Father's & Daughters...

Dad left on Sunday. He flew home, having reached his limited tolerance for a life of leisure. Enough was enough. Sitting around in the sun, playing crib, and sipping beer is not for that old guy. He missed his car, his little camp shack, and most of all, his independence. I don't blame him. I'm sure when I'm 86, I will be the same way. I told Richard that he can be thankful that he could very well duck that bullet. I don't intend to get old gracefully or quietly.  Anyway, this winter was good for us, Dad and I. We did some getting to know each other. Does that sound odd? Well, maybe it is. Life is odd sometimes.  It leads us in circles, often blindly; big, loopy life circles, where we are actually making important discoveries about ourselves, each other, and the world, which we didn't see coming until the lesson is learned. Or that is how it has been for me, anyway. 

 I never really knew Dad that well. In our family, Dad was the guy who went to work everyday. He fixed things if they were broken. He drew intricate diagrams on matchbooks of future building plans for barns and corrals and houses, saw mills and machinery, while sitting at the table with Mom and drinking coffee. Dad put a splint on my finger when it got slammed in the truck door, and we lived too far from civilization to go see a doctor. Dad taught me never to hold the saddle horn...and to absolutely never be rude to someone who was a guest in your house. Dad is also the one who first encouraged my love for horses. It is a common ground that drew us together when I was a kid, and again, it has bridged the gap as an adult. Horses, the great translators of all those words that get left unsaid between fathers and daughters. Thank goodness, I'm not sure where we'd be without them.