A Year of Gratitude – July 9, 2024

I found my gratitude today in being reminded of my past, my place in the line of family members that came before me. There’s something beautiful about being reminded of your branch on a family tree, of how you fit between your past, present, and future.

This pocketknife was my great grandfather’s. He was a dairy farmer. His farm was here in New Hampshire, no more than 100 miles from the place I call home today.

Today, we used this knife to make a graft of a tree. There was something extra special about using his knife to make the cut, to using the blade that he carried in his pocket to try and make something new grow right here on this land.

I wish that he had lived long enough to see us bring this old farm back to life. I know that mathematically, that wasn’t possible, but it’s a wish that I still wish. It’s the same wish I feel for all of my grandparents.

I like to think that they would be proud of me, proud of the life I have tried to build here. I would love to share stories with them about all of the work I have done inside and outside the farmhouse in the hopes of making it even better for the next generation.

So much of my daily life is vastly different than his. It would be impossible for me to explain that I am sharing this with you right now over something called “the internet”. So much is the same: I’m just trying to do what I can to keep this old farmhouse going in the same way that he did all those years ago. It would be nice to share that with him, with my grandparents, to swap stories of patching an old farmhouse together with grit, determination, and whatever you happen to have on hand in your toolbox.

I would have loved to tell him that for years I was a dairy farmer myself. Sure, we only produced enough milk for ourselves, but I thought of him every morning when I found myself filling a pail with warm milk, using my hands to coax milk from a goat’s udder even on mornings when the temperature was well below freezing. I wish that I could have told him about that.

I can’t do that. Time didn’t allow me to. But I can use his pocketknife and think of him fondly as I hold it in my hand. I like to think that holding his memory close while I work this land and tend to the needs of my family and this old house is the best way I can honor his memory, the memory of all my grandparents.  

So that’s what I’ll keep doing. I’ll hold their collective memories close to my heart and keep cultivating the sort of life that would make them proud.

This post is part of our A Year of Gratitude Series. You can find the introduction, inspiration, and entire year’s gratitude’s posts here.