun was going down. I learned to catch grasshoppers, and that if you pulled their head off their guts came too. But you had to get the grasshoppers or they would eat up the garden and the raspberry bushes. Dad would go up and turn down the water into the irrigation ditch, and then come back and open up the holes that he plugged last time, letting the water down the rows of corn, potatoes, beans, carrots, peas, squash, cucumbers, zucchini and the raspberry bushes. After harvest we would can and can and can, it was about a month straight of canning items. We even made our own pickles. We still had fresh milk, we had friends in the ward who had a small dairy and we would buy our milk from them at at discount. It still came in gallon glass jars, but it didn't have the cream on top, which was so good on top of a bowl of fresh raspberries. We also had a garden at the house we were renting, the house sat on quite a large bit of land, had about a 1/4 mile driveway to get to the house, then looped back out to the street with a big barn. Which made catching the school bus in the winter rather interesting.

When I was 7 we moved to Tacoma, WA. Talk about culture shock! Even living in a major city my father had his garden. It was a greenhouse he built himself out of heavy plastic sheeting, pvc pipes, screws, and an old house door. Even in late fall when you went into the greenhouse the air was heavy with with wet air and warmth. We had rabbits too which were our semi-lawnmowers and a beautiful half wolf, half german shepard dog named Amber, she was beautiful and friendly and happy. About 3 years later we moved again, back down to southeastern Idaho. We rented for about 6 months before my parents bought a house across town. One of the first things dad did after we moved in was plan out where his garden was going to go. Before that even, I think he was planning it when we first went to look at the place. Since then dad has been in that same house, building and working on that garden spot. He now has chickens that run all over the yard, and a dog that is happy to leave them alone and chew on the scraps from my dad's butchering business.

Thus you see, my dad is addicted to the earth and what he can grow from it. I know he loves the ground, and the animals that roam it. He loves water too, as do I. Swimming is a favorite of us both. I am just expecting to hear that he also has floating barges, one with a chicken coup, and one with a garden or a greenhouse on it.
We have had our differences, but we are in such a better place now. I give some of the credit for that to his wife Kathy. She is a wonderful influence on him, and especially knows when to call him on his BS.
He has worked hard to earn my trust back. Thank you dad for making such an effort to get back into my life and my heart.
I Love You, Dad.

Me and my dad.