The Farmer…(part 1)

My Grandfather was in an honor guard, the division that’s involved with activities related to things such as the Tomb of the Unkown Soldier, or guarding visiting heads of state.

I’m not the first one to work and live on this place. Before me came my dad, grandfather and great grandfather, and before him, whoever owned this place originally. For this part of the world having a lineage to particular piece of earth that spans four generations is not that uncommon, although as time marches forward it is becoming less and less occurrent. It provides something besides just “business” to those of us who are in this camp. It’s almost like a stream of continuity filled with the hopes, the labors, the failures, the laughter, the good times and the bad of those who came before, and that somehow ignites the current flame to continue in the hopes for those who come after. The farm is never truly the Farmer’s own. The Farmer just gets to look after it for a while, and hopefully if he’s on the ball it will be in a better position when he’s gone. Although bodies grow old and die, the fingerprints are left behind.

Adrian and Andrew getting ready to bottle feed calves

                Adrian George Texley was my Grandfather. He was the second generation in his family to live and work on the farm that I call my home. I was fortunate enough to see him everyday of my life growing up here, and his mark on me is deep. Adrian was somewhat of complicated individual.  It’s hard to imagine someone both as hard-headed and as generous, playful and hot tempered. Someone who knew exactly how he wanted work to be done, and wouldn’t offer any compromise for an alternative.

                In Adrian’s childhood he witnessed and experienced the change from farm work being done with mostly horses to tractors. He started off selling eggs and moving haystacks for extra cash. He milked cows, fed hogs and witnessed electricity being made available for the first time in the countryside. Light bulbs and household appliances weren’t just for town people anymore. He served in the Army in an honor guard outfit of some sort, and with that was able to venture out from his little neck of the woods. Upon his return he went back to farming, taking it over from his dad. He eventually married my grandmother, JoAnn. As I understand it, they had dated before, but it didn’t seem to stick the first go around. My grandmother came with three kids in tow, and they started to make their life here.  Eventually my dad and other uncle would be born, and Adrian would acquire 2 additional farms to add to the operation.  And then there’s me.

You can see what my Grandfather saw in her

                I was born in 1992, the first grandchild of my family. I grew up in the house that I live in now, just up the road from my grandparents. The cows always lived at my place, and everyday my grandpa would come rolling in the driveway to check on them. I would spend most of my childhood with him. It seems like we were always fixing fence, or taking out thistles, and during those times he wouldn’t really talk much. He would get excited to get the garden ready for my grandma, and always respond in amazement when the first green onions and fresh radishes would appear on the kitchen table. He taught me how to drive a tractor, starting off with the Farmall B and moving up to the Farmall H and M, and then eventually John Deere 4320. He taught me how to castrate bull calves, and give vaccines, and taught me how to make hay. He helped build more chicken coops than I could possibly count.  He’d get frustrated if I was slow to get started on something, but ecstatic if I had to leave early for a date, always cheering me on for spending time with a good looking gal.

Unlce, Cousins, My Dad, Grandpa, and Myself. Very thankful that I’ve aged well hahaha

                Before he died, the thought of this place without him was pretty much unimaginable. For all intensive purposes, he was the boss until he simply couldn’t be anymore. He was tough, hard, generous, and funny, and he still stands as a giant in my mind. However, it is the weirdest thing to be here knowing that he is dead, while at the same time feeling he could pop up at any second. There’s much more to Adrian than what is written here for today, but I, at the least, wanted to give you a preview and a glimpse into who he was for me. In a lot of ways, he was more of a second dad to me.

Much Peace~

Recipe

Courtesy of Michelle Olson

1 (16.3-ounce) can of Biscuits (8 count)

1/2-1 pound of bacon, cooked and crumbled, or sausage-cooked

1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese

1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

8 large eggs beaten

1 cup milk

Salt and pepper to taste

Optional toppings: Onions, Jalepenos,

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.

Line the bottom of a greased 9-x-13-inch baking dish with biscuit dough, firmly pressing to seal and make a bottom crust.

Sprinkle sausage and cheeses over crust.

In a medium bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, salt and pepper until blended. Pour over sausage/bacon and cheeses.

Bake for 25–30 minutes, or until set and middle does not jiggle. Let stand for 5 minutes before cutting into squares. Serve warm.