Sad wheelbarrow fairy



I've been trying to tell you about the wheelbarrow fairys dad since last week but every time I try I start crying. I tried to use the eulogy the lady wrote but re-reading it started me off. I tried to use the piece I wrote for his tractor magazine but that was just as bad. So...My dad, he was my hero. He passed away at the end of feb this year. He was 80 years oldHe had pancreatic cancer. He didn't have it removed as it was too big. He didn't have chemo as it wouldn't give him any more time. He lived his last 8 months to the fullest he could.
He loved tractors and could fix anything and make anything. He used alot of recycled stuff. When I was little I loved roundabouts. My mom made me a roundabout birthday cake. My dad made me a roundabout that worked. (from an old axle and some plastic things acquired from the local tip.) He made my daughter a playhouse with a veranda and curtains!He taught my son to drive a tractor, and me too many years ago. About a month before he died I drew him a picture of a hanger to stop my little red baskets getting run over. He made me two while I was at work.
He made a greenhouse out of some old windows and about a tenners worth of wood. He made sheds...alot of sheds. Huge sheds.
The first picture is him making a dog bed out of an old sack using a rusty sack needle. Also about a month before he died.
The second picture is him at a tractor rally. His favourite place to be. Amongst his friends.



I was really lucky to have been able to look after him for the last 6 years, nearly 7. I spent every day working with him which was a pleasure and an entertainment. He was funny, positive, frugal (mom would say tight!), inventive solid, honest, and a truely wonderful dad. I miss him every day although I am surrounded by the many things he made and collected.
This is the poem that was read at his funeral....
My father is a farmer,
His heart is in the soil
It's there he finds his solace,
Among the grimy toil.
He plants the seed in springtime,
The corn, the beans, the hay,
He prays that God would bless it,
A harvest, Lord, I pray.
He tills and cultivates it,
Provides the most tender care,
Believes that come October,
He'll reap a harvest fair.
Blue skies are his cathedral,
A tractor, his altar of prayer,
God meets him in the cornfields,
They have communion there.
My father is a farmer-
That's all he'll ever be.
The values that the land taught him,
He handed down to me.
I love my farmer father-
I'm thankful that he's mine...
I pray that God will bless him,
Today, and for all time.And this is partly why the fairy is a fairy. Always doing things, always busy, always trying to make something from nothing. Also partly because of the mommy lady too...I'm more like my mom than I ever thought! And grandmother...the lady who kept bits of string and buttons and jars, who would wrap me up in a handmade quilt and keep me snug as a bug in a rug.
The fairy is sad. Her wings are drooping! But she'll be ok tomorrow :)