From the Farm

PAPA'S SONG - THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY

The Hunsaker Family, Christmas 1993

It was December of 1993 when Papa's Song happened. I was a junior at the university, and life was coming to a bend in the road. During my Christmas break, I had several touching moments at home with my family. The most memorable was on Christmas Eve, when Papa rocked me by the tree for the last time, singing a song he had sung to me every Christmas for as long as I could remember.

"Biggie" size your family. I'm serious! Although the latest news topics generally discourage any "biggie" sizing (i.e.: let's fight obesity in America), in one life department - families - upgrading is essential. Not just essential, but vital to our world. Yep, you heard me right. I'm encouraging - even promoting - large families and lots of children.

LITTLE BOY LOST

I lost a child yesterday. Yep! Absolutely, totally, completely forgot about him.

I know what you as the reader are thinking. “Crazy mom! How un-attentive! How could you do such a thing!?! You have too many children!!!”

Now, just slow down and let me defend myself. I DO have quite a few children. Nine little people is a lot to keep track of. But in my own defense, the older ones don’t need as much watching, and generally even contribute to keeping tabs on the younger folks. So, as my first “lost child” offense in 17 years, I think I have a pretty good record. Here’s how my day went:

FIRST FROST

Summer is beautiful. The world is full and ripe and gorgeous. Everything blooms and grows and produces. There’s enough and to spare, until autumn. Then the first frost comes. It comes with little warning — a summer day, a warm night, a slight cloud on the horizon, and a weather forecast. If you miss the signs, you’re taken by surprise.

WONDERFUL WEST

I love the West … the big, open, wonderful, wild West. There’s nothing quite like it. Sure, I’ve lived here most of my life, but still, the West has some definite advantages.

MOTHERHOOD MILESTONES

I’ve been a mother for over a decade and a half. Shouldn’t that make me an expert? I’ve changed diapers, I’ve burped babies, I’ve sent children off to kindergarten, I’ve cleaned up messes in the nighttime, I’ve survived homework, I’ve cheered at sports events, I’ve attended concerts and concerts and concerts. Perhaps — in most areas — I could be labeled “seasoned.” Perhaps.

Yet, despite my steel nerves and strong constitution, I wasn’t quite prepared for my most recent motherhood milestone: having a driving teenager. It happened rather suddenly. One day my son was born. The next day (so it seemed) he was eligible for a driver’s permit.

I love love. Not in some sissy way or anything like that. I love love because it’s real and sustaining. I first met my husband when he and I were both 18. I know. We were terribly young. “Love, like youth, is wasted on the young.” It was love at first sight. Really. Neither one of us admitted it during the following years of our courtship, but I would have married him that first day if he would’ve asked. He was that good. And that real. And that solid. And that true. That’s how love should be.