Doing things with Dad
growlersouth recently posted about his dad.
Memories like that are keepers -- doing things with Dad. My dad sometimes took me to work with him, in one of those big green Forest Service trucks. Back then, Dad had a lot of duties that took him outdoors, away from the Ranger station. I loved to ride with him into the deep woods, and stop at the hidden equipment depots or check on some far-away monitoring station. There wasn't much a little kid could do to help him, other than hold open creaky doors or hold a flashlight while he inspected New Deal era facilites. It was an adventure, and being with my Dad made me feel grown-up and valued.
Sometimes we'd take our mutt, Pal, along with us. Pal loved the woods; he'd tag along with us for a while, madly sniffing everything, then take off after something. Inevitably, he'd return after rolling in something dead, panting, mouth gaping in that dog-smile, and he'd have to ride back in the bed of the truck.
Sometimes we'd find animals that had been injured or gotten lost. Most we left for nature to take its course -- Dad was respectful of the way of things. One day we found a bat in the road, stunned and blinded. Dad showed me the delicate, bony wings, the tiny fingers on the crook, and made sure I stayed away from his sharp teeth. He let me take it home, but like most of the animals I adopted--beetle, dragonfly, horned lizard -- it died the next day. Dad helped me wrap it up and bury it in the backyard.
Dad taught me a lot on those trips. His quiet way was to show by example, noting the unusual, and explaining my many questions with patient, simple answers. He loved the outdoors, loved his job in the Forest Service, and I really feel he enjoyed sharing that with me. I'm very fortunate to have had a Dad like him.
Memories like that are keepers -- doing things with Dad. My dad sometimes took me to work with him, in one of those big green Forest Service trucks. Back then, Dad had a lot of duties that took him outdoors, away from the Ranger station. I loved to ride with him into the deep woods, and stop at the hidden equipment depots or check on some far-away monitoring station. There wasn't much a little kid could do to help him, other than hold open creaky doors or hold a flashlight while he inspected New Deal era facilites. It was an adventure, and being with my Dad made me feel grown-up and valued.
Sometimes we'd take our mutt, Pal, along with us. Pal loved the woods; he'd tag along with us for a while, madly sniffing everything, then take off after something. Inevitably, he'd return after rolling in something dead, panting, mouth gaping in that dog-smile, and he'd have to ride back in the bed of the truck.
Sometimes we'd find animals that had been injured or gotten lost. Most we left for nature to take its course -- Dad was respectful of the way of things. One day we found a bat in the road, stunned and blinded. Dad showed me the delicate, bony wings, the tiny fingers on the crook, and made sure I stayed away from his sharp teeth. He let me take it home, but like most of the animals I adopted--beetle, dragonfly, horned lizard -- it died the next day. Dad helped me wrap it up and bury it in the backyard.
Dad taught me a lot on those trips. His quiet way was to show by example, noting the unusual, and explaining my many questions with patient, simple answers. He loved the outdoors, loved his job in the Forest Service, and I really feel he enjoyed sharing that with me. I'm very fortunate to have had a Dad like him.