We were on our way up to "The Ol' Saw Mill" a working mill that my Grandpa bought 30 years ago for about $3,000. The story goes that back before he had his mill, when one of the trees on his property would fall (due to rot or lightning or age) he would haul it to the local sawyer for him to cut it up into useful boards of lumber. Well, when Hurricane Hugo came 'round this sawyer had so much work that Grandpa's logs just sat there at his shop. Grandpa Harry would call every now and then and this Sawyer said, "I'll get to it when I can." Two years later, Grandpa drove to the shop himself and the logs were still sitting there, only now they were unusable due to old age. That's when my Grandpa decided to get his own. He found a spot out on his property that was mostly level and he built a shelter and then customized the mill to fit his needs (tractor driven, not diesel engine driven).
[The long-haired gentleman is my Uncle John, the dude with the beanie is my cousin, Joe]
That's the Morris way. When we come up against something that's too expensive or too much trouble, we start thinking and plotting to do it "on our own." Grandpa chuckled and said, "there isn't much a Morris is afraid to tackle."
After making some repairs to the sawdust excavating mechanism, we fired her up and sliced up a 2 ton log into 2x4's that my uncle John will use in his next project. It was so much fun, and I worked up quite a sweat trying to keep up with how fast my Grandpa was cutting them.
"You know, my daddy was a sawyer," he said. We had shut off the mill and were sitting there, enjoying the crisp air and sunshine. "He owned 3 mills, and had 7 teams of lumberjacks working for him." I sensed some pride and perhaps a little sadness in my Grandpa's voice. "He also owned a general store, a cafe, and a handful of other shops in town." He paused. His eyes twinkled. "But I don't know what he did in his spare time."
"I visited the town I grew up in (a small town in Alabama) not too long ago, just to see if it was just as I remembered it," he said. "After walking around for a bit, memories flooding back, I stopped at a malt shop for a cold drink. A man walked up to me who I had never seen before, and looked me deep in the eyes and said, 'are you little Henry?' (aside) Henry was my Daddy's name. I told the man that yes, Henry was my father, and he sat right down next to me and said, "That's what I thought! Son, my name is _____, and I've been the town mayor for 20 years now. Let me tell you a story about yer daddy."
"I came to this town 30 years ago, hungry, broken, separated from my wife and child, and with not a dollar to my name. I couldn't find a job or even a drop of kindness to help me get back on my feet. Then I met yer daddy. He heard my story and felt pity. He gave me a steady job, a warm meal, and even let me stay at his place until I could afford to move out on my own. After a little while, I could afford to go get my wife and kid and move them here with me. I ran for mayor and have always been active in helping this community that helped me so long ago. Son, yer daddy saved my life, and I just thought you should know what a great man he was."
Now, at this point in the story, I have to offer a little bit of background. You see, my Grandpa never really knew his father personally. It's a little fuzzy, but I think it's because he passed away before my Grandpa was old enough to know him. From what I can recall from my dad's stories, my Grandpa had to assume the role of Father for his family when he was still just a boy. Hearing these words from the Mayor of his old town must have really meant a lot to him.
There are times when I have felt disconnected from my father. Times when he has seemed too stubborn or too private or too perfect to approach. I know I have felt bitterness, even anger at him for not being understandable or accessible to me. But this trip with my Grandpa has taught me that even when you don't fully understand your father, you have his blood running in you- and you have the people around you that have been affected by him. There's often more going on in his life than you know- there's more at stake than what makes sense to a boy- and to cut him some slack is the right thing to do. The parts in me that I am proud of- the "entrepreneur spirit," a sense of determination, physical strength, a respect for the divine-- these things are in my dad and in my Grandfather and in my Great-Grandfather.
These things will not easily fade. They make us who we are.
Makes me proud to be a Morris! Wonder where the lines connect.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful story. I feel the same way about my father from time to time. During the last couple weeks traveling, I have a couple people tell me I'm looking and sounding more and more like my dad. There is truth in what you say!
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