My Grandfather was a farmer. That simple statement means a lot. It mostly means he was a hard worker. He plowed his fields with mules. He used the Farmer's Almanac for his weather and planting information. He knew how to budget his money. He was dependent on the weather and watched helplessly when it didn't provide what his crops needed. He knew about animals and depended on their well being for his livelihood. For half of his life, he didn't have modern conveniences, like an indoor toilet. His life, to me, seemed hard, but I don't think he saw it that way. He wasn't educated, but he wasn't stupid. Never equate education with intelligence and never equate money with happiness, both lessons I learned early because of him.
The best thing he knew was how to love his family.

He loved to trade, horses and cars and was especially delighted if he got the best part of a deal. And he always felt he got the best end of the deal.

He and my grandmother liked to dance and would go to dance halls. Mama Beard found a man that would and could dance. Lucky!

It amused him a great deal to tell his grandchildren ghost stories and it was a treat for us to hear them. There was bloody bones, shiny eye, the ghost lady dressed all in white, and the witch that lived in the attic. Some of his grandchildren, even today in their 70s, still believe his ghost stories. Stephen King had nothing on him.

He took delight in playing pranks on the grandchildren. The best one he pulled on me was about cotton. I was eating dinner (noon meal in those days) with them and didn't know the dish we were eating. I was very young, maybe around 3 or 4 years and I asked "What is this?" He said "It's cotton." As I was nearing the bottom of the bowl he said to my grandmother "Mama give her some more cotton." For a long time after that I would beg my mother to cook me cotton and always got the same answer "You can't cook cotton." I thought she didn't know how and would say in a sulky way, "Mama Beard does." It was years later that it dawned on me it was chicken and dumplings we were eating. Mama Beard didn't roll out the dough, she made drop dumplings so to me it did look like the cotton he grew. That was a good one Papa and I still think of it every time I have dumplings.

I have for years kept a bouquet of cotton in my home in rememberance of Papa Beard.

They had a cow for milk and I liked going with him to the "lot" to watch him milk the cow. On the way back to the house at the gate he would stop and give me a sip of the warm milk from the bucket. I loved the way the milk bubbles would burst on my top lip.

They didn't have a television, but I loved staying with them. For our entertainment, he would play the harmonica and sing. I remember one night my cousin and I do si doed in front the fireplace while he played the harmonica and sang. We didn't need t.v. We had Papa. It was such fun.

The smell of a horse and the creak of a saddle as the horse moves under it always takes me back to riding a horse with him, me sitting in the front and holding on to the saddle horn.

He loved and was loved by his great grandson. Brent was the maiden name of Papa's mother. He never said so, but I think he liked that I chose that name. Brent was born the day before Papa's 70th birthday. They were great buddies. Brent was devastated by his great grandfather's death. I am so glad he got to know him and had almost 11 years with him.

They lie beside each other now at the Hagan Cementery. We love them both and miss them both.
November 2019