Thanksgiving Snow

I realize that Thanksgiving is already over, but the thin cover of snow that came this past weekend combined with seeing my Dad on Saturday for Thanksgiving, just brings back so many memories from my past. Growing up in an Iowa farm family brought some unique family traditions. For example, there was always "the pheasant hunt" on Thanksgiving afternoon, after the big Thanksgiving meal. It was totally a guy thing; it was only the males of the family that got to go out on the famous pheasant hunt. Even when the boys were really too young to handle firearms, they carried simple BB guns that didn't have much power, but they were symbolic of belonging with the males, on the hunt.
What I remember most about these outings through the years has nothing to do with pheasants or shotgun shells. What I remember most is this is where I heard my Dad talk with my Grandpa Bailey. They talked about everything; farming, the economy, politics, old age and failing health, when to retire from farming, and other everyday life issues. It is when I learned the most about who my Dad was. It is when I heard about his dreams and hopes and fears and worries. He shared all of that with his Dad. It didn't matter that the "kids" were around, they had things to talk about and this was the time and place to talk about them. We would tramp through the cold air and leave lots of tracks in the crunchy snow. We would end up back at the dairy barn and sit on hay bales and just listen to them talk. We would even ask questions sometimes, and Dad was more patient and willing to talk to us boys with his Dad by his side.
I remember wishing that I could talk to my Dad the way he talked to his Dad. As I got older and several Thanksgiving hunts had come and gone, I remember wishing that I had as close a relationship with my Dad as he had with his Dad.
When my Grandpa Bailey died many years ago, my Dad lost his best friend. There were no more pheasant hunts. My Dad struggled with loneliness and tried to make a few new friends. I'm not sure how that was working for him. But somewhere in these recent years my Dad and I have rediscovered each other. We haven't gone pheasant hunting, but we have found time to be together and talk. It seems like we can talk about anything; dreams, hopes, fears and worries. We talk about farming, the economy, politics, old age and failing health, when to retire and everyday life issues.
I am thankful this Thanksgiving that I can talk to my Dad the way he talked to his Dad. I am very grateful that I have had the chance to grow as close to my Dad as he had with his Dad. And when my Dad is gone, I know I will understand how it felt for him to lose his best friend.