Our farm was my dad’s favorite place on this planet. Growing up, we would spend a great deal of our summers there camping. As I got older, I would spend a decent amount of time in the winter there hunting and working on clearing land. But as I entered my 20s, this started to change. Working a lot left me with less and less time to enjoy the wonderful place my family has had for over 50 years. The camping slowly faded away, and the only real time I got down there was a day or two in the early winter for deer season. I got other interests, married, and became a father not once but twice. But as much as I had changed, my father never did. He took every opportunity he could to go down and spend some time in the woods. In fact, just 3 months before he died, against all odds he made it down there for what would be his last day of deer season. He couldn’t shoot because of his port for his chemotherapy, and climbing into his stand was difficult. He ended up spending the afternoon riding around on his quad checking the place out. Checking our trail cams after he passed, I found a picture of him waving to one of the cameras on that day. To me, that was him saying goodbye to the place he loved the most.
It would be a few months before I went back down there after his passing. And in fact, it would be 16 months after his passing that I would start to realize a few things about this place.
First, it really is a magical place. There is not a single trip down there where I don’t see at least one deer. There is a certain serenity while you’re there that can’t be explained. And after basically growing up down there, I can’t help but feel the spirit of both my dad and pop pop down there with me.
I was down there about 3 weeks ago to cut the grass for the first time in almost 3 months thanks to the record breaking amount of rain we got this summer. Even though I was racing the daylight to get things done, I enjoyed being there. Last Saturday I went down to clear the roads of some fallen trees and to cut some firewood for an upcoming family picnic. I didn’t want to leave. I know I talked a lot about it being ‘my watch’ down there, but I see the place now as I think my father did. There are 72 acres available to me to do whatever I want. I want a new road to get down to a creek — so I’m going to make one this winter. I want to rebuild the fireplace — so I’m going to do it and make it better then it was before. I have a dream about building a cabin down there before I’m 50 — it’s up to me to make it happen.
What I am basically getting to is that I have found a brand new appreciation for the place. It’s now somewhere that I want to go each week. It’s a place that when I’m there I don’t really want to leave. I get almost no cell reception and there is absolutely no internet down there — something most people would say I cannot live without. But in my older age, I think I’m starting to appreciate the simpler things in life. For example, this year for my birthday all I want is to get my entire family — both my side and my wife’s side — down there for the first time for a nice fall picnic. I want to share this wonderful place with them that with the exception of my father-in-law and nephew, have never seen before.
As Shafers, we don’t have a lot of things to show what we are about and what we have done as a clan. Our farm is pretty much the only thing we have to say, ‘Here! We turned acres of overgrown former farm land into a wonderful nature preserve where not only are you almost guaranteed to see a deer when you take a walk, but you can walk trails and play in fields that didn’t exist 40 years ago, and are only there today due to the hard work of my father’. I want to carry on that legacy and build upon it to make it a greater place then it is right now. In 20 years I would like to take my kids — and maybe grandkids — down there and show them what I have done to make the place wonderful to be at. This is my long term goal.
So I am going to be spending over 24 hours there this weekend and soak up as much of it as I can while working to make it a better place. I owe this to myself, my children, and to my father’s memory.
