52 Years

Fifty two years ago this month, I lost my Daddy. It seems so hard to imagine that so much time has passed. However he would be 94 years old, he was only 42, Such a young man, when he died.
We talked of him yesterday and how we survived those years, years of not knowing if he would live another day.
In 1957 the only treatment for heart disease was nitro and if you got really bad, you went into the hospital and had oxygen. That was it.
So he died needlessly young.
I was recalling the last hunting trip he went on. My Mama always hated for him to take off with his gun to find wild game. But Daddy was a Brown and he was stubborn and he wanted to hunt. Often and possibly every time one of the boys went with him.
This time, I think he was alone. I can still picture him standing at the edge of the woods by our house, Yelling, " HEY! HEY! I need some help."
Of course my Moms first thought was that he had an attack. She ran, as we all did.
No he had only killed a deer. He needed help to bring it home. One of the boys returned with their little red wagon and the deer was placed in the wagon and pulled home.
I hated these times, I would not eat much meat and Deer was certainly out of the question. In addition the deer meat was processed at our dining table. Processed, as in butchered, cleaned, packaged and wrapped. Plus Mama had a meat grinder and made something with it.
I don't know what, probably hamburger. I stayed out of the kitchen. "Gagging"
But that was my daddy's last deer. I don't know why I remember it so vividly but I do.
As I said, I can see him standing in the woods, old work hat on, coveralls, and work shirt. He was pretty proud of himself. He had provided more food for us.
About that. MY Mama was a magician at keeping food on the table for us. She was the most talented lady I ever knew.
She could butcher that deer, and hogs, and chickens, and we always had a freezer full.
In the summer she put away so much food, there was no way we would run out. We raised two gardens and the only pesticide we used was ourselves.
I picked potato bugs. I had to help keep the garden cleared of weeds, and I better not chop down the veggies in the process.
Not only me, we all helped.
Roy was the mule on Daddy's plow. He laughs about that now. He would tie onto the front so Daddy would not have to push the plow so hard. Roy would pull.
We always had the first plowing done by a colored man, He would come with his mule and break up our garden spots.
Daddy would build chicken pens and we raised our own chickens and some were saved for laying hens. So we always had eggs.
A friend loaned us a cow so we had fresh milk and butter.
Sometime I wish it were still that way. Life was so much simpler. No bills other then the bill at the local grocery store which was paid every payday. Rent, which was about 5 dollars a month and utilities. That was it, We paid as we went or we did not go.
Daddy was good at providing what he could and Mama was good at making it last.
We never never went hungry.
The month of March and every day I remember my Daddy and what he was to me.
I do not recall a lot of things with him as he had his first attack at 38 years old, I was only 7. I just remember being afraid for him. He cried easily. He was a very emotional man. I have grown to love that part of him so much. I never understood it when I was young, but today I completely understand.