My brother and I enjoyed a wonderful childhood on our small family farm. We were poor financially, but rich in love and attention. We were blessed with good parents.
Dad would point out the mysteries of the night sky. He taught us the sounds of the darkness, the deep bass of bullfrogs, the haunting sounds of owls, the melancholy call of the whippoorwill and the exciting (if somewhat scary) yips and howls of coyotes on the hunt.
He taught us how to behave with animals and how to recognize signs of danger. He taught us to identify trees and plants. He took time to show us a nest of baby rabbits, the den of a raccoon and the sounds of wild geese in flight.
When we were old enough, he taught us how to work and assume responsibility. We knew that the welfare of the family relied on the chores we performed, that our food came from the ground and that we had a responsibility to care for the land.
I am fortunate to walk the same ground Dad walked, to see the things he saw and to use items he used. The land is filled with memories of a man I knew and loved, a man who understood what it meant to be a father.
Mike Hanrahan
Cameron, Mo.
