Pawpaw

Today is the 112th anniversary of my Papa's birthday.
He has been gone since 1988 but I miss him still.
On my way home today I will pass places that hold fond memories of him.
The picture above is of the South Canadian River. He worked just up the north bank of the river as a pumper. The location afforded us access to the river where we swan and fished and seined minnows and picnicked.
The pump house near the banks of the river was surrounded by aromatic cedar trees. The roads leading up to it were of river sand. Red clay rocks caused the bends in the road that wound around in a crooked circle to the wells that were gauged and otherwise attended by Pawpaw. By the time I could see over the steering wheel of his ancient black truck (from my perch atop a wooden coke crate) he would let me steer (and eventually drive) the roads on days I went to work with him.
He got up before daylight and sipped coffee with much cream from a metal thermos. My sisters and I were allowed sips, but not large ones, else he said hair would grow on our chests.
I am not sure any of us were any happier ever than we were those days down on the river.
Why we never go back there and revisit those places, I don't know.
This is something I need to add to my to do list.



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